#anything too old to have been made into one is gone forever because you just can't find them!

[coffeeworldsasaki]

Every time I see a post about how the only way to preserve things is physical copies and that you can never own digital stuff I have to grit my teeth and try to not start shit in the post

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[jazzsonly]

ꜱᴀᴅᴅᴇʀᴅᴀᴢᴇ.

pairing(s): cairo sweet x fem!reader

warning(s): stalker cairo, mentions cairo watching reader through their window, smoking, mention of reader’s mom passing away, mentions of reader having a ‘toned stomach’, minor detailed sexual content(nothing too major though).

summary: you become cairo’s newest work.

❝ sadderdays, why do they keep on using me? ❞

────────✬────────

cairo sweet didn’t believe in mistakes.

she believed there just was and there just wasn’t, and well, if you really wanted to, you could change the entirety of that was or wasn’t.

cairo also didn’t believe in much of a right or wrong, mankind was and would continue to be the most horrific thing to earth so it really all depended on what the domino effects of the things you did that made those things so ‘wrong’

or right.

in this case, watching through your window almost every night since the start of this summer wasn’t right or wrong nor was it her fault—it had to yours. what logical person, who knowingly had a window that mirrored the house right across the street wouldn’t put curtains up?

if you asked her, it was an invitation.

you prompted her, to watch you as she held a lit cigarette between her lips on most nights, letting the smoke fill her lungs and her mind full with thoughts of you.

you were tempting, all more in the ways she thought miller was. she was far more intrigued with you than she ever could be miller.

of course she wanted you, she wanted you more than anything—how could she not be (to her dismay) enflamed with you? shamelessly letting her hand slip into her pants as she watched you. again, it wasn’t her fault, it was merely yours for inviting her.

entertaining her.

though you’d never spoken, never even made eye contact with the girl she had made it clear to herself and somehow to you that you, indeed, knew all the things you were doing.

and though she felt this way, though she wanted you—her need to write you was far more important than any of that lustful bullshit.

she couldn’t just sit and stare at you forever, she needed to figure you out and figure you out fast before summer was over, though it was just mid-june. she needed something to wow yale.

her college essay needed to be perfect and you were just the target, because well, you just show up in the house that’s gone untouched for as long as she’s been trapped in her lonesome that her parents left her to all alone in this tennesse mansion.

she had a reasoning for being here, she knew her reason for being here, but what was your excuse? cause one thing is for damn sure, you were way too good looking and way too young to be up here all alone.

so cairo set out, being as bold as she’s ever been—especially after the whole miller thing, here she was standing at your door, cocky shades cover her eyes and a cigarette firm between her lips as she knocks.

she didn’t miss the red pick up that sat in your driveway, such a texas cliche, she thought.

hearing the wooden door creak as it opens, she fixes her posture, pushing her shoulders forward as she stood up straight.

“uh, hey?” you question, wiping the dirt from your hands on a faded blue rag.

the girl took a second, taking in the attire of your flared fitting jeans—they were worn out in a handy way, navy blue. she also took note to your light blue top that slightly came up, showing the edge of your, what seemed to be toned stomach.

pop’s. the shirt read in a bold fading yellow font with little things around it.

tempting but she had a mission.

“i’m cairo, i, uh, wanted to introduce myself—i live,” she pauses, pointing to the broad house placed a felid away.

“you live there? i didn’t think anyone lived there. creeps me out, the whole old victorian vibe, no offense. but, i’m y/n—i would shake your hand but uh.” you flash your hands that were scuffed with dirt.

“none taken, it’s actually quite comforting—i didn’t think anyone lived here, i mean it’s been empty for years.”

“yeah, uh, my mom recently passed and this is what she left behind…” you shrug, flapping you arms in lazy manner and let them fall back to your sides with a flat slap.

“mhm,” cairo takes a drag from the malboro.

“i’m sorry to hear that. are you fixing the place up?”

“trying to, thinking about turning it into a summer home, you know?” she didn’t miss the way your eyes flicker back and forth from the cigarette back to her face.

“you want?” she holds the stick towards you.

“if you don’t mind,” you reach up but fail to grasp the cigarette as the girl pushes her hand forward, placing it between your lips herself.

though you couldn’t tell because of the dark shades, she eyes your lips and watches closely as your purse them, taking a long drag before she retracts her fingers.

“thank you—do, uh, you wanna come in for a drink?”

“tomorrow, yeah? gotta a lot of work to do.”

“oh, work? you in high school?” she could see the slight grimace on your face at the thought of her being in high school.

“graduated. i’m in the process of apply for college. yale.”

“oh, hotshot, huh? i go to nyu, transfer from ucla—my second year.“

noted.

“but, good luck with everything, i’ll be here all summer so if you need any pointers let me know. i’m just a field away.”

also noted.

“mhm, i’ll definitely let you know.”

✬

exactly four days had passed since the encounter between you and cairo, and if she had to completely be truthful with herself, she was bored.

all she’d done was write and quickly delete the drafts she had made of you, walk to get coffee, and encounter small talk with a few distant friends from school whom seemed to be on big vacations with their closer friends.

she’d never say out loud, and she so reluctantly thought but she kind of missed winnie, in a strange way. who else to make her scandalous and yet superior at the same time?

after the whole miller thing, winnie had made it clear to stay far, far away from cairo, which of course the sweet girl didn’t take much offense to—she’d feel the same way if she were in her shoes, but she’d never so naively fall into a web like winnie had done.

with nothing better to do, and piles of shitty drafts, today would be the day she finally took up you on your offer. she needed new material for her paper anyways.

so here she was once again at your door, book-bag close on her back, dark shorts hugging her thighs with dark shades that cupped her face to match, and to top it off a white tank-top that read tennesse in fine blue print.

“finally showed up, i was afraid i scared you off.” the girl flinches, slightly, when you appear from the side of the house.

immediately she takes notices to the jean short-shorts that you occupied, along with the dirt stained, white baseball cap that took over your head of curls, brown cowgirl boots, and to top it off a plain black tank.

“i’ve been busy. told you i had a lot of work to do.”

“yeah, days worth, huh?” you tease, stepping to the house’s door, opening it and stepping aside for cairo.

“every time i see you, you got these shades on. you don’t like people looking you in your eyes or something?”

“i have my reasons.” she shrugs, letting a playful manner roll over her.

“you got magic eyes? anyone who stares into them falls in love?” you point at the girl again, this time causing her to bite back a smile, that you definitely don’t miss.

as she follows you, she can’t help but notice just how much your house resembles the aura of her’s—if not even more erie, the vacancy was very lit and yet a classic touch of old money overwhelmed the place. you had to be as loaded as she was with a house like this, and in tennesse—trust, she didn’t miss how much land you occupied.

“if you don’t mind me asking, what’d your mom do for a living?”

“ah, real estate and my dad is a lawyer—though, i don’t talk much with him.”

“huh, my parents are lawyers too and we don’t talk much either.”

you bite your lip, nodding in some form of understanding? agreement?

“make yourself at home,” you gesture to the velvet love seat.

cairo pauses for a minute, thinking, she had already made herself too at home—she was already losing sight of why she were here, she wasn’t here for your good looks and alluring aura—nor your flirty jokes.

you weren’t some seduction mission that she was going to trick herself into thinking you wanted her the way she did you, no. you weren’t going to be another mr.miller. she had learned from her mistakes.

you were her college essay and nothing more.

“i’m not a big drinker, so, pretty much all i have is some cherry wine and a little bit of gin.”

you watch at the sweet girl grimaces, “gin?”

“i know, my mom had poor taste, but i’ll take that as wine for our drink of the evening, i’ll be right back.”

why were you so tempting? how could one be so open yet she still knew nothing about you. she’d been here all of twenty minutes all she could get out of you was that your mom was a real estate agent and your dad is a lawy—

that’s it.

“here you go.” you hand her a half filled glass, fingers grazing over her skin before taking a seat across from her in the matching recliner.

“so, you’re dad is a lawyer? what’s his name? just curious if he works at the same firm as my parents.”

“y/d/n y/l/n. i doubt it, my dad owns his own firm and is very hard to work with.”

“hm, yeah never heard of him.” cairo made note to google your father later to lead her to connects with you,

and that’s exactly what she did.

after your drink, an excused rolled off her tongue to go home—she had more work to do, that you so cluelessly wished her good luck on.

one things for sure, you were right, you dad was hard man to work with. he seemed to be a lawyer who’d only worked on high profile cases in his career, how that was even possible? who knows.

he’d also been married three times, your mom being the second wife and you being his second kid.

his latest wife was way younger then him, as usual, she was maybe even your age. they had a son together, just two years old. it must be weird having an older sister in her late forties, while you’re in your earlier twenties, with a younger brother who is just two years old.

all while your dad is pushing sixty-five or so cairo read on the internet—she doesn’t exactly remember his age because she got bored and started surfing your name on google. to her surprise she’d found quite a lot on you.

a soccer star in high school, riding a scholarship for it too. not only that, but you’d been on the swim team in high school too.

you’d taken piano lessons as a kid, and noting the only social media you had was instagram, which to her trouble was private.

ugh, frustration was a minor feeling that creeped over cairo’s body. all she found was cliche background info. on you, no hard hitting stuff. no legal troubles, no mentions of some sort of addiction, no scandals.

there had to be more to you—there was, she could feel it. there was a story to you and she so ever needed it if she was going to wow yale. she had her miller story but something bigger assuredly awaited her blank google doc.

taking a slow, extended drag from her cigarette, the girl reluctantly closed the macbook. she now, once again, had a view of your unfolded window. though, you weren’t occupying it at the moment she waited in setback and anticipation as your truck had pulled into the driveway not too long ago. you’d entered the house with a woman she’d never seen before, maybe your half-sister.

if it were, it would be nice to put a face to the name considering google didn’t hold any pictures of your older sister.

but cairo couldn’t be more wrong and there would be no putting any name to any face because she would watch and smoke as you came collapsing into your room’s open window with your tongue down the random woman’s throat.

cairo couldn’t help but be taken over by a hot-blooded resentment. you were her project her, her puzzle to figure out, not some girl’s sloppy one night. and yet; through her distasteful thoughts, the girl couldn’t break her eyes from the scene that unfolded in front of her.

lewd.

that was one word to describe everything going on just in these moments. cairo’s hand wandering in her pants, letting enclosed moans falling from her lips as her eyes trained on just how…experienced (?) you’d seemed to be by the way you had been touching this woman.

her eyes were like binoculars on their own, closely she looked as your tongue ran across the woman’s lips—it was sloppy but so enamoring. your hands eagerly everywhere and nowhere at the same time on the woman’s body as you take off her clothes with the haste, the woman doing the same to you.

with you just in your lace underwear, cairo could see a tattoo on your shoulder that couldn’t make out but definitely would find a way to ask you about eventually—but right now, all she wanted to do was be the woman you were so infatuated with in this moment. the way you were shamelessly in the middle of your room, on your knees with your head hungrily between her legs, eating her out with ease. the eye contact you kept drove her even more insane.

she had underestimated you.

you were more untamed than she thought. bolder than you led onto to be.

━━━ 👩🏽‍💻potentially more parts to come.

[euphoricfilter]

HIIII GIRLY. I saw your drabble game anddd how about

"How could we ever just be friends" + yoongi djskskjs

just friends:

pairing: yoongi x gn! reader

genre: fluff || mild hurt with a lot of comfort || non-idol au

summary: maybe you were never just friends

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: feelings, fluff, the smallest hint of hurt, they’re actually just really in love and the m/c is slightly oblivious but yoon is a big old sweetheart

notes: OMG HEY!!!!! you didn’t ask for a specific au so i did indulge slightly and made it fluffy and soft, hope you like it :D

drabble masterlist || all my other works

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

There had always been something utterly unique about Yoongi’s existence in your eyes. He had been the first, and only person whose life had meant anything to you.

You’d spent most of your life aimlessly wandering, taking each day as it came and only hoped it would get better the more you trudged through. Fingers letting go of the ropes of friendships you’d made and lost—people you didn’t pay any mind to now that they weren’t in your life.

You didn’t miss them. Never thought of them unless they were right in front of you, if they never made themselves known.

But Yoongi had been different.

It didn’t take his physical presence for you to wonder how he was doing. He didn’t need to message first for you to ask how his day was. Dreams filled with another reality, what the two of you would be doing the next time you met, how sweet your name sounded from his lips. Or that sweet smile he would give you every time you stumbled over your words, too caught up in his eyes your brain malfunctions and you forget how to speak.

Thoughts consumed by him, feelings wrapping around the idea of his existence, soul dancing around his in this weird push and pull, not quite just friends but not really anything more.

Special, precious, perfect, Yoongi.

In all your years alive you’d never had a crush until that first moment you met. Never once thought of another human being in any other way that wasn’t platonic. It felt as though part of your world had started to crumble to moment, you’d acknowledged how you truly felt about him, stuck in this endless dilemma. Because who were you meant to tell him about your feelings when he was your closest friend? What if he asked who it was? He knew you rarely went out, and you sure as hell would have told him if you’d gone on any dates. So, you’d been stewing in your own feelings for as long as you can remember, too scared to utter a word about what was really happening between the two of you.

Because, sure his touches lingered, warm skin pressed against one another until the heat has travelled to your cheeks and you refuse to look at him, too scared he’d see how flustered you were. And sure there was the nicknames, though that was something he’d started early on, and you had doubts he fell in love just as quickly as you did.

Sometimes it felt like he only smiled at you, and yet you could only assume it was because you were his best friend, a safety net for him as much as he was one for you.

But not once had he made it obvious he liked you any more than a friend. A fact you’d slowly decided you could live with.

Just like yourself, it wasn’t very often Yoongi went on dates, you don’t think he’s been on one in the time you’d been friends. Which makes this whole dilemma slightly easier to swallow, because at this moment in time you were probably the most important person in his life.

You got to live out your secret little fantasy, and he got a low maintenance friendship. The perfect exchange.

And truly you believed it would be like this forever, until that little dream in the forefront of your mind was shattered by someone else coming into his life, and the two of you slowly drifting apart.

That was until tonight.

It wasn’t often you drank, never indulged in the fine whiskeys Yoongi would bring over to your place, stashed away in the cupboard when he wanted a little something before bed. However, Yoongi had come over with a cocktail making kit, saying he’d done some research because he knew how much you liked sweeter drinks.

And maybe you’d had a few too many, eagerly asking him to make you different drinks from the little book he had, excited as you watched him mix everything together. Utterly amazed by how good everything he made tasted.

You can’t remember what you’d said, words tumbling out your mouth quicker than you could swallow them back down. The small, sane part of your brain slowly catching up to what was happening as you watch Yoongi’s face morph into something slightly more surprised.

“How could we ever just be friends?” he shakes his head, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“Because you don’t like m—”

He holds a finger up to your lips, quick to silence you.

“Don’t finish that”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, “but Yoongi—”

He takes hold of your hands, thumb running over delicate skin as he looks at your face.

“No” he shakes his head, “listen to me for a moment, yeah?”

He’s calm, voice tender and smooth.

You nod.

“You’re not forcing me into anything” he starts, “I thought I was being too pushy with you”

You swallow.

“Huh?” your eyes widen slightly, “But I could have sworn you didn’t like me more than a best friend”

The low rumble of a laugh vibrates from his chest, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way I look at you. They don’t hold your hand on days out, or wish they could kiss you when you make that sweet little face when you first wake up in the morning”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, “I really thought—”

“And why didn’t you tell me, hmm?” he smiles, “feelings are weird.”

You nod, outburst having helped you sober up slightly.

“What now?” your legs bounce a little, so far out of your comfort zone.

“Whatever you want” he reassures.

“I’m scared” it spills past your lips before you can think about it.

He tilts his head slightly in question, “About what? Commitment?”  

You shake your head, frantic “I just—I don’t know what to do I’ve never dated a person before”

He gives you a gentle smile, “Just be you. Just like you are now, that’s all I want”

“But what if I want a kiss?” you inch a little closer to him.

“Then I’ll give you a kiss”

“What if I wanted a kiss when we go out to dinner with your friends?”

He laughs, “Doesn’t matter when or where, I’ll always be willing to give you a kiss if that’s what you please”

You chew on your bottom lip.

“I’ve never actually kissed anyone before” you say, shoulders losing their tension, because now this felt normal. Like how it always was with Yoongi, where you didn’t need to have secrets or be scared about what he thought. Because for all the time you’d known him, he had always been by your side, and you hope it will stay like that for the rest of time.

“Then I’ll teach you” he hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “Try not to worry your pretty little head too much, I know what you’re like”

“But—” you worry.

“Nope” he laughs, “We’ll work through this together like we do everything else, I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

Your eyes flicker between his for a moment, words settling into your soul as you nod.

“And I’ll always be here for you too, just so you know” the corners of your lips curl up into a smile.

[ssa-dado]

8.01 - Anaisthēsía

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, with a touch of whump and teasing Summary: Hotch stays by your side after a near-death experience, grappling with guilt and relief as you recover. When you wake, disoriented from anesthesia, you hilariously flirt and praise him, including a playful obsession with his hands and teasing remarks about his voice. As the fog lifts, you groggily bicker with Hotch about philosophy and paperwork, ultimately losing a playful debate as he deftly out-argues you. Warnings: medical trauma, guilt, anesthesia-induced vulnerability, mentions of death, P***r gets mentioned once. GISSI GISSI GISSI Word Count: 13.5k Dado's Corner: This little flashback was inspired by the wonderful and ever-inspiring @cuddleprofiler. What was originally meant to be a short piece quickly spiraled into something far longer because, honestly, I missed their old dynamics way too much to stop myself. As always, I probably went overboard, so - just a heads-up: the sweetness in this one is seriously tooth-rotting. Writing this version of Y/N was so fun, it felt different, but I hope it still makes sense and resonates with you. KG, I hope it brings you as much joy to read as it did for me to write. And yes, I used yet again some pics from Dharma and Greg for young Hotch, sue me.

masterlist

Are you alright? 

Were there any complications? 

Is something wrong?

He watched as your eyes fluttered open, the focus still absent.

His stomach dropped. 

Every part of him screamed in panic, his mind racing through the events that led them here. 

It happened so fast, too fast. 

He had barely arrived in time, his steps too slow, his fingers fumbling with the phone to call for help. 

He was useless. 

If he had gotten there a second earlier, maybe it would have been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have been lying there, so fragile, so vulnerable. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the things he didn’t do, all the moments where he had failed to act. 

"Hey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, careful as if the slightest sound might shatter your bones. "How are you feeling?" His chest was tight, his heart racing. 

That was his fault. 

He shifted nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Was he standing too close? 

Was he in your space? 

Was his presence somehow making things worse? 

Every little movement you made sent a jolt through him, was this normal? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think.

He should have gone to med school. Maybe then he would know how to help you instead of just sitting there in his uselessness. 

Did you need water? 

No, you were too frail to drink because of him. 

You blinked again, slow and unsure, your gaze still too distant, lost in a fog he couldn’t reach. He could feel the panic rising in his chest again, breathing felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford just yet. Not until you were like that.

The memory of those moments before you woke up was still too fresh - the image of you, lying still on the operating table - probably the only time in your life you ever actually stopped - your body cold and unresponsive.

For a few seconds, he’d lost you.

No pulse, no breath.

Just the cruel, deafening silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in those brief seconds, he'd experienced something he hadn’t thought possible: the overwhelming, suffocating emptiness of nothing.

He was supposed to keep you safe. 

He was supposed to be enough. 

What kind of partner leaves their partner dying? 

If only he’d been faster, more decisive. 

If only he’d been able to do something, anything, to make sure you were okay. 

What if you had been a second too far gone? 

What if he had been a second too slow? 

You wouldn’t be lying there, resting on a cold metal table just a few floors-

"Who… are you?"  you asked with the quitest of voices.

What? 

He swore his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Was it because of the shock, the trauma, the anesthesia? 

Or had his existance really been so useless that you didn’t even recognize him? 

He had to say something, at least so he wouldn’t have failed you in yet another thing. 

Hotch. 

Just five letters, simple.

Easier than saying his name - or whatever you used to call him when you still had a reason to care about him – Lawyer - or back when he was still decent enough to be considered your partner. 

Hotch.

Just Hotch.

"It’s me, Aaron," he replied, forcing his voice to stay light, though it trembled under the weight of the tightness in his chest. His words came out strained, heavy with guilt, as if he had failed you even in something as simple as the tone of his voice.

You repeated his name slowly, the sound of it rolling off your tongue like it was a foreign word in probably the only language you hadn’t mastered yet. Who could blame you, after all? He wouldn’t recognize his own name either, if only he could. If only there were a way to erase his memory. "Aaron. That’s a nice name."

Nice? Him – nice?!

The words felt strange in his ears, as if they didn’t belong to him, as if you were talking about someone else entirely.

Nice wasn’t how he would have described himself, not when you were looking at him like that - distant, almost as though he were a stranger.

And just like that, the realization hit him, crashing through the fog of his thoughts.

Oh, you don’t remember.

The tight knot in his chest loosened, but only slightly.

You weren’t mad at him.

At least not in the way he’d thought.

It wasn’t his fault, not really.

It was the anesthesia, the drug that had clouded your mind, made everything feel far away, unreachable.

Now it made sense.

He could finally breathe.

That’s when he found out he had no idea how long he had been standing there, just staring at you, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed how tightly he’d been gripping the edge of the chair until he released his hold, his fingers sore, and then slowly pulled it closer to your bed.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty fond of it,” he said, forcing a soft smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Your gaze, still unfocused, drifted to his face. Now he could see you trying to make sense of him, but the haze of anesthesia made everything about him blurry and strange in your eyes.

Yet he could feel that, despite the confusion, something shifted in the way you looked at him.

“You’re very… pretty,” you said suddenly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. 

What? 

Hotch blinked. If you ever did offer him such a compliment - though you never did… why would you, after all? - he had always imagined it would be something far more complex.

Something pulled from the depths of the philosophy texts you cherished so much, or even an adjective so obscure and unique that it had only ever appeared once, buried in the pages of some forgotten manuscript.

Maybe it would be a neologism you created, one only you knew the meaning of, a word with layers of secret nuances and significance. Never something so common, so... "shallow" as "pretty."

He blinked again, wondering if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, making him believe he was hearing something he’d always wanted to hear come from your lips.

Because seeing you – always so sharp, so composed, the kind of person who measured every word with precision - suddenly so soft, so shy, was surprising.

He couldn’t deny how it affected him, how hearing you speak so gently, in such a vulnerable tone, made his heart race in a way that almost felt like betrayal.

Was this what it was? Was this what he had been hoping for?

His mind scrambled, tricking him into thinking that maybe this was your way of showing him you felt the same. As if, for a fleeting moment, the barriers between you two had fallen, and everything he'd ever wanted from you could be real.

But rationally, he knew better - he knew it was just his own longing tricking him, his brain desperately filling in the gaps he couldn’t bear to face.

It wasn’t you, it was the anesthesia.

This softness wasn’t true to you.

Still, the pull in his chest, the warmth he felt when you looked at him with those eyes, told him a different story.

“Pretty, really?!” he said, trying to inject some humor into the situation, he probably got that from you. “I thought you were more into philosophy than, you know, looks.” He leaned in just a little, unable to resist.

You blinked at him, your brow furrowing slightly, and he could almost see the fog lifting in your mind as you tried to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. “Philosophy?” you mumbled, sounding almost genuinely curious. “What’s that?”

Hotch stifled a laugh, the sound escaping through his nose despite himself. “Oh, God. This is… this is going to be good,” he muttered under his breath.

And still, despite the absurdity of the moment, the karmic lesson finally coming full circle after all those hours you had him tangled in your philosophical musings, Hotch couldn’t help but find it amusing.

It was almost poetic, the way he had struggled to keep up with you, only for the roles to reverse now. Even though he’d never admit it to you, he could have listened to you talk about philosophy for hours, not just because of your passion, but because you had this way of making even the most abstract concepts feel so objectively interesting...

…And, of course, because he loved to hear your voice in any shape or form, whether you were unraveling complex ideas or simply informing him that the office coffee machine had broken down yet again and needed his help to fix it - as if he were some kind of coffee machine whisperer.

But still, as much as he found it hilarious, he couldn’t deny how profound it all felt. The fact that you, his Philosopher, were struggling to acknowledge philosophy itself felt like the most philosophical thing he’d ever heard you say.

It was as if the question itself was the answer, a perfect paradox wrapped in innocence.

“You really don’t know what philosophy is?” he asked, his voice dry, a little incredulous. “You? The one who still managed to quote Hegel while bleeding to death?”

You blinked at him, clearly still processing what he had said. “Who?” you asked, your face a mix of confusion and the tiniest bit of intrigue. "Hegel?"

