#cascade badge

[alienated-youth]

Weather's looking a little wet and Misty today... 😁💧

[ms-yuuki-daily-pokemon]

This is the 695th drawing for this project

[9823678]

Cascade