“Never mind,” Hotch replied, though he couldn’t help the teasing tone creeping into his voice. "I thought you’d be spouting some philosophy by now, but I guess we're starting with the basics." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watched you try to make sense of it all. “Okay, let’s see if you remember any of it,” he said, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Do you know who Plato is?”

You blinked slowly, your mind still a little foggy from the anesthesia. “No,” you said with such unshakable certainty that Hotch couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

 “Not even your favorite?! How about Schopenhauer?” Hotch asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to process his words, then shook your head. “No,” you said again, your voice so confident, with the perfect German accent. “And it’s pronounced ‘Shoh-pen-how-er’.”

Hotch stopped mid-laugh, blinking at you in mock surprise. “You don’t know who he is, but you’ve still got time to correct my pronunciation?” he asked, raising an eyebrow - thankfully, you couldn’t tell how your words made him feel like he was suddenly melted by your accent, something about the way you made German sound almost romantic. “How reassuring of you.”

You flashed him a grin, eyes sparkling just a little too brightly for someone still under the influence of anesthesia. “Sorry, you’re just so cute, especially when you butcher German like that”

Hotch shook his head, his lips curling into a smile despite himself. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he replied with a chuckle, though he knew the warmth in his gaze was unmistakable. “Alright then,” he said, still slightly flustered by your words, leaning in just a little closer. “Let’s see if you know Kierkegaard, maybe?”

You smiled sleepily, “No,” you mumbled, but then added, your tone suddenly more serious, “And it’s Kierkegaard... ‘Keer-geh-garh’. The ‘ie’ is pronounced like an ‘e,’ and the ‘aa’ is like the ‘a’ in ‘raw’.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his temples as if trying to alleviate the mounting amusement…and a bit of frustration. “This is exactly what happens when you mix a philosopher with anesthesia,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a bemused grin. “You forget everything you love, but somehow still manage to correct my pronunciation.” He shook his head, still smiling at the absurdity of it all.

 “I like how you say ‘Philosopher’. It’s... very nice.” you giggled softly before shifting in the bed, your eyes still locked on him as if he were the only thing in the room.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Hotch muttered to himself under his breath, though he was sure you couldn’t hear it.

Or maybe you could.

Either way, it didn’t stop the smile that kept tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Thankfully you two still were alone… in a hospital room.

His chest tightened just thinking about it.

He couldn’t still think about it.

He had to push it away. He had to.

You were here now.

You were awake.

You were alive.

But the fear - God, the fear - it still lingered, crawling in his throat, pressing down on his lungs. It was there every time he looked at you, still pale, still fragile in that bed. He needed to see that spark in your eyes again, needed to know you were really here, really with him.

The way you always looked at him, with that glint of intelligence and mischief that made everything feel alive. He needed to see that more than the oxygen in his lungs.

He leaned forward, pulling something from his bag, a small book he had picked up with the hope of cheering you up, and honestly, maybe even cheering himself up too. He’d been terrified, so now he just wanted to see you as you again. He needed to see the spark in your eyes, the one that always made him feel like he was seeing something brighter than the world around him.

“Alright, if you really don’t remember anything, maybe this will help.” He held up the book with a small shake, like it was some sort of weapon. “Nietzsche for Stressed People... I’m sure the title speaks for itself. No need for an explanation, right?” He gave you a wry smile, his eyes still holding a hint of worry behind the teasing.

He pointed to the picture of the man on the cover, raising an eyebrow, trying to focus on something light. "Do you recognize the guy with the mustache?" He wasn’t sure why his voice softened so much, he was speaking to you like this - so gently, so carefully - as though you were a child he was trying to explain something simple to.

But in that moment, it felt right.

He just wanted to see you smile.

You blinked at the cover, your mind clearly still foggy from the medication. You scanned the picture and looked up at him. “No,” you mumbled, with a slight shrug.

Hotch’s smile faltered for a second. He was really hoping this would work. But he recovered quickly, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Well, I guess that’s okay. You don’t need to remember everything.”

You were already half asleep again, your eyelids drooping as you mumbled, "I think I liked him..."

Hotch paused for a moment, looking at you as you drifted off. "Oh no, you hate Nietzsche. That’s exactly why I bought this," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

“Aaron…” you said, your voice almost a whisper, soft and uncertain.

The sound of his name on your lips always made Hotch’s heart skip a beat.

Although this time it wasn’t the usual sharpness, the teasing sarcasm, or the biting wit that he was so used to. No, this was different.

It was tender, hesitant, he watched you, noticing the faint pink hue that spread across your cheeks as soon as you met his gaze, making them glow against the stark white of the hospital sheets. He could see how your fingers fidgeted nervously with the blanket.

What was happening?

"Yes?" he asked gently, leaning forward slightly, his voice a soft coaxing, encouraging you to say more. He didn’t want to rush you, but he could see you were trying to find the right words, something important you wanted to say but hadn’t quite managed yet.

Your eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on him, and he watched closely, noting the way your mouth opened as if searching for something to say but not quite finding it – definitely because of the anesthesia.

But then, almost hesitantly, the words slipped out, quieter than before, as though they were secret confessions. "I… think I like you.”

Oh, if only it wasn’t the meds confessing his attraction to him, but actually you...

“You like me?” Hotch repeated, his voice low and teasing, though there was something softer beneath it, something unspoken that made his words feel less playful and more genuine.

You nodded slowly, still not meeting his eyes fully, your gaze drifting down to the blanket in your lap. "I do," you murmured, the words shy as they left your mouth. Your eyes fluttered again, and as you smiled, the blush deepened, tinting your cheeks an even brighter shade of pink. “You’re so nice. So handsome. So… so lawyer-ish.”

Hotch couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, the way you looked at him with such genuine affection, it was so disarming. “Lawyer-ish?” he repeated, his grin widening. “What a wise choice of words, coming from someone with such a vast lexicon like you.”

You blinked at him, your wide eyes still locked onto his. "You’re so… elegant, so smart," you said suddenly, your voice earnest and serious, as if sharing a secret. "I love lawyers."

Hotch laughed, almost startled by your sudden change in tone. “Oh, you’re lying,” he said, his amusement clear. “You’ve been calling me ‘Lawyer’ just to mock me for months. Don’t think I’m buying your ‘I love lawyers’ routine just because you’re a little loopy on meds.”

Hotch couldn’t help but notice how your gaze shifted downward to his hand, the one resting casually close by your side, although he continued  “You despise lawyers - you’ve always said we bend the law, are enslaved by it, and have no personal ethics, unlike…”

He swore as he talked there was still something about the way you looked at his hand. Subtle at first, like a flicker of curiosity behind your eyes, but then your fingers twitched, almost on instinct. Before he could react, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, pulling it closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch froze, utterly bewildered. His usually steady pulse quickened as he watched you inspect his hand with an intensity he’d only seen you use on crime scene evidence. Your brows furrowed slightly, your lips quirking as if you were unraveling a mystery only you could understand.

He watched the way your fingers traced over the back of his knuckles, your touch so light and delicate yet managing to leave a trail of fire wherever your fingers traveled.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” His voice was a little shaky, the confusion clear in his tone. Then his eyes flicked back to your face, flushed a deep shade of red. He swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the situation.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away, at least.

Instead, You remained entirely focused on his hand, your fingers tracing the lines of his skin until his breath caught when you moved down to the curve of his wrist. Every nerve ending seemed to spark under your touch, and for the first time in years, Hotch felt completely, hopelessly out of control.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began again, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably when his voice wavered, “but there’s a whole person attached to that hand.”

Still nothing.

You stayed focused, your fingers mapping every detail as though you were committing it to memory. Hotch let out a shaky laugh, a blend of amusement and disbelief. “You do realize this is kind of weird, right?” he teased, though the corners of his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile.

Finally, you looked up, blinking slowly as though you’d momentarily forgotten he was even there. “Hmm?” you murmured, your voice soft and distracted.

“A person,” Hotch repeated, arching an eyebrow, his tone tinged with both amusement and exasperation. “Me. Aaron Hotchner. Your-”

You didn’t even let him finish. How rude.

Your lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous smile, and you tilted your head slightly. “I know who you are, Aaron,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

What?

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a split second, he wondered if the effects of the anesthesia that somehow turned you into a completely different person had started to wear off.

But then, as he studied your expression, he caught another clue - your eyes. Still soft and dreamy, unfocused in a way that practically screamed drugged, he could finally lethis heart rate return to normal. False alarm.

“Your hands,” you said finally, your tone almost reverent, as if those two words held the key to the universe – or maybe they did for your ephemeral little dizzy one right now. You glanced down at them again, your grip tightening slightly.

Like that was enough of an explanation.

What happened to the woman who loved words more than herself?

“My hands,” he echoed, his brow furrowing. “What about them?”

“They’re… interesting.” Your gaze dropped back to his hand, your fingertips now grazing his palm. He couldn’t tell if you were studying him or if this was just some elaborate way to drive him insane. “You can tell a lot about someone by their hands, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Hotch chuckled, leaning back slightly, though he made no effort to pull his hand away from your grasp. If logic and anesthesia were a match made in heaven, he’d eat his tie. Clearly, reasoning with you right now was a losing battle. If he wanted answers - or at least entertainment - he’d have to play by your rules.

“And what, exactly, do my hands say about me?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity.

You tilted your head, your expression turning uncomfortably serious, as if you were solving an ancient riddle. Hotch could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny as your eyes flicked from his fingers to his wrist and back again. “Strong. Dependable. But a little… rough around the edges.”

You paused, your lips twitching into a sly smile that made him raise an eyebrow. “And, you probably don’t moisturize, do you?”

What kind of drug did they give you for God’s sake?!

Hotch blinked, caught completely off guard by the comment. “I - what?” he stammered, a startled laugh bubbling out of him. “Moisturize?”

You nodded, your expression so matter-of-fact it made him wonder if this was something you genuinely cared about. “It’s okay,” you said breezily, patting his hand in a gesture that felt oddly consoling. “You’re a busy lawyer who works way more than anyone should. Classic workaholic move. It’s completely understandable.”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad my hands pass your inspection, even if they don’t meet your hydration standards.”

And then, with a boldness that surprised him even more than your initial touch, your fingers slid between his, intertwining in a gesture so casual yet so intimate that it made his chest tighten. He stared down at your joined hands, his mind racing.

You had never been this touchy before. The woman he knew - strong, composed, relentless - had always kept a deliberate distance, a boundary he’d always appreciated because, truth be told, he was even worse when it came to physical contact. For him, touch had always felt too intimate, too exposing, like a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

But here you were now, completely unguarded and soft, your fingers tracing his hand with a tenderness that caught him off guard. And despite everything he thought he knew about himself - about his discomfort with touch, about his constant need for control - he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar warmth that spread through him.

It wasn’t just surprising, it was disarming.

For the first time in years, something about this moment felt… right. Like he didn’t need to pull away, didn’t need to overthink it. It just was, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it end.

“Well, this is certainly… new,” Hotch said with a laugh, his voice almost incredulous as he shook his head in disbelief.

You smiled up at him, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him. Then, in a whisper so soft it barely reached his ears, you added, “You’re very handsome when you laugh.”

Oh, you sly Hegelian charmer.

He blinked, momentarily stunned, before a dry chuckle escaped him. He had never been courted like this in his entire life. Which, honestly, made everything feel… hilarious. Or at least that’s what he told himself - it was the only way he could deflect the heat rising to his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing even harder. “Oh, you’re going to pay for this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m definitely going to remind you that you said you think you like Nietzsche when you finally make up your mind.”

At the mention of Nietzsche, your eyes lit up, darting to the book he had set down on the side table earlier. Without hesitation, you leaned forward, grasping his arm lightly. “Could you read me some?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent.

Hotch raised a brow, half-amused, half-skeptical. “You want me to read you Nietzsche?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your gaze earnest. Then, as if explaining an obvious truth, you added, “I like how your voice sounds. It’s so low and… buttery. But not too smooth, it’s got this rough edge, especially with your consonants. Like the way your /t/ and /d/ sounds have a little friction, and your /r/ is so restrained it’s almost elegant. And when you say certain words, there’s this… resonance. Like when you said Nietzsche. It’s perfect.”

Hotch blinked, completely floored by your unexpected - and highly technical - analysis. “I didn’t realize I had a special way of saying Nietzsche,” he said dryly, though his lips quirked in amusement.

“You do,” you replied confidently, tilting your head slightly. “Because it’s completely the wrong pronunciation. It’s adorable.”

Hotch laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called adorable before,” he mused, his tone dry. “But I’m not about to start taking pronunciation lessons from someone who just complimented my consonants.”

“Please say it again,” you prompted, leaning toward him, your eyes gleaming with curiosity.

How could he say no to you?

“Nee-chee,” he said, drawing out the word with deliberate slowness, his voice dripping with mock emphasis.

You giggled, a light, airy sound so unlike your usual self that Hotch had to glance away briefly, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his composure. “See? So wrong,” you said, shaking your head with exaggerated dismay. “You completely butchered the ‘tz’ sound! Where’s the sharp little ‘tss’? It’s supposed to bite, Aaron. You made it sound like a sneeze!”

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned by your critique, before letting out a low chuckle. “A sneeze?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him as if you’d uncovered a grand conspiracy. “It’s not ‘Nee-chee,’ it’s ‘Neet-ss-chuh.’ Say it with me - ‘tss.’ Like you’re flicking your tongue against your teeth. Not-” you waved dramatically, “-like a tired cowboy trying to name his horse.”

Hotch laughed harder, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize I was being graded on my pronunciation of 19th-century philosophers.”

He was so proud of himself for remembering the time period.

“You’re not being graded,” you replied, smirking. “But if you were, it’d be a D-minus for effort. Although,” you added with a dramatic pause, “you get bonus points for making it sound adorable. Like you’re trying your best but still somehow failing spectacularly.”

“Adorable,” he repeated dryly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Alright, now I’m definitely reading this to you. But don’t expect miracles, I’m not correcting my pronunciation just to impress you.”

He stood from his chair, lifting it carefully and bringing it over to the right side of your bed. He placed it close enough that you wouldn’t have to strain to see him, then sat down, adjusting the book in his hands. He even tilted it slightly away from himself so you could read along if you wanted.

Hotch froze, his breath hitching as the warmth of your touch spread from his arm like a slow-burning fire. His mind raced for a way to keep himself grounded, to push aside the thought that your touch felt far too perfect, far too right.

It was the drug, not you.

You weren’t really fond of him.

Control, Aaron, control.

But still, it was impossible to ignore the way you fit so effortlessly against him, like two puzzle pieces quietly finding their place.

His lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, a small betrayal of the control he prided himself on, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, angling his body just enough to make it easier for you to stay where you were. If he noticed how his heart thudded against his ribcage, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur, the words far more tender than he intended. His gaze flicked toward you, and he found himself silently praying this wasn’t something he could get used to - that the sight of you leaning into him, fitting against him like you were made to be there, wouldn’t embed itself too deeply into his mind.

Because it would be impossible to let it go.

You hummed softly, your head resting against him as you snuggled closer, as if you belonged there. “Very,” you replied, your tone dreamy, filled with a sincerity that struck something deep inside him.

He gave a small shake of his head, and turning to the first passage, he scanned it briefly before speaking, his deep voice carrying a soothing cadence. “‘We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.’”

You opened one eye, staring up at him with a playful glint. “Are you secretly a dancer, Aaron?”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, his voice low and teasing. “I might know a step or two, but I sincerely hope you’ll never find out.”

“Oh,why not?” you teased, grinning up at him. “I bet you’d be great at ballroom dancing. Strong frame, steady hold… unless your footwork’s as rough as your hands.”

He swore he was going to buy some moisturizer the second he would leave that hospital room.

“My footwork is impeccable, thank you very much,” he shot back dryly. “And for the record, I’m reading Nietzsche, not auditioning for a dance competition.”

You giggled softly, the sound warm and light, as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Sure, Mr. Hotchner. But if the FBI ever has a formal gala, I’m claiming the first dance.”

What?!

Hotch stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. How… how did you know that? He didn’t recall mentioning that he worked for the FBI. His gaze flicked to your face, searching for any sign that the fog of anesthesia might be starting to lift. But your expression was still soft, dreamy, your words carrying that loose, unfiltered edge that came with the lingering effects of the drugs.

Swallowing his unease, Hotch flipped to another page of the book, trying to redirect his thoughts. “‘Without music,’” he read aloud, his voice calm despite the sudden racing of his heart, “‘life would be a mistake.’”

“That’s true,” you said, your voice steady but still faintly slurred. Then, without missing a beat, you added, “But I think it’s the same with voices like yours. Life would be a mistake without those.”

Hotch froze, your words landing like a sucker punch.

His mind reeled.

Was your memory beginning to return?

Were pieces of you slipping back into place?

Or was this just another effect of the drugs, pulling fragmented thoughts from the recesses of your mind?

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the uncertainty gnawed at him in a way he hadn’t expected. You seemed so open, so unguarded in a way he’d never seen before, and it tugged at something deep within him.

And then, as if sensing his shift in thought, you interrupted him again, your tone light and teasing. “Your hair.”

Hotch blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What about my hair?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s falling on your forehead when you read,” you said with a soft smile, your eyes focused on him as if this observation was the most important thing in the world. “You have really nice hair, you know.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, caught completely off guard. “Thank you…” he replied, his voice unsure, his heart beating a little faster. “I’m not sure where this is going.”

You sat up straighter, your eyes bright and full of mischief. “I really want to run my fingers through it,” you announced, utterly serious, as if it was a completely reasonable request.

Hotch froze, the statement catching him entirely off guard. “You want to… what?”

“I want to touch it,” you said again, as if that would clarify everything. Your gaze didn’t waver, wide and pleading, your lips curving into the smallest, most endearing pout.

Hotch let out a startled chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve definitely lost your mind,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. He should say no. This was ridiculous. Still, when you looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to deny you. “Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Your expression lit up like you’d just won the lottery, and the sight made something in his chest squeeze. You hesitated for a moment, as if savoring the permission, before gently reaching up. Your fingers threaded through his hair, moving carefully, almost reverently, as though you were afraid to hurt him.

Hotch closed his eyes, caught off guard by how… nice it felt.

Your touch was soft and warm, sending little waves of comfort through him. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d care about, but now, with you, it felt impossibly good.

For a man so used to control, the way you handled him with such tenderness made him feel vulnerable in a way he didn’t entirely mind.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with wide eyes, a hint of worry crossing your face. “It’s… coarse,” you murmured, as though you’d uncovered some devastating secret.

Hotch couldn’t help it - he laughed, the sound rich and warm as it spilled out of him. “Well, I’m sorry my hair isn’t up to your standards,” he teased, his tone light. “But I wasn’t exactly aiming for shampoo-commercial perfection.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful, and Hotch swore he could see the wheels turning in your mind. After a moment, a soft smile curved your lips, and with a gentle shrug, you murmured, “It’s fine.” Your voice was calm but sure as you shifted closer, your right hand delicately intertwining with his left. The book in his lap sat forgotten, replaced by the warm weight of your touch.

Hotch couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him, though it was more fond than anything. He shook his head, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good to know my flaws aren’t total deal-breakers,” he quipped lightly, his tone teasing, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand, the touch so light it sent a wave of warmth straight to his chest. “Not even close,” you said softly, almost as if you were reassuring him.

As your fingers lingered against his, the air between you seemed to shift. It wasn’t just about the touch anymore, it was the way you were looking at him. There was something new in your eyes, a quiet realization, like you’d found something you hadn’t been expecting.

“Aaron?” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips so softly it felt like a secret. There was a vulnerability in your voice that caught him off guard, gentle but unshakable. “What are we?”

Hotch blinked, unsure how to respond.

Colleagues?

Friends?

Much more than that, he realized, but how could he put it into words?

This was something so new. Something he wasn’t ready to label just yet.

“Partners,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the word settle between them. It was simple, but it felt right.

Partners, in every unspoken sense of the word.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and impossibly soft, brimming with something he couldn’t quite define. It made his chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. “You’re my boyfriend?” you asked, your voice tender, as if the idea was the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch felt the air leave his lungs. He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly as he tried to find the right words. He knew what he wanted, what he felt, but he was certain you didn’t feel the same way, at least not when everything was clear and steady in the light of day.

“I hope you forget what I’m about to tell you,” he said, his voice low and trembling despite his best effort to keep it steady. “But… sometimes, I wish I was.”

Your gaze softened at his confession, your lips parting slightly as if the words had unlocked something inside you. For a moment, he thought you might drift off again, the haze of sleep pulling you back under. But then you blinked, slow and deliberate, your hand still lightly resting in his. Your thumb moved, tracing a faint circle on the back of his hand.

“Then why aren’t you yet?” you asked, your voice carrying the soft lilt of sleepiness but with an edge of curiosity that struck him to the core.

Hotch froze. The question hung in the air between you, impossibly fragile and yet so heavy it pressed against his chest. His heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly felt raw, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. He met your gaze, his dark eyes softening, his defenses crumbling down without even emitting a single sound.

“I’m not sure the ‘sober’ version of you would agree with that,” he said, his tone laced with equal parts vulnerability and longing. His lips quirked into a faint, rueful smile. “And even if you did… it’s complicated.”

You didn’t look away, your sleepy smile only deepening as if his words had unlocked some hidden courage in you. Your gaze dropped briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, your voice dropping to a whisper so soft it felt like a secret shared in the stillness of the moment.

“But I really want to kiss you right now,” you confessed, your voice laced with raw honesty, the kind that sent a shiver down Hotch’s spine.

His breath caught, his heart thundering in his chest as he fought tooth and nails to keep his composure. He should have pulled back, created some distance, but he couldn’t move. Not when you were looking at him with that soft, dreamy sincerity that left him utterly defenseless.

“You really are bold, aren’t you?” he muttered, shaking his head, though there was no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

But even as he spoke, something in him shifted.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Hotch brought your hand - the one still intertwined with his - up to his lips.

When his lips brushed against your knuckles, it was featherlight, barely a kiss, but the tenderness of it made your breath hitch.

It was an old-fashioned, almost chivalrous gesture, but somehow it felt perfect, like the most natural way to convey everything he couldn’t yet say aloud. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, and even in your hazy state, he knew you felt something as well.

As he pulled back, his hand lingered, still cradling yours, his dark eyes met yours, holding them for a moment longer than usual, as if he were silently asking if this was okay.

If this was enough.

Or if it was too much.

You sighed softly, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment before you whispered, “I really like you, Aaron.”

“I like you too,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, though his heart was anything but. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But let’s make sure you still like me when you’re not under anesthesia, alright? And even if you don’t…” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll always be here. You have my word.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand still resting gently in his. Hotch couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips as he returned to the book, his voice low as he began to read once more.

As he read on, he noticed your breathing grow slower, and before long, you were asleep, your head tilting against his shoulder.

Hotch stopped reading and let out a soft, relieved breath.

There was something about the way you’d fallen asleep on him that felt right, like the world had momentarily shifted.

He could still feel the heat of your hand in his, your fingers intertwined with his in a way that seemed so natural, so unforced.

He glanced down at you, his heart skipping another beat as he watched you sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this connected to someone.

To be fair he did, but still - this felt different.

As you continued to sleep, your breath steady, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold, especially when you woke up and all the anesthesia-induced softness would fade, but for now, he would cherish this quiet moment with you.

It wasn’t long before the door clicked open, and the soft but familiar voices of Rossi and Gideon filled the room. Their footsteps were quiet, as if they were approaching a crime scene instead of the sight before them: you, still fast asleep, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder, your hand loosely clasped in his.

“Everything okay?” Gideon asked, his voice calm but carrying the undercurrent of concern he never had to spell out.

Hotch glanced up, his expression carefully neutral, though the rapid beating of his heart betrayed the calm facade. “Yeah,” he said as he looked down at you, still peacefully asleep, your breathing soft and even. “She’s fine now.”

Rossi stepped closer, taking in the scene with an exaggerated grin. “Well, well,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes landed on you curled up against Hotch’s shoulder. “Look at this. Aaron Hotchner, human pillow extraordinaire. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Hotch shot him a look, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “She drifted off like that,” he replied, aiming for professionalism but falling short as he glanced back down at you. The way your hand was still loosely intertwined with his wasn’t exactly helping his case.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Drifted off? Sure. But you didn’t exactly move, did you? What’s next, Hotch? Tucking her in?”

“Rossi,” Hotch warned, his tone flat, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Oh, wait!” Rossi’s grin widened as he pointed to the book resting on Hotch’s lap. “You’re already reading her a bedtime story, aren’t you? Nietzsche, no less. Real romantic, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted slightly, careful not to disturb you. “Do you have a point, Dave?”

“My point,” Rossi said, smirking, “is that you’re not fooling anyone. Honestly, it’s kind of adorable.”

Hotch found he much preferred that adjective when it came from your lips - even if it was accompanied by you absolutely roasting him for his pronunciation.

If he had to be humiliated, at least it sounded charming when you did it.

Before Hotch could retort, Gideon cleared his throat, cutting through the humor with a look that immediately sobered the room. “Aaron,” he said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “You’ve been sitting there for hours. Are you alright?”

Hotch stiffened slightly, his composure faltering just enough for the other two men to notice. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the way your head rested on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said, but the faint waver in his voice betrayed him.

Gideon’s gaze didn’t falter, he stepped closer, his tone quiet but resolute. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering down to your sleeping form. “It feels like it was.”

Rossi sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. “Hotch, you didn’t cause this. You got her here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” Hotch murmured, his voice strained. The image of you lying so still, so fragile, flashed through his mind again. He tightened his grip on your hand, as if anchoring himself to the present moment. “If I’d been faster-”

“If you’d been faster, what?” Gideon interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind, cutting through the cloud of guilt that hung over Hotch like a weight. “Do you think you could’ve single-handedly stopped what happened? That you could control the universe?”

Hotch didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as the familiar ache of self-recrimination clawed at him. The words he wanted to say lodged painfully in his throat, and for a moment, the room seemed unbearably heavy.

Gideon sighed, the sharpness in his tone softening into something gentler, more understanding. “Aaron, I need you to hear me. The world is chaos. We do the best we can, but we can’t stop it all. What matters is what you do afterward. And you?” He gestured lightly toward you, still curled against Hotch’s side. “You didn’t give up on her. That’s what counts.”

Rossi chimed in, his voice lighter but no less firm. “And judging by the way she’s practically glued to you right now, I’d say she agrees. So when she wakes up, just let us know. We’ll be out here waiting for updates.”

Hotch managed a faint smile at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rossi noticed, of course, and leaned in slightly, his grin turning into something more genuine. “You know, Aaron, if anyone deserves to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, it’s you. But maybe let her carry a little bit of it for you next time, yeah? I think she’d be more than willing.”

Hotch’s gaze flicked downward to you, still asleep, your hand resting lightly in his. He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

Gideon, sensing the moment, clapped a hand on Rossi’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said with a hint of amusement. “We’re hovering. He doesn’t need two old men breathing down his neck.”

Rossi gave a theatrical sigh, standing up straight and shooting Hotch one last pointed look. “Fine, fine. But for the record, you owe us details later. Especially if this turns into something interesting.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though the faintest twitch of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t you two have better things to do?”

“Paperwork,” Rossi replied with a wink, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Speaking of which…” He stepped closer, holding up two thick stacks of case files. “Yours and hers.”

Hotch blinked, looking at the towering pile in Rossi’s hands. “You brought paperwork now?”

“Of course,” Rossi said, his grin widening. “Why waste time? And before you even think about it, don’t go filling out her share too. I’ll know. Your handwriting’s painfully neat. Dead giveaway.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi raised a hand to cut him off. “Listen, Aaron, I get it. You’re a perfectionist, and you care. But trust me, if you do double the job, she’s going to know you didn’t let her handle her own part. And that? Not a great move. She’d probably chew you out once she’s back on her feet.”

Gideon, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in agreement. “Dave’s right,” he said, his tone calm but pointed. “The last thing she’d want is to be treated like she’s fragile. Like a victim. You know as well as I do, she values her independence. Let her keep that.”

Hotch frowned slightly, glancing down at the files in Rossi’s hands. “I wasn’t planning on treating her like a victim.” he said quietly, though his voice carried the faintest thread of defensiveness.

“I know,” Rossi said, his tone softening just a fraction. “But you’ve got a tendency to overcompensate when you’re worried. It’s not a bad thing, Aaron, it just means you care. A lot. But let her be the one to decide how much help she needs. Alright?”

Hotch glanced between the two men, his expression softening slightly. He knew they were right, but it didn’t make it any easier to sit back and do nothing while you recovered. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low. “But it’s hard not to want to help.”

“And you are helping,” Gideon said, his tone measured. “Just by being here, Aaron. She’ll appreciate that more than you realize.”

Rossi, never one to let a moment stay too heavy, clapped a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “And if you’re feeling too helpful, you can always do my paperwork instead. That’ll keep your hands busy.”

Hotch let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nice try, Rossi.”

Rossi grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, then. Just remember: no doubling up. You’ve got your own pile to deal with.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on the files tightening slightly as he glanced back at you, still peacefully asleep against his shoulder. The softness in your features, the even rhythm of your breathing - it was still a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing you.

The two men turned to leave, but Hotch’s voice stopped them just as they reached the door. “Jason?” he called, his tone quieter now.

Both men paused, glancing back at him. “Yes?” Gideon replied.

“Thank you,” Hotch said simply, his voice carrying a sincerity that didn’t need elaboration. He looked between them, his composure briefly slipping to reveal the depth of his gratitude. “To both of you.”

Gideon gave a small nod, his expression softening. “Anytime, Aaron.”

Rossi smiled, his hand already resting on the doorframe. “Well, come on, Jason,” he said, his tone light as he gestured for Gideon to follow. “Looks like it’s just the two of us now… and all that paperwork.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, their unintended double meaning sinking in. Gideon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Dave,” he said slowly, “you might want to reconsider your phrasing.”

“What?” Rossi asked, genuinely confused for half a second before the implication hit him. A sly grin crept across his face. “Oh, don’t tell me. You think I’m sweet on-”

Gideon held up a hand, cutting him off with a knowing look. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Rossi, undeterred, chuckled as he threw an arm around Gideon’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “Come on, partner,” he said with exaggerated warmth. “Let’s tackle this paperwork together. You know, make it a night to remember.”

Gideon sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep the faintest smirk from tugging at his lips. “Always a charmer, Dave, I’m telling your wife.”

If only you had been awake as well…

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell quiet again. Hotch glanced down at the files in his lap, then at you, still curled against him. He sighed softly, shifting just enough to make sure you were comfortable without waking you.

“Not fragile,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if reminding himself.

His hand brushed lightly against yours, and for a moment, he let himself relax. When you woke, there would so much to talk about, but for now, he was happy to simply be here, knowing you were safe.

--

The soft rhythm of your breathing shifted, and Hotch noticed instantly. His attention snapped to you as your head stirred slightly against his shoulder. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first, but the fog of anesthesia burned away with startling speed.

And then came the realization.

Your head was on his shoulder. 

Your hand was intertwined with his.

The shock hit your face like a lightning bolt, and within seconds, you shot upright, yanking your hand away so fast it was a miracle you didn’t sprain something. You moved like his touch had electrocuted you, a mix of horror and mortification flashing across your features.

“Oh my God.” You sat up even straighter, as though sitting at attention would somehow erase the fact that your entire body had just been resting against his.

Your face flushed a brilliant, almost comical shade of red as you babbled, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, I swear.” You flailed for the blanket, your hands tugging at it as though it were your last line of defense against the crushing humiliation.

Welcome back, Philosopher.

Hotch leaned back slightly, his lips twitching at the sheer drama unfolding in front of him. He hadn’t expected this level of theatrical self-reproach, but honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice far calmer than yours and laced with just the faintest hint of amusement. “You looked comfortable. How are you feeling?”

Comfortable?

You practically gawked at him, your expression hovering somewhere between mortified disbelief and outright horror.

Comfortable?

As if you hadn’t just violated every boundary you thought existed in your professional relationship. The nerve of him, to sit there, completely unfazed, while you were spiraling headfirst into the depths of social hell.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you let out a flustered groan and buried your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms. “This is hell. Feels like I’m stuck in my own infernal loop.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes slightly in a half-hearted attempt at wit. “Waking up on your shoulder, really? I don’t think I was ready to see your face that close first thing when I woke up.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he fought back a grin. “I believe it’s my duty to be the first face you ever see, given that I’m your emergency contact,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “Though, let’s be honest - I’m the one who should be shocked here. Why me and not Peter?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and attempting to brush off his question. “It’s easier for the bureaucracy,” you said breezily, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you. “Definitely nothing sentimental, partner.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, the teasing gleam in his eyes sharpening. “Oh, you were definitely sentimental before, though,” he said, leaning back slightly. “I’ve got the receipts to prove it.”

You groaned, clearly trying to brush past his comment. “Please don’t tell me I started speaking in Slovenian under anesthesia again,” you said, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Hotch’s smirk grew, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh no, even better,” he said smoothly. He tapped the book resting on his lap - Nietzsche for Stressed People - and your eyes immediately widened, horror mixing with bewilderment as you registered the title.

Exactly what he hoped for.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “And that wasn’t even the best part. You told me to read this to you. Begged me, actually.”

Your jaw dropped.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond, your mind grappling with the sheer absurdity of his claim.

Where was all your philosophy now?

Where was your quick wit to rescue you from this intellectual assault?

Finally, you pointed an accusatory finger at the offending book. “This?” you said incredulously, your voice rising in disbelief. “This… oversimplified travesty? I’d sooner join a Nietzschean death cult than beg anyone - especially you - to read that garbage to me!”

Hotch chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction. “Well, you did,” he said smoothly. “And not just once, you were very persistent.”

“Impossible!” you shot back, throwing your hands in the air as if appealing to some invisible jury. “Nietzsche already sounds like a cheap philosopher trying to sell used-car slogans. Why in the world would I beg for an even more watered-down version of his nonsense? And for stress relief?” You pointed at the title again, your disdain palpable.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed, his grin widening with every word. “Your words, not mine,” he said with a shrug. “Though I’ll admit, that’s exactly the reaction I expected from you.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, clearly enjoying himself. “But you did say - and I quote - that my voice was perfect for reading Nietzsche. Something about my consonants having a perfect ‘roughness’”

Your face burned with indignation. “I did not!” you snapped, though the way your voice wavered slightly betrayed a seed of doubt.

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he countered, raising the book in mock triumph. “You were very detailed, in fact. Said the way I said ‘Nietzsche’ - wrong, by the way - sounded so elegant it gave the whole thing a ‘melodic’ quality.”

Your head tilted back in exasperation, and you let out a groan loud enough to echo off the walls. “You’re messing with me. There’s no way I’d stoop so low as to say anything remotely positive about him. Nietzsche,” you added with a flourish of disgust, “is a blowhard hack who built his entire philosophy on misogyny, elitism, and insufferable word salads. He’s the philosophical equivalent of someone saying, ‘Actually,’ at the start of every sentence.”

Hotch burst out laughing, clearly unable to hold it back anymore. “Now that’s the reaction I expected,” he said, his tone smug. “You’re exactly as predictable as I thought.”

Your glare shot to him, sharp enough to cut glass. “Excuse me? Predictable?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a calmness that only further fanned the flames of your indignation. “That’s why I bought this in the first place. I knew it’d drive you up the wall.”

Your jaw fell open again, and for a moment, words failed you - again.

Recovering quickly, you crossed your arms over your chest, your glare sharpening as it zeroed in on him. “Let me get this straight,” you said, your tone deadly serious. “You bought an oversimplified Nietzsche book specifically to irritate me?”

Hotch tilted his head, an expression of exaggerated innocence plastered across his face. “Well,” he said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “I’d say it’s working perfectly.”

“You—” You jabbed a finger in his direction, your cheeks still pink with equal parts embarrassment and fury. “You are a menace, Aaron Hotchner. A calculated menace.”

Hotch smirked, clearly unfazed by the accusation. If anything, he seemed proud of it. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “But you begged me to read it to you,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Which makes you my accomplice.”

You scoffed, practically sputtering as you pointed a defiant finger at the offending book. “I was drugged,” you shot back, your voice dripping with indignation. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I’d been even remotely sober, I’d have burned that thing before letting you read a single word of it.”

Hotch laughed, a deep, warm sound that only served to stoke the fire of your irritation. “Duly noted,” he said, lifting the book slightly before setting it aside with deliberate care. “But it’s staying on my desk. You know, just in case you find yourself needing a little Nietzsche to calm you down.”

Your eyes narrowed further, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “If you think I’m letting this slide, you’ve got another thing coming. Prepare yourself for some German existentialism. I’ll quote Heidegger so much you’ll start questioning the meaning of every chair in your office.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hotch replied smoothly, his smirk widening. “In fact, I might even get the audiobook version next time. I hear it’s narrated by someone with a particularly ‘buttery’ voice.”

You let out an exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands as if that would shield you from the relentless teasing. “This is a nightmare. I knew it was hell the second I woke up on your shoulder.”

“And yet,” Hotch said, his voice light and thoroughly amused, “here you are, still stuck with me. It must be fate.”

You dropped your hands just enough to shoot him a glare, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed you. “Fate is a lousy matchmaker, you’re lucky I don’t have the strength to leave right now.” you muttered.

Hotch chuckled again, leaning back in his chair with the kind of smug satisfaction that could make you want to throw the nearest Nietzsche book at him. “Then maybe Nietzsche was right,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

You grimaced, practically recoiling at the words. “Don’t you dare quote him at me,” you snapped, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Your lips twitched, betraying the amusement you were desperately trying to suppress. “Nails on a chalkboard. Please, anything else.”

“Anything?” Hotch’s eyebrow arched, and the glint in his eyes made your stomach drop. He leaned forward slightly, his tone dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, Y/N, when will you learn technicalities are important? So, should I start with the part where you told me I was ‘handsome’, multiple times?!”

Your gasp was so dramatic it could’ve earned you a standing ovation.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you stared at him in mock horror. “I’d never,” you declared with as much conviction as you could muster. But the way your voice wavered, tinged with panic, made your denial sound a little less convincing.

“Oh, I wish I were making it up,” Hotch said, his grin widening like a cat toying with its prey. “But no, you were full of compliments. Called me handsome. Adorable. Pretty. Charming. And…” He paused for effect, his voice dropping lower. “Said you loved lawyers. It was probably the anesthesia,” he said, laughing openly now, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “But whatever the reason, it was very… entertaining.”

You let out a long, exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands like it could shield you from his teasing. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” you muttered, your voice muffled but still filled with resignation.

“Not a chance,” Hotch said, his tone entirely too cheerful for your liking. He leaned back in his chair, clearly reveling in your misery. “But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful, this time.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, your eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut steel. “Merciful?” you repeated skeptically. “Oh, forgive me, Your Honor, for I didn’t realize mocking me relentlessly counted as mercy.”

“It’s all about perspective,” Hotch replied smoothly, shrugging as if it were the most reasonable explanation in the world. “Besides, you’re a Nietzschean now. Surely you can handle the struggle.”

Your groan was so loud it could’ve registered on the Richter scale. “This,” you said, pointing at him with an overly dramatic flourish, “is exactly why nobody should ever trust a lawyer.”

“And yet,” he shot back without missing a beat, his grin unfaltering, “you declared your love for one. Repeatedly.”

You groaned again, dragging your hands down your face like they could somehow erase the memory of his words. The faintest twitch of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and of course, Hotch noticed. His smirk deepened, that maddening glint in his eyes growing sharper.

“Face it,” he said, leaning forward just enough for his voice to drop into that infuriatingly calm and self-assured tone. “You adore me, Nietzsche and all.”

“God help me,” you muttered, shaking your head in defeat. “This is actually worse than Nietzsche.”

“God is dead,” he replied smoothly, quoting Nietzsche again, his smirk growing impossibly smug.

Your eyes narrowed, and you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you mimicked his tone. “You know,” you began, your voice dripping with faux seriousness, “with all this quoting and smug superiority, maybe you should just replace me as the official philosopher of the BAU. Who needs my PhD when we’ve got you, Nietzsche Jr.?”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not a chance, Philosopher,” he replied, his voice steady and full of amusement. “You’re irreplaceable. But I do appreciate the suggestion, it’s nice to know you recognize my potential.”

“Oh, I recognize something, alright,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “And it’s not potential. It’s your very lawyerly ability to twist anything into a win for yourself.”

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned at you. “Call it a skill set,” he said smoothly. “You’re just mad because you’ve spent months trying to out-argue me, and here I am, quoting Nietzsche to your dismay.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, though a muffled laugh escaped you despite your best efforts. “Hell isn’t fire and brimstone. It’s you with Nietzsche.”

Hotch laughed softly, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softened, replaced with something warmer. “Not hell, Philosopher,” he said, his tone dipping into something quieter, gentler. “Just your partner keeping you grounded.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t stop the reluctant laugh that slipped out. It was infuriating, it was exasperating, and it was absolutely, unmistakably Hotch. “Grounded, huh? More like dragging me into an existential crisis.”

“Exactly,” he said, his smirk returning. “That’s what partners are for.” He saw your eyes drifted to the side table, landing on the rather ominous pile of paperwork stacked neatly to the side.

“What is that?” you asked, your tone a perfect blend of suspicion and exasperation, though you already knew the answer.

Hotch followed your gaze, his smirk returning like clockwork. “Ah, that,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the stack. “Your welcome-back gift from Rossi and Gideon. They wanted to make sure you didn’t feel left out.”

You let out an exaggerated groan and let your head fall back against the pillow. “Apparently, everyone just loves me,” you said, dripping with sarcasm. “What a touching display of affection. Truly heartwarming, nothing says ‘we’re glad you’re alive’ like a mountain of bureaucracy.”

Hotch chuckled, reaching for the stack and flipping open the top folder with mock seriousness. “Oh, look at this,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing edge. “An incident report… about you. How poetic. You should be flattered, not everyone gets their own paperwork pile.”

You glared at him, though it lacked any real venom. “Flattered? Please. If they loved me so much, they’d have done it for me.”

“Careful,” Hotch said, raising an eyebrow and holding the folder in front of him like a weapon. “Say another word, and I’ll fill out every single one of these on your behalf.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror. “Don’t you dare,” you shot back, pointing a warning finger at him. “I’d rather suffer through it myself than let you turn it into some twisted legal thesis.”

He shrugged, his smirk growing. “I don’t know… my reports do get glowing reviews from the higher-ups.”

You groaned again, dramatically draping your arm over your eyes. “Let me at least pretend to be a martyr for five minutes,” you said with a heavy sigh, your free hand resting over your heart. “Sacrificed at the altar of documentation.”

Hotch laughed, setting the folder back on the stack as he leaned back in his chair. “Noted. I’ll make sure to let everyone know how valiantly you suffered,” he teased. Then, softening slightly, he added, “But don’t be too proud to ask for help. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

The banter faded into a comfortable silence, the room settling into a peaceful lull. You glanced at him then, your eyes softening as you spoke. “Thanks for staying, Hotch,” you said quietly, the humor fading from your tone. “I mean it. I know you didn’t have to.”

His smirk softened, replaced by an expression of quiet sincerity. “It was the least I could do,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

You noticed the way his gaze dropped slightly, his dark eyes avoiding yours as he stared at his hands resting on his lap. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with raw emotion.

“You really scared me,” he admitted, the words landing heavier than you expected. “You… you were actually dead for a few moments.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he tried to steady himself. “I couldn’t bear the thought of all your endless research, all your questions, just… stopping. With all those answers left unspoken.”

Your chest tightened, your heart aching at the weight of his words. “Aaron…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head, the faintest trace of a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay now,” he said quietly, his voice steady but betraying a thickness that hinted at unshed tears. “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

Your throat tightened as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he interrupted gently, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. There was something raw and unguarded in his gaze, damp but steady, holding a depth of emotion that left you momentarily breathless.

The silence between you lingered for a moment, heavy but never uncomfortable. Then, Hotch tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied you. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate, “did you get any answers?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Slowly, you shook your head. “No,” you admitted, your tone calm despite the weight of the subject. “But that’s okay. It’s never about the answers.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his curiosity evident as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low, his focus entirely on you.

“It’s about the questions,” you explained, your voice slipping into that familiar, thoughtful tone he recognized so well, the one you used when you were diving headfirst into your work. “Philosophy doesn’t give you answers. In fact, it doesn’t even try. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle, but instead of helping you fit the pieces together, it keeps pouring more pieces onto the table. Pieces you didn’t even know existed, that make you question whether the picture you’re building is the right one, or if there even is a picture.”

That sounded like hell to him, but maybe if you were there by his side he might even start to enjoy the process.

You paused, your gaze softening as you looked at him. “Philosophy makes you challenge the question itself, as if asking, ‘Why are you even asking this? Is this the right question to begin with?’ It’s not about solving the puzzle at all. It’s about the act of puzzling over it. That’s where the beauty is.”

Hotch sat back, his dark eyes searching yours, a quiet understanding dawning in his expression. He let out a soft breath, his lips curving into a small, reflective smile. “That sounds exhausting,” he said, though his tone was warm, almost teasing.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s not, really. It’s liberating. Answers are… final. But questions? They keep you moving forward. They keep you alive.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before lifting to meet yours again. “I think I get it,” he said quietly. “But I don’t know if I could handle that kind of uncertainty. I like knowing where things stand.”

“Which is why you’re a lawyer,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Everything has to fit into neat little boxes for you, doesn’t it?”

Hotch smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shook his head. “And you’re the philosopher, questioning if there’s even a box standing there in the first place.”

You both chuckled, the shared laughter easing some of the tension that had lingered between you. For a moment, it felt lighter, like the weight of the day was finally starting to lift.

But then Hotch’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. “You know,” he said slowly, “you’re my emergency contact too.”

You blinked, his words sinking in as you studied his face, the sincerity in his dark eyes leaving no room for doubt. “I am?” you asked softly, the playful edge in your voice replaced by something gentler.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. For a long time now.”

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling inside you - gratitude, surprise, and something warmer, something that made your heart skip a beat. Did he feel the same way you did? “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s faint smile widened, and a teasing glint sparked in his eyes. “I didn’t think I needed to,” he replied, leaning back slightly as if savoring the moment. “You know, it was easier for the bureaucracy.”

Your jaw dropped, and you immediately narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the echo of your own words thrown back at you. “Oh, very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did you seriously just use my own line against me?”

He tilted his head slightly, his grin growing. “It felt appropriate,” he said, his tone light but carrying a warmth that made it impossible to stay annoyed. “After all, I figured it wasn’t anything sentimental, partner.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fought to keep the smile from breaking through. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“Only when they’re warranted,” he replied smoothly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And in my defense, it was a good line.”

“You know, repurposing my own words isn’t clever, it’s derivative,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You might think it’s witty, but all you’ve done is recycle my brilliance.”

His smirk grew, and he tilted his head as if considering your argument. “Recycling brilliance is still brilliance,” he countered, his tone as smooth as ever. “And technically, isn’t philosophy itself just building on the ideas of others? Derivative by nature, wouldn’t you say?”

Your mouth opened, ready to retort, but you paused, narrowing your eyes. “That’s different,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Philosophy is about expanding thought, not reusing it to make bad jokes.”

“Bad jokes?” he repeated, feigning offense as his eyebrows lifted. “I thought it was an excellent joke. Besides, I was a prosecutor. I could hold you on this point for days.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him as determination flared in your chest. “Hold me for days, huh? Well, let’s see if you can hold up under the weight of your own flawed logic,” you challenged, sitting up straighter. “Philosophy is about questioning assumptions, not recycling them. Your little quip? It’s not expansion, it’s plagiarism.”

Hotch’s smirk deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I disagree,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “Philosophy thrives on reinterpretation. Every great thinker - Plato, Aristotle, Kant, even your best friend Hegel - they all built on the work of those who came before them. I’d say my adaptation of your words follows a long tradition of intellectual discourse.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he’d turned your own argument against you. “That’s a stretch,” you countered, though your voice lacked some of its earlier confidence. “Using my words to make fun of me isn’t ‘intellectual discourse.’ It’s… petty.”

“Petty?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Or pragmatic? You’re a formidable opponent, why wouldn’t I use the strongest tools at my disposal?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you scrambled for a counterpoint. “That’s - no. That’s not the same as reinterpreting philosophical ideas! You didn’t add anything meaningful to the conversation. You just-”

“Turned your own logic on itself?” he finished for you, his smirk widening. “Exactly. Which is precisely the point of Socratic questioning. To challenge and destabilize assumptions. Seems to me I’m following your philosophical playbook perfectly.”

Since when did he know about Socratic dialectics?

You let out a frustrated huff, leaning back against the bed as you glared at him. “You’re twisting the argument.”

“I’m clarifying it,” he corrected smoothly. “You said repurposing ideas isn’t clever. I countered by showing that reinterpretation is the foundation of philosophical thought. You might not like the application, but the principle holds.”

You groaned, throwing your hands up in frustration. “That is not the same thing! Philosophy expands understanding, it doesn’t... lower the bar for comedy.”

“Are you saying I lowered the bar?” he asked, feigning hurt. “Because I distinctly recall you smiling at my ‘derivative brilliance’ earlier.”

“That was pity,” you retorted quickly, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Pity or not, it counts,” he said smoothly, sitting back with a satisfied look. “And for the record, your counterargument so far has been entirely ad hominem. If we were in court, you’d be losing.”

“Court isn’t real life, Hotchner,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Out here, people care about substance, not legal technicalities.”

“Substance?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “You’re defending philosophy, an entire field built on debating the substance of things that may or may not exist. Meanwhile, I’ve just proven that my joke exists and has substance because it elicited a response from you. Case closed.”

Your mouth opened, a retort forming on your lips, but nothing came out. His argument was airtight, and you hated how much sense it made. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“And yet,” he replied, leaning back with a triumphant grin, “you keep debating me. What does that say?”

“That I’m persistent,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Not that you’re right.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head with that maddeningly self-assured smile. “Persistent, sure. But right? Absolutely. Even you can’t argue with the strength of my logic.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your hands in the air in mock surrender. “Fine, you win this round. But don’t get used to it.”

“I’m already used to it,” he replied with a smirk that practically radiated smugness. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep giving you chances to catch up. It’s the least I can do.”

You pointed at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much, Hotchner.”

“Of course I am,” he shot back, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not every day I get to witness you admitting defeat.”

“Admitting defeat?” you scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Please. This is just a tactical retreat. You know, like when a general steps back to regroup before utterly annihilating the competition.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like a full surrender.”

“You’re unbelievable, Aaron,” you muttered, shaking your head, though the laugh bubbling up from your chest betrayed your irritation. “Unbelievably infuriating.”

“And yet,” he countered, his tone smooth, “you keep coming back for more. What does that say?”

“That I have the patience of a saint,” you replied without missing a beat, grinning despite yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening just a fraction, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “Or that you secretly enjoy this just as much as I do,” he said, his voice dipping slightly. “Admit it, Y/N - it’s never dull with me around.”

You scoffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine, you’re entertaining in a ‘lawyerly’ kind of way. But don’t get a big head.”

“Oh, too late for that,” Hotch teased, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “But don’t worry, I’ll leave room for you to catch up in the next debate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to keep me on my toes.”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into a warm smile. “What can I say? You make it fun, partner.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

AAAAAAA FUN FACT - 'Nietzsche for Stressed People' is a foreshadowing for 'Hegel For Dummies' in the next chapter

[soobnny]

ten things yang jeongin says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a bit of angst

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | JEONGIN

one. i was thinking about you earlier. nothing in particular, just—who you are. and it made me wish i’d known you sooner. everything about my life right now is infinitely better now that you’re in it.

two. i’d give anything to stop time every moment that i’m with you.

three. i found my old diary when i went home today. i know, yes, i was an angsty teenage boy with a diary. i quickly went through it just to see what i wrote. ah, if you saw it, you’d definitely laugh. but… one entry caught my eye. it was from a few years ago and it was at a point of my life when i thought nobody could ever love me. not even in a romantic sense, just generally and i was praying to anyone who would listen that i’d find someone who’d understand. i’m glad i held on and didn’t break because a year later, i met you. funny how things turn out, right? i don’t even know why i’m telling you this. i just, i guess i just wanted to thank you for coming into my life. you’re the kind of person i always hoped i’d find.

four. i know i’m not the best at understanding emotions, but i feel them very deeply with you. please give me time. i promise i’ll get to know my feelings better.

five. seungmin told me earlier how i don’t say ‘i love you’ a lot. he’s right, but it’s only because i don’t want my expressions of love to be light. that’s why i don’t say it often because i don’t want it to be thrown around like that. i want to say it in important moments. but i find that i want to tell you that every day. i think it’s because every moment with you is important to me. so, please don’t think my words are empty when i say them too much. i promise it’s never light when i tell you i love you. i mean it. i mean it so much that sometimes it scares me.

six. do you know the exact moment i knew i was in love with you? i can still remember it clearly. it wasn’t anything crazy, in fact it was just an ordinary day. you were over at my dorm and we had been laughing at this romcom that just came out, and then i felt it. i felt it when i had looked at you, how i wouldn't mind doing this forever. i hope i can love you for the rest of my life.

seven. i always think back fondly of college because of you. it would've been hell if it wasn't with you.

eight. i was thinking earlier, about how fleeting life really is. i don't—i don't even know what triggered me to think about it. how someone could be alive one minute and then gone the next. i don't like that... i don't like how abrupt endings always are. i don't want any moment with you to be the last, god, i can't even bear the thought of losing you. ah, fuck, i'm crying. fuck, sorry. i just, please don't leave me. please don't let it happen to you. i know you have no control over it, but please, please, please. please.

nine. cheer up, darling. i know things don't look too good right now, but what if things just get better from now on? i promise that your efforts at healing are adding up, so just hold onto me for now. you will always have me to hold on to.

ten. you are the best thing that's ever been mine.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒊 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆…

part 4 of 🌧️welcome to hell🌧️

summary - you finally made your decision.

warning - angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, attempt at gaslighting, betrayal, disappointment.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 5

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You had woken up the next day, and you just laid there. You couldn’t move, your entire being ached, you were exhausted both physically, emotionally, and mentally. You had never felt this exhausted in your whole life, you never felt this broken and stuck. 

You knew you had to choose. The weight on your shoulders was bringing you down and you didn’t know if you could go on any longer without making a choice, a decision that could change your life forever. 

You could either pretend and live on in an obvious one–sided marriage while your husband continues to sleep around with your EX–best friend and any other woman he has on the side OR you could confront him and leave, making him sign the divorce papers that you would have to get a lawyer for the moment you left. But it would mean you would have to start all over again. 

You flip onto your back and stare up at the ceiling, the memories from last night flash through your mind again, your husband and ex–best friend fucking each other in the bathroom, them fucking while you “slept”. You don’t think you could do this again nor could you pretend that everything was okay. You could hear them from the lounge room, their voices the only thing filling the quiet home. They sounded happy as they bantered and teased each other. 

You slowly slide to the edge of the bed and sit up. Your eyes connect in the mirror, and you finally look at yourself. You didn’t recognise the woman staring back at you, she seemed so lifeless, so broken. Where had the old you gone? Was she still there? You could see the sadness and rage swirling beneath your eyes, followed by bags and dried tears underneath. 

You were so sick of crying. When did you become so weak over a man?

Everything seemed to click when those beautiful blue eyes appeared in your mind. You could finally feel yourself think more clearly, you finally knew your decision. You weren’t making your decision because of those eyes, but they seemed to help clarify what you wanted. You could feel your soul tugging as the unknown man appeared in your thoughts. 

With one last look at yourself and a deep breath later, you turned. Ready. 

And finally, you chose yourself. 

“You got this.” You say and you will forever say it even with tears in your eyes. You move swiftly around the room, grabbing a suitcase from your cupboard and laying it down on the bed. You begin to pack, folding your clothes neatly before you place them in. You move onto shoes, accessories, makeup, perfume, and anything else that was yours. Once you zipped up your suitcase, you looked around the room. Your eyes caught in the mirror, and you finally felt freer. 

You grabbed your suitcase and spare outfit and left the bedroom. Resting the suitcase against the front door, you head into the spare bathroom as your other had been tainted with your husband’s infidelity and your ex–best friend’s betrayal. 

You had taken your time in the shower, washing the pain and sadness from your body. You even took your time making yourself look good, wanting him to regret his choices the moment you left him. With a final look in the mirror, you head out of the bathroom and into the lounge room. Your soon–to–be ex–husband and ex–best friend sitting too close for comfort, the sadness and anger that had been bubbling over had slowly disappeared as a blanket of numbness covered you. You could finally focus without your emotions getting in the way. 

“Somehow, I expected that this would happen eventually.” Your voice fills the room and the two on the couch jump apart, eyes wide as their heads whip towards you. You stare blankly, your heart still hurts but it was good. It was reminding you of what they had done. It was true, the old you had expected this would happen, but you were so caught up in thinking he loved you that you were blinded by him and his lies. “Given your history, I should have known better.” 

Johnny chuckles nervously, looking between you and Sarah. He wasn’t expecting this, but maybe he could lie and get out of it. Make you think it’s all in your head. “Babe, what are you talking about? I haven’t done anything!” He had to be careful, you hadn’t said what it was and if he wanted to lie, he couldn’t give anything away by saying the wrong thing. 

“So, you didn’t cheat on me?” You decided to play dumb. You remembered who you were, and the game changed. You wouldn’t let anyone make you forget again. 

Johnny scoffs. “Of course not, Babe! I love you! We’re just friends.” It was at that moment that he knew he fucked up.

“Just friends, huh?” You laugh. “Well, just friends don’t practically sit on top of each other especially when one is married, just friends don’t flirt with one another in a not so platonic way. Just friends don’t fuck each other in the bathroom while one friends wife is showering, just friends don’t slip out of bed when they think their wife is sleeping to fuck their friend in the other room. I’ve never had any friends like that, Johnny.” Your glare sharpens as you spit his name out with venom. 

His mouth opens and closes, and Sarah’s eyes widen. “How did you find out?” 

“You fucked her in OUR house! How do you think I found out?!” Your anger began to push against the numbness, wanting to be unleashed “I also remember everything. Every time you’d leave, look at another woman only for you and her to disappear a few minutes later, how you’d always be on your phone, OUR wedding.” You watched as they paled at the last part. 

“Babe! It was never supposed to get this far! Trust me, I’m so sorry!” He gets up and moves closer to you. Hurt flashes through his eyes when you back away from him, the thought of him touching you again disgusted you. 

“Get away from me! You’re not sorry, you’re just sorry you got caught! So don’t lie to me! I can’t believe I trusted you.” You could feel it, the blanket of numbness was slowly slipping away, and the tears returned, but they didn’t fall like before. 

“Did you ever really love me...?” Your gaze shifted, your ex–best friend didn’t even look guilty, it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders. What did you ever do to her? “Do you love her?” 

“Yes, I love you! I don’t love her, please believe me. It was just sex! She means nothing to me.” You could see the lie in his eyes, you wondered when he fell in love with her. You wondered if any of it was real. You wondered if his soul tugged the same way yours did when you bumped into that man, but if it did. Why didn’t he just leave? Why did they have to hurt you so bad? Why did they have to break you? 

You shake your head. “I don’t believe you.” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “You made a promise. The same day you made that promise you had your dick in someone else. Tell me, was any part of this at least real?” You stared into his eyes, watching him think. You sighed, “Do you have any regrets doing this to me?” A part of you needed to know.

Instead of answering your question, he responded with. “Do we really have to end it all?” Your eyes ached from the weight of unshed tears. He was your home, did he not understand? But, you weren’t his and it was time for you to go.

With a heavy sigh, you ignore his question like he did yours and pull off your wedding and engagement ring. “I loved you in this lifetime… I won’t make that mistake in the next.” With shaky hands you push the rings into his chest, letting go of them as his hand comes up. Hoping to catch yours, but instead he only catches the rings. “Goodbye, Johnny. I guess our story ends here…” You walk out of the room and towards the door, grabbing your things. This was it…

Maybe she was his happy ending. Hopefully you could find yours.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[roosterforme]

The Intern Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had an easy way about him that you appreciated. Working for him all summer sounded promising, and you were determined to make it fun for both of you. But as you dipped your toes into getting to know one another on the flights from San Diego to Lisbon, you ended up closer to him than you ought to be, both conversationally and physically.

Warnings: Language, brief mention of drugs (eventually 18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

"I still can't believe someone is paying me fifty thousand dollars to spend my summer on a yacht," you mused as the private Cessna jet gained altitude over the California desert landscape. 

Bradley turned and looked at you from his plush leather seat across the narrow aisle and smirked. "You needed the money that badly?"

"Don't play games," you told him, and he laughed. "My point is, I would have done this for free just to get Ted off my back."

His fingers tightened a bit on his armrest, knuckles growing white as he closed his eyes and said, "Now you tell me. My department budget could be looking a lot fatter right now if it wasn't for you."

You could feel the airplane leveling out as the flight attendant, a woman named Melissa, stood and made her way back toward the two of you. "Oh please," you groaned, earning one of those grins from him that made you feel light inside. "I know how much the shareholders make, Mr. Bradshaw. It's not like it's not listed on the Nasdaq Composite if you dig deep enough."

"Can I get anything for either of you?" Melissa asked. 

"I'll take an Old Fashioned, please. Hold the cherries," you replied while Bradley just shook his head in a jerky motion.

When Melissa disappeared behind the black curtain, you asked, "Why are you so tense? Have a drink and relax."

He huffed out a laugh. "It's eight in the morning. A drink is not going to help me."

You leaned a little closer, and his gaze definitely dipped down to your unzipped sweatshirt. "Don't tell me you're into something harder?" you asked, already thinking you'd be disappointed by his answer. You'd been there and done that. Hung out with and dated guys who were users, and it was not something you wanted to be around. Even out of your sorority sisters, there were only a handful who weren't high all week during grad school.

Bradley looked at you with alarm. "I'm absolutely not going to allow drugs on the yacht, Ivy League."

"Good," you replied right away, already feeling more at ease as Melissa dropped off your cocktail. "Thank you."

But she was looking at Bradley now as she said, "Please let me know if I can get you... anything."

He waved her off as you took a sip of your mediocre cocktail. Melissa had gone a little heavy handed with the bitters, probably because she was too focused on your hot boss to measure things correctly. "Take a sip," you told him, reaching across the aisle with your glass. "You look like you need it."

He grunted and accepted the drink, and a few seconds later, he had downed the whole thing. "Thanks," he whispered. "I hate this part of traveling to Europe for Avio. The flights are going to take forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him and took back your empty glass while he white knuckled the armrest again. "You were an aviator, Mr. Bradshaw."

When he looked at you again, his cheeks were a little flushed as he softly said, "You don't have to call me that. Bradley is fine." 

"Bradley," you said with a smile, and his face softened a little bit. "Why don't you like the Cessna? I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also hoping for something at least a little more luxurious from Avio, but it's not that bad."

He shook his head at you, something you were pretty sure you were just going to have to get used to for the summer. But his mustache twitched as he licked his lips and said, "Maybe chartered flights are normal for you, Ivy League, but I got used to being the pilot. Of something much less comfortable than a Cessna Hemisphere. So this just feels inherently wrong to me. I mean, I just drank a cocktail."

"Inhaled," you corrected. "And technically it was my cocktail," you said, waving to Melissa and holding up the glass and two fingers.

"Semantics," he grunted. "I miss my Super Hornet right now. Not only were there no drinks, there wasn't even a bathroom."

You watched Melissa duck behind the curtain again, probably to forget how to make a cocktail again. "Well, we'll be there soon," you told Bradley.

"I doubt these pilots can do Mach 2, so not fast enough for me."

You sighed, knowing this would probably be a lot easier for him if you could get him to drink a second Old Fashioned, but when Melissa dropped two more of them off, they were both garnished with a cherry. "I asked you to hold the cherries."

"Oh, yes. Sorry," Melissa muttered. "I can remove it for you."

"I'm allergic, so I'll actually need you to remake mine," you replied, and Bradley started to hand his back as well.

"Remake hers, and mine too," he grunted, suddenly looking far less nervous about the flight as he made to stand up. "Fresh glasses and everything. I don't want cherries anywhere near her." You looked up at him in surprise as he kind of rolled his eyes and followed Melissa. "I'll make sure she does it right," he whispered, and you watched him walk up to the curtain, as confident as he usually was.

"Thanks," you replied, even though nobody was there to hear you now. Well, he had promised he'd do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable. You watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, and you pressed your lips together. That blue Oxford shirt was the exact best color he could possibly wear, and you wondered if he knew it or if it was an accident that he chose it.

When he met your eyes, you didn't look away. You didn't really care if he knew you were checking him out. Until you did. Because when he walked back with two new drinks, you realized how little you knew about him. "Here," he grunted, voice deep and raspy. Then he clinked his glass to yours before sinking back into the aisle seat opposite yours again and buckling his seatbelt once more. 

"Thanks for doing that."

He smiled at you. "Can't lose my intern on her first day. Especially since I've never had one before."

You perked up, loving that you'd cornered the market. "I'm your first intern?"

"Yeah." He was back to downing his drink and looking miserable now, practically throwing the empty glass aside in favor of gripping the armrest. Abandoning your drink after one sip, you stood and stepped over his outstretched legs, his eyes following your every move as you eased yourself down into the window seat next to him. "You okay?" he asked, looking a little amused now that you were just inches away from him.

"I am, but you're not," you told him with an air of authority. "Just relax," you added as you took his hand from the armrest and held it in both of yours. His brown eyes went a little wider, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something. Probably question what you were doing. But you said, "You'll feel better in a few minutes," as you worked your thumbs along the pressure points in his big, rough palm. And then he closed his eyes and without a word, he leaned back in his seat with his hand cradled in yours. Soon he was sound asleep.

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

Bradley woke up to an almost pleasant humming sound all around him. His hand was warm and wrapped up in something soft, and when he opened his eyes, your face was just a few inches from his as you slept. His body thrummed with something akin to desire as you pursed your haughty lips in your sleep, long lashes grazing your perfect cheeks. 

Shit. His hand was resting on your body, fingers tangled up with yours and wrapped in your designer hoodie. His knuckles were pressed to the soft skin which was exposed between your high waisted pants and your damn sports bra. And based on the way the plane was started to descend, he'd taken a five fucking hour nap all cuddled up with his intern. With Ted's goddamn daughter.

Hands off. He'd been telling himself to keep his hands off of you, and just a few hours in, he was literally doing the exact opposite. But you'd been sweet to him, carefully massaging the pressure points in his hand until he was able to fall asleep. You must have drifted off then, too. And now he was loath to remove his hand from your body or look away from you.

He needed another fucking drink. Or several. He leaned carefully over you, and sure enough, he could see the New York skyline coming into view through the small window. And he could smell your perfume. And that was when you opened your eyes, immediately sitting up a few inches and nearly bumping noses with him.

"Sorry," he grunted. "I was just trying to see where we were."

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice soft and a little rough from sleep. Jesus, he liked the way that sounded. 

"Almost to New York. Want me to ask the pilot to circle back to Philly so you can wave to your alma mater?"

You laughed and sat up a little more, arching your back, but you didn't immediately let go of him. "No, thank you. I've only been gone for a week, so I'm sure the City of Brotherly Love is enjoying this break."

Bradley found himself continually laughing at your words, but now you were looking at his hand all linked with yours, so he started to pull his free. You didn't stop him, and when you looked up at him, you even asked, "Did you sleep okay?"

He nodded his head once. "I did. Thank you. For making me feel better."

You sat up the rest of the way and stretched, and he had to look away as you said, "A good intern is good at everything."

Your words weren't dirty, so why the hell were his thoughts? He should be trying to find out more about your father, not imagining you wearing a fluffy white bathrobe while you drank an Old Fashioned sans cherry next to his bed. He was miles away in his mind when the plane touched down on the runway before taxiing to the refueling spot. His stomach was growling wildly now as Melissa walked back and offered them a very late lunch. 

"I didn't want to interrupt anything," she said, looking between you and Bradley like the two of you had been all over each other. When she turned away to get the salads and sandwiches ready, you climbed over him to use the bathroom, and Bradley watched you ignore a phone call as you went. He also realized that he'd have to tread very carefully around potential clients over the next few weeks. It was one thing for Melissa to make a comment like that, but it would be something entirely different if a line like that got back to Ted.

While the plane was refueled and the pilots switched places for the longer flight from New York to Portugal, you and he ate in companionable silence. You'd returned to your seat across the aisle, and you ignored another call before tucking your phone away in your bag. Bradley also used this time to drink a gin and tonic in the hopes he'd be able to sleep again, slightly afraid you wouldn't join him on his side of the aisle to make him feel cozy again. 

"We'll be taking off again in five minutes," Melissa informed him as she cleared away the meal and brought pillows and blankets. Your phone was out again now, and you ignored yet another call as Bradley shook his head.

"Are you going to keep me up at all hours of the night on the yacht yelling at your little boyfriend on the phone?"

You scoffed and looked right at him as you said, "I don't date little boys. Are you going to keep me up calling your wife and kids back in San Diego?"

He didn't want to laugh at the way you talked to him and kept him on his toes. He also registered that the way you'd let him hold your hand while he slept had only come from a platonic place if you were just now asking if he was married. "I don't have a wife or kids."

"Why not?" you asked, leaning on your armrest with your tits smashed together. "You could be married. If you wanted. You're tall and you have all your hair."

"Are those the only prerequisites?" he asked, trying not to look anywhere other than at your face. God, your little bikinis were going to be the absolute death of him if he didn't get fucking laid soon.

"No," you replied without missing a beat. "You're smart, too. Handsome. Tons of money. And you seem nice. Good manners. You make me laugh. Seems like someone would have snapped you up off the market by now."

His cheeks felt warm again as he tried to figure out how to answer. You'd just complimented him nine different ways, and he was reeling a bit. "Because I was in the Navy. Nobody in their right mind would trust a Navy guy with that level of commitment."

"Why not?"

"They lie and they cheat," he said, repeating the lines women had been telling him since he was twenty two. "Nobody you'd want to settle down with."

But you didn't look convinced as your smile tilted a little higher on one side. "Are you a cheater?"

He knew somehow he wouldn't get away with speaking anything but the plain truth to you from here on out. "No."

"I didn't think so." You looked satisfied as you settled back in your seat, about to snuggle under your blanket. The sky was a little darker now, and there was nothing below except for the Atlantic Ocean. 

He had a slight buzz from the gin, and he felt a lot better than he had earlier this morning. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop before crooking his finger and coaxing you back to the seat next to him. "We have a little work to do, Ivy League."

While he expected you to complain, you didn't. Rather you popped out of your seat with your pillow and blanket, climbed over him and settled in the window seat once more. "What is it?" you asked eagerly, and when he logged in to his email account, he saw something from Ted right away. Just a reminder to keep himself on track.

"I'm going to teach you a little bit about the Avio software we will be marketing, so by the time we land in Lisbon, you'll know as much as I do."

You curled up with your pillow and blanket and looked at him, your words doing more to him than you probably intended. "Don't test me, Sir, or I may end up knowing more than you."

"You're a brat."

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

This time when you woke up, it wasn't to Bradley's touch or his brown eyes. This time it was to Melissa's laughter and Bradley's soft voice. "When are you flying back to the states?" she asked him as you cracked your eyes open. 

"Not any time soon," he replied smoothly. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Well I hope I'm on your flight back," she said flirtatiously as you propped your head up. 

But Bradley wasn't paying attention to her now as he turned your way. "You're up," he mused, and you just nodded, wishing you'd had time to shower or check how you looked before he saw you. "We'll be landing soon. And then we'll get you and your designer luggage to the yacht."

You watched Melissa roll her eyes at you before she stood. "I'll be right back with coffee and some breakfast."

"Hold the cherries! Please!" you reminded her, just to be obnoxious. When she pretended she didn't hear you, Bradley chuckled. "You know, it's kind of refreshing being given an attitude. Is this how you feel when I give you one?"

His eyes went a little wider. "Don't make me call your father."

"I thought you valued your intern," you replied with a smirk. "So don't make me spread that nasty little rumor around Avio that you went to the University of Bumblefuck."

"Virginia," he snorted.

"Whatever."

Melissa dropped off mugs, a carafe of coffee, cream, sugar and pastries. "No cherry," she said blandly as you reached for a blueberry muffin. 

"Much appreciated," you replied as you peeled back the wrapper and took a nibble while Bradley ate an apple danish in two bites before he poured coffee into both mugs. Clearly the two of you were hungry. You also had no idea what time it was. You had to put your phone on silent since your dad wouldn't stop calling you, even though you told him you'd talk to him when you got on the yacht.

"How do you take your coffee?" Bradley asked as you silently chewed. You went to reach for the creamer, but he pulled it away and looked at you. 

You swallowed down your muffin and said, "Cream and sugar, but you don't have to do it. I should probably be doing it for both of us."

He shrugged and got your coffee fixed up exactly the way you would have made it yourself, as he said, "You and I will be working in close proximity, and I feel like this is the kind of detail I should know."

"Well how do you take your coffee?" you asked, but he set down the cream and sugar without adding anything to his. "Black, no sugar."

"Black, no sugar," he confirmed before taking a sip. You watched the alluring scars on his neck as he swallowed, once again surprised that he wasn't married. He didn't seem as helpless as your father, but he seemed like the kind of person who should have someone warm at home when he returned from work each night. Someone to look after him. 

You took a sip of your own coffee and smiled, because it really was perfect, especially for something that was made on an aircraft. "Thank you."

"Any time," he responded, and you eased back in your seat and looked out the window as the Portuguese coastline came into view. You drank your coffee and picked at the muffin, watching as the very early morning sun made the Atlantic Ocean glitter. There were marinas filled with yachts and sailboats, and you wondered if Avio's was amongst them. 

"Were you on the yacht with my dad last year?" you mused as the plane dipped lower in the sky.

Bradley set his mug down, and maybe it was just you, but his features suddenly seemed a little guarded. You'd always been good at reading people, which made it easy to get a favorable response when you needed one. But he'd never looked at you this way before. "For a few days. One of my buddies from the Navy was there too. Jake Seresin."

You blinked and his expression was neutral again. "The name sounds familiar."

Bradley laughed as the plane touched down. "The face will be familiar, too. Soon enough. He's champing at the bit to get onboard for a few days here and there this summer."

You set your mug down as well and said, "Don't worry, Sir. I'll dazzle him to bits during the dinner parties."

Bradley's nostrils flared, and his pupils grew wider. "I don't doubt that."

When you laughed, he smiled before looking down at his hands. "Well, Bradley, I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get on the yacht. I wonder what kind of caviar the chef will serve for lunch."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, prompting him to do the same. "There are different kinds of caviar?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he picked up your tote and handed it to you. 

"Don't embarrass me, Bradley. The other interns will all laugh at me behind my back."

But he just shook his head as he moved to the side and said, "After you, Ivy League." So you led the way to the front of the aircraft, thanked both pilots and Melissa, even though she clearly didn't like you, and you climbed down the stairs onto the warm tarmac. 

You shouldn't and absolutely couldn't keep reacting to Bradley the way you were, but when he placed his hand on your lower back and said, "This way," you nearly moaned. You looked up at him as he tried to guide you toward the waiting limousine. "Go climb in. I'll grab the bags."

"I can get my own bags," you insisted.

"I know you can, but you have nine hundred of them, and I'm still hungry, and I can do it faster."

"Fine," you replied, and you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked toward the driver who was holding the back door open for you. "Thank you." As you slid across the leather seat, you watched Bradley effortlessly lift multiple pieces of your luggage at the same time while you bit your lip. What the hell was it about him? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he was enjoyable to watch. His voice made you feel a little fuzzy. He was raw and genuine like your favorite pair of well worn Levi's which were tucked away in your Dior suitcase he was carrying with one massive hand. 

You looked away. You counted to ten. You already knew this was going to be an issue, so you weren't sure why it was hitting you now. When you glanced his way again, he was bringing his own two, nondescript pieces of luggage to the limousine trunk, and then he was sliding across the seat next to you.

"Twenty minutes to the marina from here," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the seat next to your thigh. "And then we can get to work."

You pursed your lips. "I was under the impression we would be playing, too."

He chuckled as you started to look through the compartments next to the seat. "We can play a little bit."

You opened what turned out to be an ice chest, and ran your fingers along a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. "We can start with this," you said, pulling it free from the ice and holding it up.

He was looking at you, not the bottle, but that little twitch of his mustache was his tell. Even though his eyes seemed stern, he held out his hand, and asked, "Think we can finish it in twenty minutes?" 

You smiled brilliantly as you handed it to him. "Don't ever ask me that again."

"Sassy," he muttered, unwrapping the foil and slowly twisting the cage loose before wiggling the cork free with his big hands until it popped. "Here you go."

"No," you insisted as the driver pulled out onto the main road. "You first. Drink to a successful summer."

Bradley nodded once and took a sip before handing you the bottle. His eyes were on your lips as you pressed them to the bottle where his had just been. "To a successful summer," he echoed, his voice a deep rumble as the city went by in a blur. You couldn't stop smiling, and neither could he, and approximately eighteen minutes later, when he helped you out of the limousine, his cheeks were flushed pink.

"Is that it?" you asked, very slowly removing your hand from his as two men rushed your way in matching gray shorts and navy polos. There was a massive yacht with Down to Business lettered across the back and Avio Technologies along the side.  

"That's it," Bradley confirmed, slipping his black sunglasses on as he reached to shake hands with the two men who introduced themselves as Antonio and Nikolai. Bradley told them your name, and they both took your hand in turn. "She's my intern for the summer," he said smoothly, and then they started to unload your luggage. 

"Let's go," you said, glancing back at Bradley as you started down toward the marina gate, and then he was right next to you again with a few long strides. "I hope you can find your Armani swim shorts quickly, because that pool is calling my name." 

"I can, actually. One of the benefits to only bringing two suitcases." He helped you over the gap, and as soon as you were on the yacht, you felt at home. You knew this was going to be the summer you needed.

"Let's go meet the captain," he murmured, his hand finding your back again. 

"Do you think he has more champagne?"

"Ivy... it's nine in the morning."

"I'm still on San Diego time."

Bradley paused for a beat while he did the math. "It's one in the morning back home."

"Exactly," you told him with a little pout that you knew wouldn't actually faze him. He just smiled as he guided you past the pool you couldn't wait to jump into and an enormous jacuzzi. You walked through a dining room that could seat twelve people and past a fully stocked bar. It was like the best offerings from your sorority house and your dad's estate all rolled into one.

"Welcome aboard!" boomed a voice with a French accent. "We've been expecting you. I'm Captain Marcell." He was probably in his sixties with gray hair and a matching beard, and he reminded you a bit of your favorite professor at UPenn.

"Pleasure," you replied, shaking his hand after Bradley told him your name.

Next to him were lined up two friendly looking women, one with short brown hair and one with long brown hair. Beatriz and Lucia, the stewardesses, would be taking care of everything you needed. And next to them was an attractive man wearing a bit of a scowl. 

"I'm Rocco. The chef. I can make anything. I don't like changing the menu at the last minute."

Oh, you liked him already as you shook his hand. And then your heart fluttered as Bradley said, "I need to speak with you about removing any cherries from the yacht before we leave the marina." 

"Cherries?" Rocco asked, scowling deeper.

Bradley glanced at you as he removed his sunglasses, and his mustache twitched. "Yes. Can't have any onboard. That applies to the kitchen and the bars. My intern has an allergy."

"I'll take care of it," Rocco replied before turning away, and you'd never been more certain that someone would take care of something in your life. Then Captain Marcell handed Bradley a folder.

"Rough itinerary. Weather report for the week. List of phone numbers. Please let me know how long you'd like to spend in each port. I can of course adjust anything as needed. Now if you will select your cabins, Antonio and Nikolai will deliver your luggage."

"Thank you," Bradley replied, handing the folder to you. "You're in charge of this. Now why don't we head down so you can choose a room?" He nodded his head toward a wide set of stairs.

You walked down to the lower deck, and once you and he were alone again, he pointed to the left. "The sooner we get settled, the sooner the swim trunks come out?" you asked softly. 

"Something like that." His soft chuckle was right behind you as you stopped at a mint green door with gold trim.

"Is this my room?" you asked, placing your hand on the doorknob. There was a little keypad next to it. 

"If you want it to be," he replied. "Or, there are three others you can choose from."

"Which one are you taking?"

His eyes flitted from your face to a spot a little further down the hallway. "White door."

When you turned to investigate, you saw a pink door directly across from that one. "Wouldn't it be easier if my room was near yours?"

"Probably." His expression was neutral, but that damn mustache was giving him away. 

"I'll take the pink one."

"Very good. I'll get the room codes from Beatriz, and I'll tell them where to deliver the luggage."

"Great," you replied, still standing close to him, but he didn't move.

"Perfect," he said, brown eyes focused on yours. The hallway was narrow, and now he was placing his hands on his trim hips, taking up even more space. "Try not to get into too much trouble while you look around."

Finally he turned toward the stairs, but you called his name right away. "Bradley?" He glanced back over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Thanks for mentioning the cherries."

"Sure," he replied easily. "I got you, Ivy." Then he was walking back up the stairs and out of sight.

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

We are about to set sail. Let's get into a little trouble. Let's have a little fun. Already feeling a little tension between Bradley and Ivy League. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

[icarusredwings]

Silence

In an alternate universe.. Where Wade let Francis live, hoping it'll make him a better person. Hoping.. that by listening to Colossus.. just this one-time ...life wouldn't screw him over...

Chapter 1.

Francis Forever

Tw: Blood, intense codependency, feral behavior, discrimination, PTSD attacks, sleep issues, crying, derealization.

A 900 follower special.

Something wasn't right.

He picked this up about a week ago. The never leaving feeling that something was wrong.

Sure, Wade left for work trips. It wasn't uncommon. But it's been 8 days. Not a call. Not a voicemail, not a text saying he's okay. He hasn't even shared a stupid tiktok to him since.

Al told him not to worry so much, That Wade can take care of himself. That he has been since he moved in with her. “It's not like he can die.” She had said but something deep within Logan's chest felt flipped, uneasy and heavy. He knew she was just trying to calm him down but with each day that passed he became more restless.

He's tried calling. He's texted. He's messaged him on every social media account he knew of, even emailing him. Nothing. None at all.

It happened about 6 Days ago. When he sat up from their bed in the middle of the night, alone, with a devastating feeling in his gut. Like someone had just told him that all of the love he felt was in danger.

The last time he remembered feeling this way was when he thought his brother had killed his wife.

He's been trying to lay his head back down to sleep but instead he was pacing around the apartment at 3 am like a caged animal, trained to stay within these four walls, mentally somewhere far away.

“Go Take a walk. Because if not, you’re gonna burn a hole in our floor.” She told the man.

The dirty glare (at least, that's what she assumed) made her roll her eyes.

“I'm serious, It's not good for you to be cooped up like this. You've checked the window 17 times within the last hour, Logan.” The way she said his name was soft, the affection of a wise old woman.

“Yeah, sure, like you're going to get your deposit back anyway.” He growls back, as if only hearing the first part. It wasn't like Logan to be rude to Althea. Even when pissed off, so this was odd. She now understands the severity of the situation.

“Look, I'm sure everything is fine and he just forgot to charge his phone. You know how dumb that little psychopath can be. Once he was gone for 3 months and came back just fine.” She mutters to him.

Beginning to feel a snarl raise up in his throat, Logan grunts, shaking his head. He wanted to tell her to shut up. That she didn't understand because she didn't have a husband. That she didn't have anyone that loved her the way he loved Wade and he hasn't felt this worried over someone in decades. But he swallowed that. His mother raised him better… if he didn't have anything kind to say.. not to say it.

“...”

“And take the mutt with you, she's been dying to go to the park.”

About to decline, the dog brought the leash to him, wagging her tail hard from the sheer word “park” alone.

“Fine!....come on mary..”

Even walking the dog down the street, his pace was too quick, her little legs struggling to keep up as he growled, uneasy. He didn't know what to do without him talking to him. Was it always this noisey in the city? Usually Wade would yell over the noise, make jokes about people passing by and holding his hand to keep him grounded. So now what?

He didn't know where to put his hands.

Everyone always says how good he was getting but what did any of that matter if the man who made him better wasn't here to see any of his progress!?

He was trying to become the best version of himself, despite Wade sweetly telling him each night how he was the BEST wolverine because he was HIS wolvie, but he was only the best when with him!! How did he not get that!?

It didn't matter now. None of it did.

Grunting loudly, Logan stops his frustrated fast walk only when he heard Puppins whining and panting, trying hard to keep up. “Sorry..” he tells the dog, picking her up instead, in which she wags her tail, trying to put her tongue in his mouth as a thank you.

“Just because your papa gets to do that doesn't mean you can.” He tells the dog, Who pouts. Why not? She was a deadpool. She knew it. And if her papa got too, why not her?

Logan walks. He walks. And walks. And walks. Until finally something catches his eye. How did he end up here? When were the birds chirping? Since when did the sunlight show through the gaps of tree lines that were lined up on the sidewalk? Oh shit..

It was morning.

‘It's been at least 3 hours’ he thinks, but still he was upset, at least still in New York but found himself somewhere he didn't remember. By the water. Why would he go there? God- How long did he walk? Now he has to walk all the way home. And poor puppins? She didn't even want to come on this stupid trip and- he catches a scent.

“Wade?”

Sniffing more, the smell was off, as if he put on sea salt and air pollution perfume but his excitement clouded his judgment. “Wade!”

Shoving Mary into his flannel, he runs to the end of the street, stopping with a skirt of his boots, nose to the air and has the stance of a hound dog standing on its hind legs to smell for a coon in a tree. The moment he got another whiff, he darted in the other direction- into traffic.

Jumping over (and damaging) the hood, the driver shouted, waving a fist at him. “You damn mutie!! Look what you did to my car!!”

Puppins growled from hearing the word, letting out a few angry yips as Logan kept going, zig zagging through the lanes until he was on the sidewalk again, managing by the skin of his teeth.

Panting, he took deep breaths, huffing as his nose twitched. “Fuck! Where did- There.” He says to himself, the hairs on the back of his neck and arms raising as he catches just a sniff over the hot dog stand next to him.

His eyes widen, a toothy grin coming over him as he sees a lady in red with heavy make up. Now- Don't get him wrong, he didn't mind, but he was curious as to why Wade wouldn't answer him if he's- er- she's right there. “Wade!” He calls, but she still doesn't look.

Jogging up to her, the smell got thicker, but something still wasn't right. He could smell the chemicals of the concealer, the wig glue, the cancer, but this perfume wasn't Wade's. And also… When did Wade menstruate?

“Wade?” Logan borderline whimpered, poking his face in front of her, sniffing, only for her to scream and slap him with her purse. Instinctively, he jolts back, tilting his head, now with very sad eyes.

That wasn't Wade… He should have known better.. What's wrong with him? Since when could he not do something as simple as track down someone he's lived with for an entire two years already?

For a moment it hits him. Tears welling up in his eyes, his fists unclenching, ducking his head… he couldn't smell him.. and he didn't recognize this street. He didn't know where home was. And Wade wasn't here to guide him back…

He missed the way he would have grabbed Him by now, told him not to get lost, and joked that they should get him a collar so people don’t think he's a feral stray.

He missed his stupid jokes.

He missed his ever changing textured hands.

He missed his wretched smell of gun smoke, pizza bagels and inner abscesses.

He missed his annoying laugh.

He missed him more than anything.

There was nobody better to help him in this situation, where his vision became blurry, he was shaking, and his claws itched, wanting to pop.

Dipping into an alley, he put his back against the wall, sinking down as he held Mary close, trying to remember the breathing exercises that Wade had taught him, trying to calm himself as he let Puppins lick the salty tears that came from his panicked eyes.

It took his whole life to find out.. but he needed Wade. He needed him. That little katana waving bastard with the crooked smile and such big brown eyes from years ago. The one he would defend from Vic. He needed him. Those frustrating quips didn't seem so bad anymore.

“B-but you knew from the start it was always going to be us, didn't ya? You fucking asshole…” He whispered, Burying his face into his arms, claws unsheathed and bleeding.

Wade knew Logan would need him. Wade knew it from the start. It's why he was so nice to him. That's why he brought him home. It's why he gave Logan a home. A family. And the luxurious comfort of knowing the fridge would never be empty, and he always would have a warm bed to sleep in.

So how could he leave him alone… again..

[rekino2114]

How did the " I am a devil/ one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse" for Makima and Fami and how long did it take

I was curious about how this situation played out ever since the Asa/Yoru relationship headcanon, given it was a requirement for the relationship to continue/start and anyone who has a speck of emotional intelligence involving romance would tell you honesty is key to a long lasting healthy relationship not to mention dating one of the most powerful devils in the world is something you should be given a heads up about going forward.

Makima revealing her identity to you

A/n:sooooo I might have gotten a bit too much into writing this for makima and wrote more than usual i feel like what I had in mind for fami was kinda shorter than this and that it wouldn't have been fair in my head (also I didn't have that much time to finish it anyway) I'll do the fami part of this tomorrow in another post. Sorry for the inconvenience and if that's not what you wanted.

As much as she hated to admit it, makima was scared.

Fear was a rare but not new emotion to her, the only times she felt it was when you were fighting a strong devil like a primal one or when you were close to death in general. But all of those instances of her fear had something in common: she was scared that you would die that you would be ripped away from her in an unfair way, she never consider the fact that you would leave her of your own volition.

Makima took for granted the fact that you would love each other and be together forever, after all she loved you more than anything she could ever do could describe and you loved her too, she would literally give you the world if you just asked for it, as long as you would be with her you would get anything you could have possibly ever wanted in exchange of just continuing to love her. She had never thought you would have a reason to leave her...until now.

She had tried to delay this conversation as long as possible, only deciding to tell you after months of you dating (close to a year),the reason why she decided to reveal her identity to you was simple: it was better to tell you than you finding out some other way, you would have felt betrayed by her if you had found out without her telling you beforehand, the last thing she wanted to do was make you feel like she didn't love you.

The reason she waited so much before telling you was because she had no idea what would happen to her if you left her. Maybe she would have gone back to her old self, but she doubted it, the her from before was someone who had never loved and never been loved, and the hypothetical her was someone's who had that loved torn away from her because of nothing but herself. She would either become an even worse version of the emotionless control devil or she would have just asked denji to eat her to end her pitiful existence.

"Hey makima you called me right?"

You entering her office snapped her out of her thoughts, she put on a fake smile and started talking to you

"Yes darling,please sit down"

You did as she said and looked at her, the way she was smiling felt forced and you could see that.

"Is everything alright? You look worried"

".....you really understand me... I have to tell you something it's....really important"

"Sure what is it?"

Seeing you smile so innocently and warmly at her made her heart skip a beat. She could never hurt you, and that included lying to you.

"I want to tell you something that will definitely change your view of me in many ways but before I do that please know that I love you I always have and I always will, none of the loving words I told you were lies and none of the actions I have done have been made to manipulate you in any way, what I feel for you Is love at the purest state"

Makima stopped and you nodded at her as a sign to continue

"I.........am the control devil"

She gave you time to process what she said before starting to speak again with her head lowered as to not see your reaction.

"I am one of the four horseman of the apocalypse, some of the strongest devils that exist, I have the ability to control anyone who I feel is beneath me, please know that I have never used it on you as I both can't and despise the thought of"

Makima could feel her heart sink deeper and her face sweating more with every word she uttered she was so afraid of your reaction she still could bring herself to confront you face to face.

"I-i have just one request for you, I understand if you hate me for lying to you but let me explain myself, I have never been truly loved in my life until I met you you have made me feel emotions for the first time in my life and.....I can't lose you it would mean losing the part of me that i value most...s-so-"

Makima finally raised her head to look at you, tears that she never even realized were there ran through her cheeks.

"Please don't leave me"

Makima had never cried tears that were of true sadness all of the times that tears were present in her eyes they were ones of happiness caused by you, she had never felt sad enough to cry.....until now, she also felt very embarrassed that you saw this vulnerable side of her so she quickly lowered her head again expecting you to insult her or run away. What greeted her were not harsh words but your warm hands wrapping themselves around her body.

"It's fine I forgive you, what you did just now proved to me not only that you love me but that you are as much of a human as everyone else"

Makima was so shocked at your answer: You not only forgave her but considered her a human? She opened her mouth to speak, but as if you could read her mind, you answered her question even before she could ask it.

"You were worried I was gonna leave you, so much that you cried, you were worried that the person who showed you what love and emotions truly are was going to reject you just because of something you were born as and that doesn't define who you are now. That's an incredibly human thing to feel. Your tears were real, I'm sure of that, I've known you for enough time to know when you're faking emotions and that....was probably the most real display of feelings I have ever seen, you are a person makima, a person that I love and will continue to love forever"

Makima fell silent for a moment she needed a moment to fully realize what was happening but as soon as she did she hugged you just as you were doing to her, she raised her face to look at yours and even if the tears were still in her beautiful ringed eyes, a wide smile was now present on her face.she was crying tears of joy

"Thank you, just thank you so much, i promise i will treasure you forever I can't tell you how incredibly happy I feel right now"

"It's nothing, you treated me with nothing but love ever since I met you, I would never leave you"

You kissed her lips to once again affirm your love to her, she did the same and what resulted was a kiss filled with nothing but pure unfiltered love between the two of you.

"I love you"

"I love you too, more than words can describe, just....thank you for loving me"

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 3

Brose and Butter

Summary: You finally return the favour and look after Simon while he is breaking and a long building tension breaks. Words: 3k TWs: cheating

Parts: 1 2 3 4

The new place was nice. Bigger than the old one, better area. It wasn’t like you and Johnny had planned to live where you had been forever, you had been looking at houses before he died. Lots of bedrooms. There had been plans to fill them.

This house didn’t have as many bedrooms as he had dreamt about. One master bedroom with an en-suite, 2 other bedrooms and a bathroom on the top floor. A nice open plan ground floor with a kitchen and living area plus a toilet. A garage big enough to have a little workshop in it since Simon enjoyed working on bikes. 

Because he was living there too. It had been an argument you had lost when he had insisted on paying a lot of money into the house but having the deed be entirely yours. It felt like you were taking advantage somehow given that you knew he adored Joseph so had never really went back to his own flat after he had started living with you. It was supposed to be temporary.

But it made sense in a way. He was gone half of the time anyway, so his flat was laying empty for months. This way he always came home to a warm house instead of an impersonal, dusty museum. And J was always so happy when he was home. It was nice to have the help around the house too.

You tried to ignore the amount of justifications you both came up with for the situation. You and Simon Riley did not like one another. You could not like one another. It didn’t matter if you sometimes got caught in his eyes (or that you swore they flickered to your lips, to your body). It didn’t matter if your mind wandered sometimes to imagine how he might kiss you (hard you thought, the first blow in a brawl that begged for retaliation).

The master bedroom was yours. It felt lonely, especially now that J stayed in the nursery. Too quiet, or at least it used to be. Before Simon had left for work a fortnight ago he had given you a little white noise machine. The thing had about a million settings, but in the end you found that the low sounds of snowfall on the window and a log fire always settled the anxious beat of your broken heart enough for you to sleep.

He was due back today. Not that you kept track given that he was just a housemate. Not that last time he wasn’t home when you thought he was meant to be you made yourself so ill with anxiety that Kyle’s partner had to come round to stay with you. Price had shown up a few days later to check in and explain Simon and Kyle had been delayed a week in a location with no signal but they were ok and it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You suspected he only showed up in person because Kyle’s partner had contacted him. You didn’t know what the deal was there if you were honest, the two of them had a strange relationship but whenever you asked about it from them or Kyle you got nothing but pained smiles and gentle dismissals. 

God you hoped he was back as planned. It had been embarrassing enough before although everyone was happy to play it off that you had a stomach bug and that’s why you were completely strung out, hadn’t been sleeping and had been throwing up. You had almost managed to convince yourself of it at this point. 

When you heard the door open and the thunk of heavy boots you should have really just continued on with mixing the brownie mix (you just felt like making them you supposed, coincidence that they were his favourite). Instead you smiled and wiped your hands off on your jeans, going to the door to see him hopping on one foot as he untied his laces to get a boot off. 

“If you’re going to fall over I’d prefer you wait until J is up from his nap so he can watch.”

He swore and nearly did fall, but just about managed to keep himself upright by leaning on the wall to get the boot off. He was in black sweats, hoodie and his balaclava as he usually was when he came home. Only there was something wrong in the set of his shoulders. There was something haunted in his eyes. 

“Simon?”

Your voice was gentle now, soothing. Bad deployment you thought. You had been with Johnny long enough to know that they happened, but he had been so different. When Johnny was on a bad deployment he came back with his blood up. You knew how it had went by how hard he fucked you. 

And you had always taken it. Even when it got bad and he warned you off, you would open yourself up to him and let him use your body to exorcise whatever demons were lingering. His anger you had known how to deal with, you had learned how to take orders, go to your knees and take it with a ‘thank you sir’ to help it burn off. It was scary and it was painful but you would take a thousand days of that strange angry (and make no mistake, devastatingly hot) version of the man you loved if it gave you one more minute with him.

Simon was different. He didn’t seem angry at all, he seemed sad. You felt your heart lurch when he dropped his bag and stumbled across to you, going to his knees for you. He looked up at you as if you were the only thing in the world then. And you don’t know what instinct it was that drove you, but you gently pushed down his hood and pulled off his mask. 

He let you. He stayed still on his knees even as you ran fingers through his hair to fix it back in place. It always was a mess when he took his balaclava off. Fuck. Having Johnny who was usually fun loving and completely willing to let you direct the action turn to an animalistic dominant beast was one thing, but it could never have prepared you for having Simon who you had only ever known as strong and domineering on his knees with his eyes wide and trusting and waiting for orders.

It was a reminder of how impossible the idea of liking this man would be. He was nothing like the man you had lost, the one you had loved. The one you still did. You didn’t think there would ever come a day when you were able to stop.

And still you spread your fingers across his cheekbones to tilt his head up and give him a stern look, one that said that he was going to be okay because you would accept nothing else. He had freckles you realised with a start. He let out a shaky sigh and seemed to take your touch as permission, falling forward to hug you, head resting heavily on your stomach.

You kept petting his hair, feeling like your brain was fuzzing out. You just wanted to take care of him for once. It was always him taking care of you. It didn’t have to mean anything did it? He was sad and you could be what he needed right now without it meaning anything. 

“You’re ok Si, hm?”

“I’m ok.”

“There, that’s good. Come on, you need to help me finish the brownies before J wakes up. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Finishing off the brownies was done in a strange haze as Simon slowly came back to himself. He kept close, almost always having at least one point of contact between you. Warm hand on your waist, the heat spreading out and making your skin feel prickly. A touch of your hair that you felt from scalp to toes. A brush of his thigh on yours that had your pussy clenching. You had forgotten it could do that at such little provocation. You hadn’t thought it would ever do it again after everything.

For one mad moment as the kitchen was tidied and the brownies taken out to cool you were sure you would kiss him. Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted Simon fucking Riley.

And for one mad moment as Simon fucking Riley was dragged out of a trauma spiral instead of languishing in it for days as he had become accustomed to, he was sure he would put you on the kitchen island and taste you. You, the annoying fucking princess who did nothing but make fun of him and have obnoxious taste in almost everything. Fuck. 

The cry of a newly awakened and hungry almost 1 year old broke both of you from what was surely a bout of madness. 

“Do you want to…?”

“Ye, be nice to see him.”

You followed behind, guilt poisoning the brief excitement at watching J react to seeing Simon back. He was getting so good at recognising different people now, his reactions bigger and emotions clearer. 

He was signing already, you had taught him ‘mama’ and ‘more’ and ‘hungry’. God you could burst with pride at how inquisitive he was. A little late with his words but the doctors weren’t too worried about it. You showed him photos of his dad, tried to teach him how to say dada. You wanted so badly for it to be his first word. The poisoning guilt turned viscerally painful when you realised you hoped Simon would be there to hear it.

You just needed someone there to see that Johnny wasn’t forgotten about. You still felt like you were burning up anytime his family called to check in. Joseph was healthy and happy but everything still felt like somehow you were failing him. Failing Johnny.

That familiar guilt slowly settled as it always did, becoming a manageable, dull throb. You likened it to a headache really. Sometimes it was debilitating like a migraine, sometimes it was barely noticeable. When Simon returned it always spiked but quickly dulled down as he settled back in. 

That night, after Joseph was put down with a goodnight kiss from both you and Simon, you went to bed feeling off balance. You about stopped breathing when the door clicked open and a body almost gingerly settled in next to you. 

He had just been in Las Almas he told you. It wasn’t for anything difficult, the mission didn’t go wrong and he even got to see some old friends. But in the dark he bled out his grief that in such a familiar place, Johnny wasn’t there. 

Much like everything else between you two, something changed without it being stated. Simon slept in your bed with you from then on.

–

Joseph’s first word was dada. He hadn’t been looking at the photo when he said it. 

–

Simon heard the thunk of fist on flesh before he felt it. His anger flared and he grabbed Gaz by the collar, growling at him. 

“The fuck was that Garrick?!”

Only for once Gaz didn’t immediately look to diffuse the situation as he always did when the 141 came to blows. This time he bared his teeth.

“Are you fucking her?”

Simon pulled at his collar before shoving him back, anger mixing with confusion mixing with guilt. He hadn’t fucked you. He fucking wanted to. And he was starting to think it was only a matter of time. It was an exquisite kind of torture holding you through the night as he had been everytime he was home for the last 6 months. 

“Not that it’s your business Garrick, but no, I’m not fucking her” he hissed, hating that he even had to say it out loud because it felt like a lie even if it wasn’t.

“But you are sleeping in her bed.”

“That a problem?”

God of course he would think it was. Johnny had died in the line of duty and here he was living his life. The life Simon never thought to want with the beautiful, clever, funny and infuriating woman and the baby who looked at him like he hung the stars. 

Gaz laughed derisively, running a hand through his hair in disgusted disbelief. 

“It’s not… like that” Simon tried.

It was.

“Fuck Ghost, I never took you for a saint but I at least thought you had a shred of humanity left.”

“You think I don’t know it’s wrong to settle in with Johnny’s fucking widow?! With his baby? Christ Sergeant I’m well aware I may as well be pissing on his bloody grave!”

“You-” Gaz choked out, looking angrier than Simon had ever seen him. “You think this is about you betraying him? That’s what you’re worried about?”

“You think I wouldn’t be good to her?”

Simon couldn’t believe this is where the conversation was going. Was he really trying to convince someone he could love you? Out loud? He knew he couldn’t, he knew there was nothing he could say that would make it better. But he wanted you so much. 

“Like you were in Las Almas?”

His blood ran cold. 

“What’re you…?”

“Oh fuck off you twat. You weren’t subtle and I’m not an idiot.”

“It wasn’t… it was one time Gaz. They weren’t… he hadn’t proposed or anything yet.”

He hated himself. He hated Johnny. He wanted to throw up when those words left his mouth, as if a ring on your finger made any difference. 

“She’s my friend. She’s my friend and I had to keep it to myself because I loved Johnny. Because I love you. I fucking picked you two over her. And now what? You can’t fuck him anymore so you’ll take the next best thing?”

His heart twisted and twisted until it was disfigured into something dark and cold. He was a monster. He was a monster because you weren’t the next best thing. He was a monster because if Johnny showed up tomorrow, he wouldn’t let you go. He would fight him for you if he had to. 

“...I’m in love with her.”

“Fuck.” 

Kyle Garrick was no stranger to how love fucked up everything. He hated this situation, but if Simon loved you, if you loved Simon? He couldn’t ruin it with a betrayal from years ago. Maybe that made him a terrible person. But Johnny was dead, what good would it do to ruin your chance at happiness after him and ruin your perception of him at the same time? He hoped it wasn’t the wrong decision to make. 

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself Lieutenant. And don’t think Captain and the gorgeous little psychopath waiting for me to come home won’t help.”

Simon knew he would as well. But now that he had finally stopped lying to himself about what he felt for you there was nothing he could do to stop the feral possessiveness that demanded he claim you.

–

“You’re just being sensitive princess.”

Oh you could strangle him. Simon had been off when you had gotten back from dropping J with Kyle’s partner. Price had been there and you had not asked why. Kyle was off as well you thought, eyes darting between you and Simon before hugging you and heading off. 

It was only the second time J had stayed without you overnight. You were less a mess this time than you had been the first time at least. You needed it. You loved that kid more than anything else in the world, but you needed a break. A full night’s sleep. A night to relax which was being ruined by Simon being a bloody dick because you had asked what was up.

“Top form tonight, that why someone clocked you?”

He’d probably have a black eye tomorrow based on how the skin was already puffy and discolouring. You assumed it must have been Kyle. Right now you wished he was still here so you could thank him. 

“Thinking of taking a swing? Don’t think you could reach but I’ll crouch if you ask nicely.”

“If I ever ask nicely for anything from you then I can only hope someone takes me out back and puts me out of my misery.”

You were getting angry. Of course you were. Because it was… well it was Simon. Nobody could wind you up anywhere near as easily as he did. You thought maybe it was mutual as he sneered and got up in your face, looming over you as you crossed your arms and glowered up at him. Stupid, tall fucker.

“You think I couldn’t make you ask nicely princess?”

“And you really think you could casper?”

He leaned down, arms caging you to the kitchen island, teeth seeming sharper somehow, like at any moment he might sink them into your throat.

“I could have you begging like a bitch in heat” he whispered in your ear.

It affected you. Of course it did. But you could hear the huskiness of his voice and you could feel the heat of him. You weren’t the only one affected. 

“Yeah? Prove it Riley.”

The tension that had been slowly tightening for the last year snapped violently. You tasted blood on his lips when you bit into them, you felt bruises form from how roughly he gripped your hips as he hauled you onto the counter. 

Two brutal and torturous hours later, thoroughly fucked every which way and still not having been allowed to cum, you did beg. You begged and cried and thanked him when he finally sent you into an earth shattering orgasm. Another hour and you were begging and crying again for him to stop. He laughed darkly and wrung two more orgasms from you even when you told him you couldn’t cum again. Only when you truly had nothing more to give did he feed you brose and butter.

The last thing you remembered before passing out, exhausted, sated, cleaned and cuddled up, was mumbling hoarsely to Simon that you loved him. Maybe it was just your head being muddled from the events of the evening, but you swore you heard him say it back as you drifted off. You swore he apologised for it.

[concreteangel92]

Reuploaded!!

The original post wasn’t showing up in any of the tags, didn’t matter what I did so here we are again 🤣 sorry if it’s confusing anyone who had already liked it haha that one has now been deleted.

This one actually feels very personal for me, due to two abusive relationships, and my last one in particular, I’ve struggled to even have men near me in the last 3 years, let alone anything else, so this was very therapeutic for me to write so thank you haha and I hope you enjoy it 🖤

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: smut, mention of abusive relationships and talks of trauma and PTSD but nothing graphic

The day had finally come, you’d married the love of your life and your soul mate.

The wedding had been perfect, you felt like a queen in your dress, all of your closest friends and family had been there to celebrate your day with you and nothing had gone wrong.

You were now in the bedroom of your shared apartment with Noah, however the butterflies you had in your stomach were now starting to feel like a heard of elephants stomping around.

You and Noah had been together a while now, but you’d never actually slept together. Most is fooled around and even that took time for you to feel comfortable enough to do it.

Unfortunately due to your past relationship which had been mentally and emotionally abusive, it had left you with too much trauma to be able to be physical with Noah, you just couldn’t allow someone to be that close to you anymore.

You felt so stupid most days, like it’s just Noah, you love him and he loves you, being with him should be something you jumped at but sadly every time you tried, you started to feel suffocated and claustrophobic and had to stop before you had a bad panic attack.

Noah fully knew your past and what this guy had done to you and was so understanding, he never pushed you to do anything, and when you did go slightly further then he always let you be in control, if you said stop then it stopped instantly.

You’d made the decision to wait until your wedding night to finally be fully intimate with him, something Noah was so respectful of.

And here you both were, still wearing your dress and suit and ready to spend the night together.

You’d be lying however if you said that you weren’t absolutely terrified, something Noah could clearly see.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight you know, if you’re not ready?”

You shook your head.

“No I am ready, I really want to…I’m just…scared”

Noah gave you a small smile and came and knelt down in front of you where you sat on the end of the bed and took your hands in his.

“Can you tell me what you’re frightened of?”

His voice was so gentle it made your heart swell. You took a moment to compose your thoughts.

“I guess it’s because, to be that close to someone again, means that it’s real…and then it hurts more when you’re gone”

“When I’m gone?”

You nodded slowly.

“Yeah it’s silly but after…him…I knew I could never go through that kind of heartache again…obviously at the time I saw my whole future with him and then it was ripped away from me and I…I just lost who I was completely after everything he did…until I met you. And I love you so much, I honestly do and I want to be with you so badly but yeah….I’m just scared that being intimate with you will make it harder if you suddenly didn’t want to be with me again”

Noah’s eyes softened and he raised your hands to give you a kiss on the back of it.

“I’m not going anywhere Y/N. You’re stuck with me now forever”

He showed his ring on his finger as he laughed lightly.

“You are the most beautiful, kind and funniest person I have ever met, you’re my best friend and I can’t wait for us to grow old together. If you want to wait then we will wait but if not, then I promise you are in complete control and we can go as slow or as fast as you want”

You smiled as you felt a couple tears fall from your eyes which Noah wiped away instantly.

“Can you…help me take off my dress?”

“Of course”

You stood up and turned around so Noah could unzip your dress from the back, you felt his fingers gently running along your skin as he went causing a small shiver to run up your spine.

Noah started to pull the dress away from your shoulders and you felt his lips ghosting over your skin as he did.

You felt your dress fall the floor and it pooled around your feet. Now although you were nervous, you had made sure you had a nice black lace underwear set on under your dress, just as a little surprise for Noah, so when you stepped out and then turned around, Noah’s eyes instantly went wide as he took in your appearance.

“Fuck me”

You giggled “isn’t that the point?”

Noah moved closer to you and lent down so he could press his lips onto yours.

“Do you want to get more comfortable on the bed?”

You nodded but started to help him slip his jacket and tie off. “Doesn’t feel right me being the only one half dressed”

Noah threw his jacket off to side and left his shirt unbuttoned so you could see all of the tattoos on his neck and chest, you smiled and slipped that off his shoulders before grabbing his hand and leading him to the side of the bed.

Once you were both comfortable, Noah lent in and started to kiss you. It was soft and gentle at first, no rush or sense of urgency, just simply enjoying the moment. You relaxed back onto the pillows and Noah settled down beside you, the warmth of his skin feeling comforting on yours and he slipped one hand behind you to cradle your neck while his other ran up and down your arm lightly.

The kiss soon started to become more passionate and Noah detached his lips from yours and started to kiss along your jaw and then onto your neck, your head moving to the side automatically for him.

Noah’s hand then played with the straps of the bra you were wearing as he kissed along your collarbones.

“Can I take this off?”

You whispered out the word yes and you arched your back up so Noah could reach round and undo the clasp and he pulled it away from your body.

You resisted the urge to bring your arms up and instead, kept one around his chest and the other lying on the sheets, your fingers tapping absently as you relaxed your muscles down.

Noah then lent down and flicked his tongue over one of your nipples before he sucked it into his mouth, his other hand coming up to help simulate your other breast. You could feel the ache forming into between your legs as Noah continued and switched his hand and mouth over.

You raised one of your knees up so your leg was bent and your hand ran through his soft hair which was tickling your skin.

Noah sensing that you were starting to need more, very slowly ran his fingers along your stomach and stopped when he reached your underwear, he lifted his head up so he could look into your eyes.

“May I?”

You nodded but Noah wanted more than that.

“I’ll need your words angel, I don’t want to misunderstand anything tonight”

You smiled and gave him your verbal consent, Noah sat back slightly and hooked his fingers into your underwear and he pulled them down and off your legs and discarded them next to the bed.

Seeing you all laid out and bare for him caused to stare at you as if you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. His intense gaze definitely caused your cheeks to go warm and you felt your knees closing together, to which Noah placed his hands on them and stopped you from doing so.

“Please don’t hide from me, you’re so fucking beautiful Y/N, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you”

“I’m definitely the lucky one”

Noah smiled and ran his fingers very slowly over your thighs but not going too close.

“Tell me what you want angel?”

The blush became even more prominent.

“Can you use your fingers and…eat me out please?”

Although you had done this with him before, this felt like the most intimate moment of your life, it was so different to anything you both had done before.

“I thought you’d never ask”

Noah settled himself in between your legs and placed soft kisses along your inner thigh while his other hand started to move up onto your hip.

You could feel your body becoming warmer as you moved your hips up to try and meet him.

Noah ran his tongue up your thigh once more and then he moved his head so he could then press his tongue onto your folds and licked your entrance slowly but firmly, causing you to let out a low moan of relief.

Your thighs started to close in slightly around Noah’s head as he continued to eat you out, it was passionate and it was almost like he wanted to saver every last second. That was the one thing about your husband, he loved making you feel amazing.

Noah moved his mouth up and you felt him run his fingers down until he slipped one in, the stretch of his fingers alone always felt amazing to you, you could only imagine what was coming.

“That feels really nice”

Noah hummed into your core as he found a steady rhythm with his hand while his continued to use his tongue on your clit, the pressure in your stomach was getting stronger, your body was starting to move on it’s on accord, your back arching off the bed and your hands held onto the back of his head and his hair, not being able to resist running your fingers through it.

But you knew you needed more, you wanted more.

“Noah…”

Noah instantly stopped what he was doing and lifted his head up, looking almost worried that he’d done something wrong.

“Are you ok? Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

“No, I need you now please, I don’t want to wait anymore”

Noah gave you one last kiss and slipped his fingers out, the sound of how wet you were reaching your ears. Noah quickly took off the rest of his clothes and you saw how hard he’d become already.

Noah stayed between your legs and slide himself up so he was hovering over you, his chain swinging above your chest as he did.

You reached up one of your hands to his face and brought him down for a kiss while he lined himself up.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

You smiled and let out a small giggle before you responded with “yes I’m ready…so can you please fuck me now?”

Noah’s smile instantly hit his eyes as his head fell into your neck as he laughed.

“That I can do Mrs Davis”

Leaning down to kiss you again, you felt him start to push himself inside you. You felt an instant burn as he stretched you out, it had been a long time since you’d had anything bigger than his fingers inside but it felt wonderful.

You closed your eyes and groaned into his neck as you felt him slide in fully, Noah himself not being able to control his own moans.

“Oh my…you feel more incredible then I ever could have imagined”

Noah kept his arms caged around your head and shoulders and he started to move his hips, the feeling of being so full and turned on was almost too much.

The emotions you felt were borderline overwhelming, you felt so loved and safe and you knew that Noah had you.

You brought your legs up to wrap around his hips as he moved faster, a layer of sweat was forming over both your bodies and you tried to move you hips with him, starting to feel desperate for a release but at the same time, you never wanted this moment to end.

“Shit, it’s like you were made for me…you’re so fucking perfect” his praise caused you to clench around him more causing his hips to jolt slightly as he groaned into your neck.

“Do you like when I praise you baby? Because you’re doing so good for me right now, my perfect wife”

You felt the tears hot in the corners of your eyes, it was everything you dreamed of and more, you felt your high starting to build, your stomach muscles were becoming tense and you felt the need to try and move your hips against him.

“Noah…please…I need…”

Your words got lost in your throat as Noah thrusted his hips harder, he knew exactly what you needed.

“You want to cum for me angel?”

You gripped your hands onto his back, no doubt leaving nail marks in the process.

“Yes!”

Noah pulled his body away ever so slightly and reached his hand down to start rubbing hard, fast circles on your clit, not once breaking the movements of his hips slamming into yours.

“Come on angel, cum for me, I want to feel all of you”

You felt your stomach twist tightly until you felt a snap and your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking and arching up into Noah’s as your head fell back onto the pillow with a cry. Noah thrusted hard into you a few more times before you felt him empty himself inside you and his body weight came down onto yours.

You tried to catch your breath as Noah kept his face resting in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Noah didn’t pull out and you kept your legs loosely hooked around his waist, not wanting to feel empty just yet, you needed him to stay.

Once he brought his head up, he stared into your eyes lovingly.

“Are you ok?”

You smiled a very content smile and nodded back, feeling another tear slide down your cheek.

“Yes, that was amazing, I felt so good. Thank you for waiting for me”

Noah brought his hand up to your face to gently caress your cheek and gave you a soft, tender kiss.

“I would wait forever for you angel”

[awearywritersworld]

everything i was looking for

nanami kento x reader summary: when nanami became a salaryman, jujutsu wasn't the only thing he left behind. four years later, he's got his job back and he wants you back too. w/c: 1.5k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. hurt/comfort. gender neutral reader. reader's hair is long enough for nanami to tuck behind their ear. cursing. a/n: it's about time i wrote something for this man. we get to see baby nanami animated soon:') masterlist

"he left, (y/n)."

you laughed apprehensively at gojo's words, though the expression on his face was anything but amused. honestly, it might have been the first time you'd ever seen the boy wear a serious expression and it made you nervous.

"well when is he coming back?"

a look of pity crossed his features as he searched for the right words, but that itself was enough for you to understand the situation.

"so what?" you scoffed in disbelief. "he's just gone?"

gojo nodded. "he asked me to tell you."

you tried to speak, but you could feel your throat tightening as your body flooded with panic. you needed to reach your dorm before the weight of the situation hit you in its entirety. "o-okay. i'll see you later, gojo."

~~~

though it seemed like a lifetime had past since that afternoon, it'd been only four years. you spent each of them attempting to move on from nanami, but you were beginning to think that it may never happen.

he still appeared in your dreams and some nights, it was like nothing changed. you're eating lunch together in the shade, or you've snuck off to the forest to lay in one another's arms.

other nights were much different, a time spent plagued by his disappearance. you'd be stuck in the first few days of his absence, your only saving grace the coolness of your old dorm's bathroom tile.

it was after a night like the latter that you first heard the former salaryman intended to return, and at once, you resolved to spend the rest of your life hiding away from him and everyone else on the jujutsu campus. that was healthy and realistic, right?

you were successful for nearly a week, but luck would not stay on your side forever.

~~~

when nanami approached the school after completing his first mission back, there was a chill in the air and the moon was already setting. he carried on rather slowly, not quite ready to submit to sleep despite the lateness of the hour. his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness by the time he reached the familiar paths of his youth.

still, he almost missed your silhouette tucked away near the edge of the forest, your back toward him and your face tilted up at the sky. he could barely make you out, but even then, he was sure it was you.

nanami began moving in your direction, his footsteps drown out by the trill of crickets. he stopped short of where you sat because despite the fact he'd been wanting to see you since he arrived, he was hesitant to disturb you now.

he asked gojo about you and was promptly told to give you some space and time. you didn't see what they were like when you left. the warning had been rattling around his head ever since.

"hey," you greeted without moving, having sensed his presence for some time already. you were resigned to your fate, accepting that you couldn't avoid him forever.

nanami didn't answer right away, struggling to get a read on your mood when it used to be so easy. his feet carried him closer and while he was finally beside you after all these years, the space between you felt immeasurable.

"hey," he returned, settling on the ground to your right, near enough that if he reached out he could touch you.

observing your features, he could tell how much you'd changed, but god you still looked so beautiful. that didn't change the fact that you'd hardened somehow. it was written all over your face and he suddenly found it difficult to cope with the fact he hadn't been there for you the past few years.

"you're back."

nanami reached up to loosen his tie, the fact that you hadn't spared him a glance evoking his nerves. "and you're still here."

"i never doubted that i was supposed to be," you spoke sharply.

he fought back a sigh, one that was directed only at himself, while you regarded his silence as a bit grating. maybe it was because you no longer felt comfortable in it. he'd always been quiet and you were used to that, but things were different now.

"i should go."

and he let you, for the first few meters anyway.

"wait," he eventually called out, scrambling off the ground. "d-don't walk away."

you laughed in disbelief, still taking strides in the opposite direction. "you can't be serious."

"please, (y/n)." his tone was one of desperation.

"no!" you stopped in your tracks and he was taken back by the volume of your voice. you finally turned to face him, fists clenched at your sides. "i may be walking away, but you're the one who left."

chest heaving with indignation, you took in his appearance for the first time.

he stood much taller and his body was a bit wider. your eyes lingered on his hair, now much shorter and neatly pushed back out of his face. you felt betrayed by the way it made your stomach stir.

"i'm sorry, just let me-" he began, taking a step toward you.

"stay back," you spit venomously. "you... you don't get to ask me to stay and you don't get to tell me you're sorry when you didn't even let me say goodbye!"

your voice cracked, causing nanami's knees to buckle under the pressure of his own guilt. he tried to get closer to you and this time you stayed completely still, preoccupied with a sad attempt at holding yourself together. when he was near enough, he reached out and let his fingers graze your arm.

"please don't," you begged.

he whispered your name, his voice thick with emotion, and that was all it took for your walls to come crumbling down. the sound of your cries shattered whatever remained of nanami's heart, though he'd left most of it behind all those years ago.

his arms acted on their own accord when they pulled you against his body, one hand holding your head to his chest, the other wrapped around your torso. he still smelled the same.

"no, please," you wept. "i can't do it again."

you beat weakly against his chest, but it was no use. he held you against himself tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head when he spoke.

"it's okay. i'm here," he tried to comfort you.

your voice sounded so small when you gathered the strength to reply. "please don't do this to me, ken."

nanami wondered for a moment if this was wrong, if he should have left you alone or just never have come back at all. the thought was fleeting though. he knew he had to make this right.

"i left because i was trying to find purpose through my work and... i... i couldn't see you because i knew you were the only person who could've convinced me to stay. i didn't see how wrong that was back then."

he heard you sniffle and let out a shaky breath, so he pulled away just enough to gather your face in his hands, your hair lacing through his fingers. you held one another's gaze and somehow it was the most content either of you had been in a long time.

"i'm sorry," he professed earnestly, looking down at you with regretful eyes.

"it's- it's okay." the words tumbled passed your lips before you could stop them.

"no, it's not. but i hope you'll give me a chance to make it up to you. to make it better."

you nodded almost imperceptibly, but other than that, neither of you moved. a breeze swept between the two of you and nanami tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.

it was strange, perhaps even a bit unfair, that after so much time, after everything he'd done, there was no where you'd rather be than here with him. your hands found their way to his chest, the space there broader than it used to be.

"i love you," he murmured.

terrified you wouldn't say it back, he dipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours. the kiss was slow but not without fervency and the small noise that escaped his throat had you pulling him closer.

it was intoxicating to him, the way you felt against him, the softness of your lips, and the warmth that emanated from your skin.

even so, everything about him was impossibly gentle. nanami pulled away first, scanning your face for any hint of dismay.

"i love you, ken."

feelings of relief and responsibility overwhelmed him in tandem. he'd thought about you saying those words every day for four years and he knew he didn't deserve to hear them now. not yet.

nonetheless, you found yourself enveloped in his arms once more as he pressed a kiss to your head.

"everything i was looking for... i had it here with you all along."

[r3leee]

right where you left me

this fic is for @liseytopia and i’s lovely fic exchange. hope you like it, tysm for putting the extra time into making two i seriously don’t deserve you 😭🫶🏻 hope you like it <3

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: you haven’t seen finnick since the games; at least the true finnick. ever since he got whisked away to the capitol, you haven’t seen his old self. but, one day, things change

warnings: angst angst angst, hurt/comfort, sad little finnick, cursing, friends to strangers to lovers

word count: 1,392, should take about ten and a half minutes to read (longest to date 🤭)

listen to: right where you left me - bonus track by taylor swift

IN THEORY, IT wasn’t a long time since finnick’s games. only six years. in the long run, that means nothing. you could waste six years at any other point in your life easily. but not these six years.

you and finnick had a bond. close friends, you were. you looked out for each other, came to the other’s rescue. whether it was for a bad dream, bad day, bad family, or anything else, you’d always come running for each other.

you’d patch the other’s wounds, wipe away the other’s tears. whenever somebody needed a shoulder to lean on, the other was there.

you should’ve been there for finnick when he got reaped, but you weren’t. you already dodged a bullet by not getting picked, so you were just trying to rid yourself of anxiety after the female tribute was called. but, it all came back when you heard the familiar name roll off the capitol member’s tongue. “finnick odair.”

your heart stopped. nothing could've prepared you for that. your head immediately shot to where he was standing. his face dropped. he looked like a figure made of wax; unmoving, unalive.

it took a jab in his back by the peacekeepers to get him to move, but his eyes immediately found you when he did.

"no," you whispered. "no, no, no, no." tears welled in his eyes as he mouthed "sorry," and that was it. you were expecting the world to collapse or something, anything, but nothing happened. everyone just went home.

it might've been better if the world ended right then and there, you thought, because finnick was gone forever, and hell, he was starting to be your world. you didn't even watch him on tv. you avoided the situation as much as possible by sleeping.

you almost went to you two's favorite spot, a creek near his house, every once in a while, but you couldn't bring yourself to. too many memories.

that was until it was announced finnick won. news of the century, it was to you. you remember waiting on his porch with a bouquet of flowers you snagged from the meadow earlier. but he never showed up.

maybe the train was late. but that train was late for a day, then two, then a week, and at that point, you'd far given up. you had to admit you'd maybe never see finnick again.

when he did finally show up, it had been a month since his victory. you were out grabbing some food at the market when you saw his face; beautiful blonde hair, tousled as always, and green eyes that looked like emeralds in the daylight. you could recognize it anywhere.

"finnick!" you yelled, completely dropping what you were doing. his head turned to see you, a soft smile on his face.

you almost cried seeing him. you immediately engulfed him in a hug, but he didn't really wrap his arms around your back. he didn't enjoy the hug; he just tolerated it. you didn't seem to notice or care at the moment, though. "oh my god, finnick, where have you been?" you asked, excitement pouring through your eyes.

"needed to take a victory tour for the capitol. did you not watch on tv?" he asked, chuckling slightly. the question almost set you back. why would you? who actually watched anything after the games?

"no. didn't know there was one. glad to see you're okay, though. god, i haven't seen you in ages," you practically beamed. he didn't seem to care, though. what was wrong with him?

"happy you care," he smiled before turning back to what he was doing. any conversation you had after that seemed like you two were just meeting. like you were complete strangers.

that’s how it remained for a while. finnick and you rarely talked, only when you were next to each other. you still waved hello to his parents, and they still asked if you'd like to come to dinner, but you had to refuse. you couldn't face the man you once called your friend. most times he was doing things for the capitol anyway, so it's not like it was hard to avoid him. he wasn't even in 4 half the time!

and that's how it stayed, this near-constant torture, for six years of your life. you made other friends to cope and nearly forgot about the boy you used to hang out with at fourteen. his presence was just a distant memory to you. you almost despised him for leaving you as suddenly as he did.

you thought you'd never come to his aid again. until one random day.

it wasn't much different than any other. you got a house for yourself and you, so far, didn't have any complaints. finnick's house was relatively close to the heart of 4, so you often passed by it while running your errands.

the sight of his house brought unease to you. you couldn't even look at it without feeling sad. even if you didn't want to admit it, you really missed finnick and you'd rather cut out every aspect of him than think about him.

that was until you heard something. it sounded almost like a cry. the sound was so faint you could almost barely hear it. you walked a bit closer to your ex-friend's house, and sure enough, the sound got louder.

it couldn't be from the house; his walls weren't that thin. the only place you could think of was behind the house. you checked to make sure nobody was around before sneaking around to the back side of his house.

the sight before your eyes you surely weren't expecting. poor finnick, the boy you used to know so long ago, was hugging his knees into his chest, all but sobbing.

suddenly, your sadness and guilt hit you like a brick. you ignored everything between you two at the moment and gently knelt down next to him. you weren't sure if he heard you, so you tried your best not to startle him. "you okay?" you asked.

he jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to be at his aid. especially not you. his eyes suddenly filled with a kind of comfort. "i can't lie, no," he admitted. you got down to his level, sitting beside him against the house.

"what's up?" he sniffled, drying his eyes with his hand.

"just...life. i have to go back to the capitol soon and i don't know if i can do it." you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"you don't like it there?"

"no, not at all." he threw his head back, letting in a big gulp of fresh air. "they’ve done things to me. ever since the games, i've just been...i don't know, different."

you thought back to the month of his arrival. the sudden loss of all emotion from him. “ya, i can tell.”

“shit, i’m sorry,” he cupped his face in his hands again.

“wait, no, don’t apologize, hon.” you weren’t even sure why the nickname slipped out. It happened without you thinking. he looked up with his eyebrows furrowed. “it’s not your fault.”

“did you call me hon?”

“not important right now, what i’m trying to say is i forgive you. for everything. none of it was your fault. the games do things to people and i understand that, so don’t feel bad. i just want you to feel happy.”

he barely paid attention to your words. he just smiled, slowly realizing the best part of his life was back. finnick didn’t mean to leave you like he did, but he didn’t want to hurt himself; get too attached to you just to get ripped apart.

when you noticed his grin, you almost damn near melted. you hadn’t seen him like this since you were kids. you sighed, tears threatening to spill out your eyes. “you look so pretty,” you said, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“you do too.” without thinking, his eyes darted to your lips. you sniffled before leaning in and closing the gap between you two.

the kiss was possibly the best of your life. it was filled with remorse and passion and “i’m sorry”s, and “i love you”s.

once you pulled away, you rested your forehead with his. “don’t ever leave me again,” he mumbled, tone soft.

“i don’t know how i could.”

[sentientcave]

Dogs Will Hunt (Slasher AU)

Honey It's Alright - Part 1

Read on AO3

Dark Fic! Please mind the warnings

Contains: Stalking, Allusion to past kidnapping, Canon-typical violence, Canon-atypical violence, dub con touching, implied dub con/non con, threats of death and violence, just general bad vibes, playing with my OCs like dolls and putting them in situations. Morgan is from Sparrow, and Kitty is from Wildflowers and Honey. This is not canon to their stories at all.

~7,500 words - MDNI

For the first time in ages, Morgan let herself relax, sitting at the kitchen table, slotting the pieces of her rifle back together, the comforting smell of gun grease heavy in the humid summer air. The windows were open to the night, and there was nothing but crickets out there, a shrill chorus in the background, the occasional chirping frog or whistling bird joining the twilight chorus.

She'd given John the slip-- If he was going to find her he would have by now. It had been months since she escaped his cellar (she'd been down there for weeks because of bad behaviour, and he'd gone hunting, leaving her alone with Soap and an opportunity), she'd dug the tracker out of her skin in Greece, zig-zagged across the continent leaving clues for him to chase down, and then stowed away on a shipping container headed to the states. She'd walked most of the way from the coast to her little house in Montana, where an identity totally removed from her old life waited for her. She was lucky she'd set that up as a fail-safe years ago. She only had three identities that maintained themselves so neatly, and Sarah and Blaire were both a little to close to John's house in Northern England to be comfortable. So she was Rebecca Carter now.

And it was nice. So much like home, and no one looked at her weird for carrying a rifle in the backseat of her truck. She found work when she got tired of pacing the cabin with nothing to do, helping repair a neighbour's tractor, and then a few cars, until everyone in town knew she was pretty handy with anything with an engine. It made her nervous, being so known, but there was nothing for it in a small town. Would’ve been more notable if she never spoke to anyone.

The crunch of gravel coming up the long lonely track that ended at her cabin set her heart hammering, the moment of relaxation gone, but she tried to calm herself down again when she peeked out the window, rifle at the ready, and saw that it was just Kitty driving up in her beat up silver Buick.

"Hey, Kit," she called out, stepping onto the porch, hiding her anxiety behind a big smile. "Car trouble?" The car was making a very unhappy grinding sound that stopped when the car did, although the engine still didn’t sound too healthy. Poor Kitty was running patch to patch with that stupid car, but Morgan was happy to help her out. Kitty was the sort of girl that had sorely needed a friend, and she’d attached herself to Morgan pretty quickly, despite her efforts to stay aloof.

She was too soft. Friends were liabilities these days, nothing but trouble. Another avenue for John to find her, if he was even still looking. He’d probably given up when the trail went cold. Even a bloodhound like him couldn’t search forever.

"Yeah! Could you take a look?" Kitty cut the engine and popped the hood, an apologetic look on her face as she climbed out of the driver's seat. "Sorry it's so late, I just got off my shift."

"Hey, no sweat honey. You know I'm never up to all that much."

Kitty was a pretty little thing, a hand-span shorter than Morgan, small boned like a bird, all soft curves and wide doe-like eyes peering out of her round face. Full of anxious energy most of the time, and especially now, nerves stretched thin after a long shift of avoiding grasping hands and smiling wide through it all. She bounced on her toes as Morgan leaned over the engine, watching. "Yeah. Owen said he asked you out. Why'd you say no?"

"Don't like him that much," Morgan said, shrugging. "Had my fill of men."

Kitty bit her lip, folding her hands behind her back. "Forever?" she asked.

Morgan braced her arms on the car, looking over. "Why do I feel like there's an ask attached to that question?"

"Well. Mason asked me out. He's got a friend workin' at the depot, Jack— I actually don’t know his last name— and he'd like to turn it into a double date. Think he knows I won't be so twitchy if you're there with me."

"When's this?"

"Tomorrow night, if you're free. Figured you would be, so I already said yes, but I can ask Mason not to bring his buddy if you can't. No pressure. Lord knows I owe you plenty already, can't ask for a favour."

"You don't owe me shit, Kitty. We're friends."

“Don’t have a lot of friends who do as much for me as you do,” Kitty said, her expression turning sheepish. “You really don’t have to say yes. Just figured you might want to get out, meet somebody. It’s not good for a person to spend as much time alone as you do.”

“Already know everyone I’d like to. But I’ll come along, if you want me too. Promise to be nice and everything.”

Kitty laughed. “Everyone knows your bark is worse than your bite by now, Beck. It’ll be fun. Maybe Jack’ll turn out to be the one. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Morgan grunted noncommittally. “Probably won’t be. Think it’s one of the wheel bearings. Is the car shaking when you drive?”

Kitty nodded. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

“Well it’s not good. Let me get underneath and check it out. The jack’s in my truck.” Morgan went inside to grab her keys and came back out, frowning. Kitty had already opened up the back door of the truck for her.

“Looks like you left it open,” she said. “I don’t even know why you bother to lock it, all the way out here.”

“I’m not keen on the idea of someone getting into my shit.” Morgan gently moved Kitty to the side and leaned in to grab the box of emergency supplies from under the back seat, her nose wrinkling. The cab smelled wrong, like tobacco smoke and cedar— Like John.

Dread settled into her stomach like lead. He’d found her. He’d been in her truck, probably been in her house— She dropped the box back in and scanned the trees surrounding the cabin, hunting for anything out of the ordinary.

“What’s the matter?” Kitty asked. “You’re all pale.”

“My ex has been here. He’s a sick fuck, Kit. I need to get out of town.” She looked at Kitty, the lead in her belly turning molten, hot with guilt and anger. What if she’d put Kitty in danger too? It was a mistake to have friends. A mistake to think John wouldn’t track her down. She should have kept moving, shouldn’t have let her guard down, should have just turned around somewhere and waited for him to catch up and killed him.

Her stomach churned. What if he’d been following her the whole time? What if he’d been in town as long as she had? “Kit, did you meet that Jack guy? He ever been to the diner?”

Kit nodded, her eyes wide as saucers. “Y-yeah, he’s a regular. Beck, you’re really freaking me out.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Um. Big. Handsome. Blue eyes, beard, a smile that’s all in his eyes. Um. He’s got a mole, or a freckle on his nose. He’s really nice though, Beck, he always tips well, and he’s never pawed at me.” Kitty scrubbed her hands on the polyester skirt of her uniform nervously. “And he’s been here almost as long as you have. And he’s English,” she added, as if that made it impossible for him to be John, rather than the nail in Morgan’s proverbial coffin.

Morgan swallowed acid. He’d been here for months, watching her let her guard down slowly, laughing at her, watching her get close to Kitty. “Fuck. That’s him.” Morgan grabbed Kitty’s hand and pulled her into the house. She locked the front door and closed the kitchen window. “Stay here a sec. I have to sweep the house.”

“Sweep?” Kitty asked blankly. “But…” She trailed off when she saw Morgan pick up the rifle. “Oh.”

Morgan checked all the rooms quickly, closing windows as she went, hunting for any sign of John. He wasn’t there, thank fucking god. She returned to the kitchen. “Kit, I’m leaving town tonight. I think you should come with me. If John’s been here this long, he might hurt you to get back at me. I don’t want that to happen.” She cupped Kitty’s face, hands trembling. “He’ll know how much I care about you.”

Kitty’s breath hitched, big brown eyes flicking between Morgan’s, like she was hunting for a sign it was a joke, or a lie. “You want me to come with you?”

“Please. I can’t let him hurt you, Kit. I’m going to pack a bag. You think about it. I can’t promise that you’ll be safer with me, but I can promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you alive.”

Kitty swallowed. “I’ll come with you,” she whispered. “Can— Can I get my things?”

“Yeah. Hopefully he thinks we’re still gonna show up for that date. Which’ll give us a good head start. We’ll drop by your apartment on the way out of town.” Morgan marched back to her room, Kitty close on her heels, and threw things into a bag, prioritizing dark, basic clothes and essentials. She pulled her shoulder harness on over her t-shirt and took her pistols from their hiding spots, checking both for tampering before sliding them into the holsters under her arms. She threw an oversized denim jacket on over top and zipped up the bag. “Let’s go.”

Kitty shook from nerves, but held herself together admirably, following Morgan out to the truck and sitting in the passenger seat as Morgan rifled through everything, searching for the tracker John had most certainly planted in the vehicle. Probably in anticipation of her fleeing their “date” the next day.

She found two, one tucked into the curling pages of the manual in the glovebox, and a magnetic one stuck under the back bumper. She stuck that one to Kitty’s car, and tossed the other one underneath it. Then she hopped into the driver’s seat and drove away from the place that had been home for months now, her heart twisting viciously in her chest.

In an instant, Becca became a stranger.

Beck was unshakable, cool and calm, detached. And then she wasn’t.

That someone could frighten her this much… It terrified Kitty. Made her sick to think that a favourite regular— a friend— was someone that would hurt Beck— That would hurt her to get at Beck. That she’d been smiling at him all this time, won over by the accent and the charm, the genuine interest in her sad little life. Those sincere blue eyes. He’d seemed so nice.

She held onto the corner of Becca’s jacket as she checked for intruders in Kitty’s apartment, and then packed a bag as quickly as she could, following Beck’s directions to pack practical clothes, to keep things light. That was easy. There wasn’t all that much in the place she cared about. The only sentimental items she took were the little photo album from her childhood and her jewellery box. She could sell things, if they needed the money. She wasn’t really sure what life on the run would entail. Wasn’t sure if she was up for it.

But she’d try. Better to try, and stay close to Beck. She’d said she’d protect her, and Kitty believed it.

They didn’t say much until they hit the highway, lights from the cars on the other side of the grass median zipping past, illuminating Becca’s face in flashes. She looked grim, serious as a soldier, determined. It was almost a surprise to hear her speak after so long.

“I’m sorry this happened, Kitty. I should have known to stay away from you. I was selfish, and I put you in danger.”

“Selfish?” Kitty echoed, guilt pooling in her guts. “You’re the furthest thing from selfish! Always doin’ things for other folks— Doin’ things for me that no one else would. You’ve been a better friend than anyone in that whole rotten town.”

“You just lost everything because of me,” Becca said.

“I’d do it again!” Kitty declared. She felt bold, unmoored, nothing to lose anymore. “I’d rather have you than anything I left behind.”

Becca’s hand curled around hers, resting on her leg. Kitty’s heart skipped several beats. “I just hope I haven’t made things worse for you. I won’t let him hurt you, I swear. But if— If I ever tell you to run, I want you to run, and don’t look back. If he catches me— Well. It won’t be good. I don’t know what he’ll do to me. I don’t want him to do it to you.”

Kitty swallowed hard. “Who— Who is he?”

“John Price. He’s a killer. We met at a bar near my hometown about two years ago. Northern Ontario. He was nice enough. Handsome, charming. Drugged me. Woke up in the middle of the woods, just me and him. Said he’d give me a half hour head start. He likes the chase. Likes to hunt.” Her face twisted with anger at the memory, but her voice was nearly robotic as she recounted it, as thought she’d locked away all the emotion to keep it from overwhelming her. “I got away. Was more familiar with the area, better than he thought I’d be at running and navigating through the woods. My parents used to have me run— Well, it doesn’t matter. It took me a week to get home. Had to hunt with my boot knife if I wanted to eat, couldn’t stop for long anywhere. It was exhausting. I guess he thought so too, because he gave up the chase, and ambushed me at home. Wasn’t careful enough. I’m usually so cautious, but I was too tired.”

Kitty squeezed her hand lightly. “I’m sorry, Beck.”

“It’s Morgan.”

“Huh?”

“Morgan’s my actual name. Figure you should know it.”

“Oh.” That stood to reason, didn’t it? She wouldn’t have been using her real name if she was hiding out. “What— What did he do to you?”

“Well, he didn’t kill me. I guess he decided I was worth keeping. That I was more fun alive than dead. He took me home with him. Decided he wanted to play house. It was play along or get locked in the cellar for days or weeks. Sometimes he wouldn’t turn the lights on and I’d just have to sit there in the dark, all alone until he came for me. It could have been worse more often, but it was usually the cellar. He didn’t want to hurt me, he wanted to break me.”

Kitty swallowed nervously. "He sounds awful. I can't believe he sat in my diner and acted so normal when he's… like that."

"Well that's the thing about John. When he's getting his way? He's downright pleasant. Didn't get nasty until I tried to run, or broke the rules, or failed a task on purpose. If I played housewife right he was… loving, almost. Some bastardized version of that. Indulgent. It was fucked up." Beck-- No, Morgan's other hand gripped the steering wheel tight. "I hate him. I've tried to kill him a hundred times by now. He just keeps beating me."

She sounded so defeated. Angry and scared. It felt so strange to see her scared, when she was usually so together, so much stronger than anyone else Kitty knew.

They didn't stop until dawn, to fill the truck with fuel and for Morgan to get a shit gas station coffee. Kitty had fallen asleep at some point. Morgan hadn't let her drive when she’d offered, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, not just one night. The dark circles under her eyes were purple and puffy, but she shook her head again when Kitty offered to drive.

"I can go a little while longer. You get some more sleep."

"B-- Morgan. You've been driving all night. Let me help. You'll want to be sharp if he catches up to us." Kitty reached out and gently tugged the keys out of Morgan's hand. "We'll be better off if we take care of each other. It's not all on you."

Morgan relented. "Yeah. You wake me up if you see anything concerning. Stay on major roads, but just drive anywhere. If he’s following, we can lose him in the mountains for a day or two.” She sighed and leaned back in the seat while Kitty adjusted the one on the driver's side. "I'm sorry, Kit. This is so fucked."

"It's okay." Kitty steered the truck back onto the highway. "Not your fault."

"Yeah it is," Morgan grumbled, closing her eyes. "Maybe I shoulda stayed and fought. I don't know. Just hate that I've ruined your life."

“Didn’t have much of one to ruin. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Morgan turned toward the window with a sigh, cushioning her head from the glass with the palm of her hand.

In the silence, Kitty had nothing to do but think. About how little she really knew about Morgan, about how much she had misjudged Jack— Or John, really. She felt pretty stupid for thinking— for saying anything about her to him. Mistakes on mistakes.

She still trusted Morgan. She’d tried to be distant at the beginning of their friendship, tried to keep Kitty away. But Kitty had been so eager to make a new friend that she’d ignored all those attempts at deflection and inserted herself into Morgan’s life anyway. When she’d said that Kitty didn’t want shit to do with her, this was what she meant.

They spent three days like that. Morgan seemed to have no problem driving twenty hours straight, and wouldn’t let Kitty drive for more than four hours at a time. She was tense, wound tight, jumpy every time they had to stop for gas. She relaxed just a hair on the fourth night, and started driving more purposefully, taking them North through the mountains. She seemed to know exactly where they were, even though it was all windy mountain roads and forests, broken up by the occasional late.

Morgan cursed when they came to a road closure, forced to go around and detour from her planned route, but it didn’t really seem to slow her down any. They stopped at a gas station in some tiny mountain town early in the morning. Kitty was surprised to see Canadian flags flying from some of the houses they passed. Had they gone over a border while she was sleeping? Morgan parked off to the side so they could use the washroom and buy a handful of snacks and a map in case there were any more holdups.

Morgan stopped short, eyes turning sharp. A car had parked beside the truck, clearly too close for her comfort.

Kitty eyed the two men warily as they stood outside their car, smoking. She’d have to squeeze past the bigger fellow to get into the passenger seat again. Morgan spotted that too, and flashed them big smiles. “Any chance you boys are locals?” she asked, voice pitched higher, the slightest southern drawl colouring her voice. How did she become someone else so easily? “We got a bit turned around with that road closure, was wondering if you knew any shortcuts to Vancouver.” She unfolded the map on the hood of their car without waiting for an answer. Predictably, both of the men stepped in close on either side of her, not so subtly checking out her ass.

“Not locals, m’afraid,” the big one said. “But funny enough, that’s where we’re ‘eaded too.”

“Real tricky findin’ places to stop through here.” The other one was big too, but not as big, a baseball cap with the union jack set tilted back on his head and a wide, bright white smile on his face. He leaned on the hood of their car, his fingertips a little too close to Morgan’s hand. “Nearly went through all our cigs. Wouldn’t’ve been pretty’f we ran out before we got here. Si’s a real bear without his nicotine.”

Kitty took the opportunity to slip past to the passenger door, trying to calm her nerves. Just because they were English didn’t mean they had anything to do with John. Morgan folded her map back up, still smiling.

“Thought y’wanted ‘elp gettin’ there,” Si said, tilting his head to the side.

Morgan just tapped her now folded map against his chest playfully. “If you’re not locals, you’re not gonna know any shortcuts are you? You’ll just get me lost!”

“Might be fun, gettin’ a bit lost with us,” baseball hat said. Kitty didn’t much like the edge to his smile. But maybe she was just imagining it.

Morgan laughed. “You ever been lost in the mountains before, sugar? Wouldn’t recommend it. Ain’t that many roads that go anywhere worth goin’.” She bounced back a step, and kicked at loose bit of gravel. “But maybe we’ll see you in the city. We’re headed to the beach. Water’ll be cold, but it’s supposed to be pretty nice. Bet you’d both look pretty good with your shirts off.” She winked at baseball hat and gave them a little wave before circling back around to the drivers side and starting up the truck.

She peeled out of the parking lot, her smile falling away. “Pretty sure those are John’s boys. They’re not gonna be happy when they realize I dropped spikes in front of their tires.”

Kitty blinked. “You— Is that what you were doing?”

“That, and making sure the big guy didn’t grab you or slip a tracker on you. Once we get some distance out, I’ll have to re-check the outside of the truck too.”

Kitty let out a shaky breath. “How do you live like this?” she asked. “How do you know what to do, what to check?”

Morgan shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Kitty wasn’t sure how someone ever could.

After that, Morgan turned grim again, pushing to cover ground fast. The brush with those men had scared her too. She’d been driving all night, but she didn’t stop until the mountains were a ways behind them, and the countryside had turned flat, fields on either side of them filled with waving grasses and the occasional farm. Kitty insisted on taking over at their next stop. Morgan looked wrecked, the days of driving and poor sleep catching up with her. Kitty didn’t feel much better, but at least she’d gotten more rest.

"Where are we going?" she asked once they were on their way again.

"I know a place we can get a plane. Then I figure South America? Lots of places to disappear there." Morgan yawned, glancing in the mirror surreptitiously, as though she expected to see danger right on their tail. “Basically just drive straight down this highway. Not a lot of alternative routes around here. Wake me up in three hours, that’s about when we need to make a couple turns.”

Traffic slowed down to a crawl after two, so she tapped Morgan’s shoulder gently. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I think the road’s closed up ahead.”

“Shit. No getting around it.” Morgan turned on the radio and flicked through stations until she found one that came in clear. “They’ll give a traffic update in a bit,” she said, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She came around fast, like she was used to waking up and moving quick. “We still inching forward every few minutes?”

Kitty nodded.

“They’ve prob’ly cleared a lane, be feeding folks through one side at a time. S’gonna suck, probably add three or four hours to the drive.”

“It’ll give you more time to sleep,” Kitty said.

They waited for the traffic report, grimacing at the details of it. Truck driver asleep at the wheel, veered into oncoming traffic and took out three cars. Only the truck driver and his passenger survived.

“Fuck, that’s a mess,” Morgan said grimly. “They need to regulate the industry better. That shit happens too often. Lots of drivers shouldn’t have a license, and the whole industry is overworked and pushed to get deliveries done in too short a time. S’fucked.”

Diplomatically, Kitty didn’t mention the fact that Morgan had been driving for sixteen hours straight herself. “There’s really no way around?”

“Might be, but that map I bought ended a good eighty kilometres ago. We’d better stay on this road or I’ll get us lost.” Morgan sighed. “We’re gonna lose our head start at this rate.”

“Already? He doesn’t know where we’re going, does he?”

“Doubt it. But I have to act like he’s right on my tail, because he usually is.” Morgan leaned her head back against the headrest with a sigh. “Let me get another hour of sleep, keep checking your mirrors, looking around. You see anything the slightest bit funny, wake me up again.”

Kitty nodded. “I will. Get some rest, Morgan.”

“What the fuck do you mean you rented out my plane?” Morgan snarled, resisting the urge to strangle the airfield manager, but only barely.

The portly, balding man with the name tag that said Tim Kent held his clipboard up defensively. “Look, we haven’t heard anything from you in over two years—”

“You still getting paid?”

“Well, y-yes,” Tim said nervously.

“Then why the fuck would you think that anything had changed?”

“Well, I— I um—”

“Forget it,” she snapped, holding up a hand. It was greed, and thinking he could get away with double dipping. She didn’t need him to say it. “When’s it back?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’ll have it ready for you as soon as it comes back. There’s a motel, just down the highway— I know the owner, can get him to comp you a room, Ms. Winters.”

If it were just her, she'd sleep in the truck, with the doors locked and the keys in the ignition, ready to drive off at a moments notice. But Kitty-- Kitty needed a moment to collect herself, needed to shower, and sleep in a bed, and regroup. If Morgan had to sleep on the floor in front of the door with her rifle in her lap to make that happen, so be it.

"Yeah. Alright." It was against every instinct for survival she had. She knew that John wasn't far behind, if his boys had been that close. If they even were his boys. Maybe she'd fucked up the day of some totally innocent Brits on holiday.

It didn't matter. She'd just kill John if she saw him. Get it over with. No more fucking around. She couldn’t run forever. Kitty certainly couldn’t. It hadn’t even been a week, and Kitty was already nervous and stressed, on the verge of tears since their run in with the boys at the gas station. Morgan had been living like this periodically even before John.

She got the information for the motel, and about the two women who had rented the plane (two American women, which was a relief. Nothing to do with John, just an unfortunate coincidence), and headed back to the truck. Kitty was crying, and trying valiantly to pretend she wasn’t.

Morgan slid into her seat with a sigh. “Do you want to go home, Kit? I can take you back. I think that’s pretty much the only thing that would surprise him, at this point. I feel like he’s been a step ahead this whole time. Sent me running in a blind panic so he could set an ambush. I’m worried I’ve put you in more danger by asking you to come with me.”

Kitty shook her head furiously. “No! I want to stay with you. I don’t care if it’s dangerous.” She leaned across the middle seat and gripped the collar of Morgan’s jacket, pulling them together for a kiss.

Morgan tensed for a moment, surprise freezing her in place for a long moment. Suddenly, things made a lot more sense.

Kitty retreated quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. We can just forget it, I won’t do it again, I—” She halted mid sentence when Morgan reached out and brushed away the tears welling in her eyes again.

“Don’t be sorry. C’mere.” She gently held Kitty’s face and pressed a tentative kiss to her lips in return, tasting salt, humming when Kitty responded enthusiastically, lips parted and hands braced against Morgan’s thigh so she could leverage herself closer. For a minute, Morgan let herself forget that they were parked out in the open, that John was bound to catch up with them sooner rather than later, that they were far from safe, and that it was far from wise. She wanted to lose herself in that moment.

But good sense wouldn’t let her stay there for too long. “Come on. Lets go get something proper to eat. We’re stuck here till the morning. We’ll just have to keep an eye out.”

Morgan drove well out of the way to find a diner to eat dinner at, and watched the door the whole time, barely tasting her food. Kitty, at least, looked a little more settled with a proper meal in her, relaxing slightly even while Morgan twitched at every new patron coming through the door.

"What was he like when he wasn't— I mean— Was it all bad?"

Kitty's question surprised Morgan out of her vigilance, splitting her focus down the middle. It took a moment to figure out a response to that. “I sucked at following his rules. Fought him on everything. So I spent a lot more time getting punished than I did anything else.” She picked up a cold fry off her plate and dipped it in ketchup. “He wanted me to like him. I’m sure he could have been worse.”

Kitty nodded slowly. "What was he like when you did follow the rules?"

"A creep. Making me wear short little dresses without panties while I did housework, if he let me wear clothes at all. Letting me sleep in bed so he could feel me up. Asking if I was done being stubborn or if I was ready to ask for his cock. Fucking pervert." She tossed the fry into her mouth. "It was some kind of fucking game to him. He wanted me to beg for it."

"Oh," Kitty said in a small voice.

"I'm trying to spare you the details, Kit. He's got some ugly fucking demons in him, and it'll be better if we get far away."

"Y-yeah. Of course."

"You sure you don't want me turning the truck around? Could get you back home before—"

"No!" Kitty said quickly. "I'll stay. Just— um. Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I did. He had connections. They fucking delivered me back to him." She slumped back into her seat. “Let’s get out of here. Not safe to stay in one place too long. We’re risking enough with a motel stay.”

Not that she had any intention of staying at the one that Tim had suggested. It was just a red herring, something to hopefully draw attention if Tim was compromised while she found somewhere to stay an hour or two’s drive away.

She finally decided on one as the sun started setting, pulling into a half empty gravel lot. The place was dated, but that was fine. It didn’t need to be perfect. Just needed a door that locked and a bed with clean sheets.

The front desk was run by a bored looking girl in her late teens. She snapped her gum while she booked Morgan in on the ancient computer. She didn’t ask any questions, and she let Morgan pay cash, which was all she cared about.

She checked the room, paranoia winning over the more rational thought that she hadn’t known where they were staying until they got there, so John couldn’t have possibly set a trap for her, and Kitty hopped into the shower while Morgan flipped on the tv and scanned through channels listlessly.

— For a limited time only—

*— A community in chaos to— *

— Refreshing—

Wait. She flicked back to the news channel. A woman with a microphone standing in front of the smoking remains of a building, the unscathed sign at the edge of the parking lot reading Rosemary’s Diner. Red and blue flashing lights haloed her blonde hair, firefighters and police securing the area against the gathering crowd. “Crews are still recovering bodies from the ashes of this beloved local establishment. It is unclear what happened, or why none of the patrons were able to escape before the fire engulfed the building, but—”

Morgan’s head went fuzzy, her ears ringing as the noise from the tv scrambled as her brain tried to make sense of it. No on could escape because they were already dead. She’d killed them by walking into the place. This was her fault.

“Um, Morgan,” Kitty called from the bathroom. “There’s no towels.”

Morgan grimaced. She didn’t want them to separate for an instant. “I’ll go to the front desk and get some. Keep that door locked.”

The night time air was quiet and cool. She locked the door behind her— The place was so old that it had keys rather than cards. She wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a liability. She was too rattled to think it over.

This shouldn’t have shaken her so much. She knew who John was. She knew how dangerous, how depraved he was. It just felt so… Unnecessary. Maybe it was just a message to her. That everywhere she went she’d endanger innocent people.

Morgan pushed the door open and walked into the front office of the motel, blinking in the bright fluorescent lights, frowning at the lack of sound. Hadn’t there been a bell over the door? The bored looking teen who had been there earlier was nowhere to be seen, and the scent of blood in the air hit her as she breathed in, thick, coppery, cloying. There was the bell, lying on the floor next to an expanding pool of red trickling out from behind the desk. This had just happened. Which meant--

"Hi, bonnie."

Morgan whirled around to face Soap, grimacing. He was the only one of John’s boys she'd met before, and she wished she hadn't. He’d been babysitting her when she’d escaped. He’d be eager to hand her back over to John and gain forgiveness for losing her in the first place. He wiped the bloody blade of his knife off on his shirt, blue eyes fixed on her, teeth bared in a feral sort of grin.

She grabbed the computer monitor off the desk and threw it at him, grabbing out a gun. Someone behind her grabbed her hand and yanked her hand up, sending her shot wild, shattering the window rather than blowing through Soap’s head like she intended. She yelped when another hand grabbed her ponytail and yanked her head backwards.

“Hey there, sugar.” That was one of the men from the mountain town gas station, the baseball hat one, if the sliver of blue in the upper periphery was any indication. Gaz, probably. He didn’t feel like a Ghost. “Why don’t you drop that gun?”

Morgan grabbed for her other gun, only just clearing the holster by the time Soap was on her, pinning her arm to her chest and leaning close, so that she was pressed tightly between their bodies.

Soap traced his thumb down her throat, fingers curled around her neck like he was dreaming of throttling the life out of her. He probably was. “No’ verrah sportin’ of ye, Morgan. Bringin’ guns to a knife fight.”

“You brought a friend, seems fair to me.”

“Ye would. Tricky little thing. Dinnae ken what Price sees in ye.”

“No?” Gaz pried the gun out of her hand and stowed it somewhere, his now freed hand coming around to cup her breast, lips trailing over her ear. “I can see a few things that he’d like.”

“Weel. There is tha’.”

Morgan kneed him hard, nailing him right above the knee. The angle wasn’t good for generating as much power as she would have liked, but it was effective enough.

He swore and yanked the other gun out of her hand, jamming it up under her chin. “Should jest kill ye now,” he growled. “Yer nothin’ but trouble.”

“You’re just upset because I lied about wanting to play with you,” she taunted. He’d let her out of the cage in the cellar, and wound up locked in there himself. “How long were you stuck in there, Soap? Did John let you out when he got home, or did he leave you in there a little longer to make sure puppy learned his lesson?”

“Mouthy for a brat with a gun to her head,” Gaz said, yanking on her hair again. “Should be beggin’ for forgiveness.”

“Pull the fucking trigger, you coward,” Morgan spat. “I’m not going to beg for my life. Just fucking kill me. Should be easy. You killed all those people at the diner.” She carefully reached for the knife on Soap’s belt, doing her best not to move too much. So long as they were paying more attention to her mouth, she could get it. “Fucking losers, picking off a bunch of seniors. You lose your nerve when you’ve got a fair fight on your hands? Can’t even take me without backup, huh Soap?”

His hold on her other wrist tightened, enough to make her bones creak. She tried not to grimace, but he saw the wince in her eyes, satisfaction flitting through his baby-blues. “Price said one piece, but he didna say I couldnae break a few fingers.”

“Soap,” Gaz said warningly. “Come on. Let’s just get her out of here.”

Soap lowered the gun. Morgan ripped the knife off his belt and stabbed it into Gaz’s leg, gripping tight so she wouldn’t lose it when he jerked back, letting go of her hair in surprise.

“Shit, get back here you little—” Gaz tried to grab her again, so she turned and slashed at him, cutting a thin slice through his shirt.

Soap grabbed her from behind, so she let him take her weight as she kicked Gaz hard in the gut, knocking all the air out of him. Morgan smashed her head back into Soap’s face as she lowered her legs, only stumbling a little when he let go to cradle his nose, blood pouring from between his fingers. She grabbed his shoulders and kneed him hard in the groin for good measure, shoving him to the ground.

She ran outside. The air reeked of gasoline, the signature cover for their sins. They'd burn the place down on the way out. She ran back to the room. The door was open, hanging off it's hinges, the darkness beyond yawning like an open mouth.

"Kitty?" she called out, stepping inside. She already knew she wouldn't be there. Or if she was…

Only silence. Kitty's bag was gone off the bed, but hers was still there. She grabbed it, nearly sobbing when she found it open, her rifle gone. No guns, no Kitty, just her and a couple of flimsy knives against John and his dogs.

"Lookin' for this, honey?" John melted out of the shadows by the door. It should have been impossible for a man as big as him to be so quiet, so invisible. He held her rifle loosely in his big hands, not even bothering to point it at her. He was entirely at ease, shoulders relaxed, head tipped slightly to the side as he looked at her, eyes glittering in the low light.

Morgan gripped her stolen knife tighter. "Where's Kitty?"

“Ghost has her. Put the knife down, sweetheart. Somethin’ happens to me, he’s gonna snap her pretty neck. Be easy too, little thing like her.” He took a step forward. “It’s time to come home. Nothing left for you out here.”

Morgan backed up a step. He was between her and the door. There were no other exits. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He had her cornered, defenceless, beaten again.

“Come on,” he said, holding out one hand, taking another slow step, like she was a wild animal he was trying to coax into domestication. That was probably how he saw her. “We don’t need to fight anymore, do we? I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?” she asked, acid roiling in her belly. “You were there that whole time— Six months! You knew! Why didn’t you just— Why’d you let me think I’d gotten away?”

Another step. “I was going to come get you early on, but I overheard Kitty talkin��� to one of the other girls at the diner about you. How you’d helped her fix her car up, how sweet you were, how smart, how strong. Poor girl was half in love with you before you’d been there a month. And I thought to myself, maybe that’s what a wild thing like you needs. A good girl to show you how to behave.”

He’d let her get close to Kitty just so he could use the poor girl against her. She’d tried to keep Kitty away, but she just kept coming back. A nudge from a well meaning regular might have convinced Kitty to ignore Morgan’s prickles, and that string of car troubles… Easily engineered by someone who knew enough about engines to make it look like it wasn’t sabotage. She’d been so so stupid. Should have just collected what she needed and moved on when she first got to Montana.

John tossed the gun onto the bed to free up his other hand as he moved past it. Morgan wondered if she could get past him, grab the gun, kill him, but—

“You ready to go, boss?” Gaz asked, his shadow filling the doorway.

John turned, carelessly turning his back on Morgan for a moment. She could jam her knife into his neck, grab the gun before John hit the ground, shoot Gaz— But Soap and Ghost were still out there somewhere, and they could hurt Kitty. Without John holding Soap’s leash, the maniac would do a lot worse than just kill them too.

“We’ll be along in a moment. Take her things.” He nodded toward the bed, then chuckled as Gaz limped over. One of his pant legs was dark with blood, a strip of fabric tied around where she’d stabbed him to put some pressure on the wound. “She got you, huh?”

“Got Soap too. Broke his nose.”

John shook his head. “Told you not to underestimate her.”

Gaz shouldered the bag and picked up the rifle. “You’re the one with your back turned to her.”

“She knows better than to try it. Isn’t that right? You’re ready to be good, aren’t you?” He turned back toward Morgan, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “You can start by giving me the knife, princess.”

She stared at his open palm, extended trustingly toward her, like he knew she wouldn’t bite back now. She hated him. Wanted nothing more than sink the blade into his hand, into any soft bit of skin she could reach. She wanted to be free of him more than she wanted to continue breathing.

But they had Kitty.

It felt like driving the final nail into her own coffin, sealing her fate, but she she dropped the knife into his hand, shaking with rage. “I hate you,” she hissed, the scratchy whisper all she could force out from a locked up throat.

He tucked the knife into his belt and closed the remaining space between them, tipping her face up so she couldn’t avoid those piercing blue eyes. “Oh sweetheart, you know that’s not true. If you’ll just be good, we can be happy. You just have to stop fighting me, hm? For Kitty’s sake.”

“Just— Just let her go. Please. I’ll be good.”

“Of course you will.” He thumbed across her cheek, wiping away tears she was desperately trying not to shed. “But I’m keeping you both.” He kissed her forehead, moustache prickling against her skin, and released her.

Morgan stood where she was for a long moment, feet rooted to the faded, stained motel carpet, as John walked away. Usually, he’d cuff her and cart her off, growling admonishments all the way home.

He looked back from the doorway, realizing that she wasn’t following. And of course, he wanted her to come of her own accord, to bow her head and admit defeat and follow him like a dog. He wanted her to choose to be with him.

“Come on, pet. It’s time to go home.”

Haltingly, she willed her feet to move, and she followed him.

Image Credit - Dividers by @/CafeKitsune

If you liked this, check out these stories:

Slasher Handler by Dragonnarrative-writes

Siphon and Keeping House by Syoddeye

Gentle Chokeholds by CharlieMWrites

Nobody by 391780

Please mind the warnings on each of the fics above, the warnings and intensities do vary a lot!

Thanks for Reading!

[bree-cheesy]

Forever and Always

Jschlatt x Ped Nurse fem!reader

I hope you guys like this! I'm actually kind of proud of it and really hope you guys are proud of it too!

Warnings: child cancer patient death, this is def angsty, hospitals?, some kissing at the end (no smut, sorry).

Words: 1,511

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

Being the roommate of a very popular youtuber and streamer- when you’re not famous yourself at all- is a lot of pressure. You don’t like to be in his streams or videos, so whenever he’s filming or streaming, you have to lock yourself in your room till he’s done. You two had been friends and roommates since he moved to Austin. You both moved around a lot, but you didn’t really mind it because you weren’t alone doing it. Jay kind of felt like your rock in ways. Something that always pretty much stayed the same. Aside from the occasional haircut or different hoodie.

Yes, you had a little crush on him. Couldn’t really help it because he always had cute nicknames for you, always super touchy. Not to mention he was the only guy who actually ever listened to you.

Your job was pretty demanding. You were a pediatric nurse. Your whole job revolved around kids. Being around kids that much, you obviously start to feel like an older sister to them. Doing everything in your power to make sure they’re comfortable and not scared. Especially for the ones in critical care, or the ones with life risking illnesses. But, getting attached is dangerous. When the ones who are on end of life care eventually reach the end of their life, you’re just broken for days. Blaming yourself for not doing anything more for them, even though you know you did everything in your power for them. They never passed away sad, always surrounded by loved ones and the team helping them.

Today was different, though. You had a patient. A 7 year old girl with stage 4 lung cancer. She was an orphan. No family and was thrown into the hospital by her foster family and just left behind. She had been under the hospital’s care for 5 months and you formed a strong bond with her. She felt like a little sister to you. She was doing so good. She was getting better. Then, close to the end of your shift, her heart monitor went flat while a doctor was in there talking to her. It was like your whole world stopped. The cancer grew so much in what felt overnight, blocking her lungs, not letting any oxygen get in. There was no saving her. She was really gone.

When you finally got to your car after staying 2 hours overshift, helping everyone with the little girl, you completely broke down. You stayed pretty good at being neutral in the hospital, but it was just too much. How hadn’t any of you seen her cancer growing? I failed. I failed her. You almost couldn’t drive home, stopping a few times just to try and collect yourself. Pulling up to the house, you saw a car parked in front of the house. Shit. You totally forgot. Jay got home from being away in Japan today. You were so excited all day because you missed him so bad. Now look at you. A total mess. He had a super long day of travel and now he’s gonna have to deal with you being a blubbering snotty mess.

Pressing your forehead against the steering wheel, you sighed, trying to gather your emotions. When you looked up you saw him. Standing on the porch, holding the black and orange cats, smiling like a dork in that stupid Seaworld hoodie and basketball shorts. That would usually be enough to brighten your mood and make you laugh, but tonight it just made it all worse. You let out a sob and pressed your hands against your face, leaning your head back against the headrest. Jay frowned and quickly let the cats back inside, rushing over to your car and opening the door.

His arms instantly wrapped around you, his body acting like a huge cocoon of warmth and comfort for you. Sobbing into his chest- dirtying his hoodie with your tears- he rubbed your back and held you close, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “What’s going on, hun?” His voice was soft and concerned in your ear, making you break down even harder. He gently picked you up bridal style and carried you inside the house, sitting down with you in his lap on the couch. “Gotta talk to me, sweets. Can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“She's gone.” Your voice was scratchy and quiet. Schlatt’s heart broke seeing you like this. He didn’t know how to help you. His baby was sad, the little voice in his head whispered. Who was she? He was trying to remember if you mention anyone in recent history being close to death.

“Who’s gone?” He kept his voice gentle and rocked you in his lap a little.

“Remember the little girl who had cancer? The orphan?” He nodded- his heart sinking- and you sniffled, wiping the tears away. “H-Her cancer grew… blocked the oxygen from getting to her lungs.” You let out another heart wrenching sob and he held you closer, gently kissing your forehead. “I couldn’t help her, Jay…. I didn’t even see her cancer was growing! I failed her… I wasn’t with her when she died. I promised her I would be there with her!”

He shook his head and forced your chin up to look him in the eyes. “Babe, you did everything you could to help her. You had no control over what happened. She was sick, baby…. You did more for that little girl than anyone probably ever had before in her life.”

Knowing he was right, you nodded and leaned the side of your head against his chest, just trying to focus on his steady heartbeat in your ear. When you eventually stopped crying, you managed to get up to take a shower and get in pajamas. Luckily you had the next two days off. You probably would’ve called out anyway if you didn’t have them off. When you got out of the shower, you saw stuff laid out on your bed. A smile formed on your face. They were little gifts Jay got for you while he was away. He always did that for you when he went on a trip, but this time it just felt so much more substantial. After looking at what they were, you heard him in the kitchen.

A frown formed on your face when your mind started racing. He was always doing things for you. Always comforting you on bad days, always buying you things you’ve shown interest in, face timing you on your breaks at work just to try and make you laugh because he knows how rough your job is. He was always just there. Your heart started racing. This wasn’t just a crush, this was love. You were in love with him.

Gaining all the courage you could possibly muster at that moment, you rushed out of your room and to where he was in the kitchen. He was making food for the both of you. He looked up at you and smiled. “Good shower? Help a little bit? I’m making this chicken thing Ted told me to try-” Before he could say anything else, you grabbed his face and kissed him. His hands took a second to land on your hips, but when they did, he pulled you close and kissed you back, letting out a soft grunt. Fuck. It was so much better than you ever imagined. His lips were so soft and tasted like cherry chapstick, his facial hair lightly scratched at your cheeks in the best way possible, his hands roamed the length of your back, keeping you pressed up close against him.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes were wide with shock, lips parted and tongue nervously running across his bottom lip. “I love you.” The words came out before you could stop them, and you saw a deep red spread across his cheeks and nose, a smile forming on his lips. “Damnit Jonathan, say something!” Your voice came out needier than you wanted it to, but it got the message across because his lips landed on yours again, sucking out the last bit of anxiety left in your body.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you moaned softly into his mouth. He pulled away after a few seconds and pressed his forehead against yours, lightly rubbing his nose against yours, smiling wide. You giggled and he started peppering your face with soft kisses, making you blush a bright scarlett. “God, I love you too, toots.” His voice was laced with amusement and just pure adoration. He couldn’t even believe what was happening. You in his arms, your lips on his. It was everything he imagined and more.

He vowed to you that he’d treat you like the princess you are, promising to never cause you pain or heartache. Because why would he do anything less. You were his girl now. He wasn’t just gonna let it go. He was forever and always yours, and you were his.

-- Bree <3

————————-

Someone give me ideas of what to write with him or Ted 😭 I don’t have anymore ideas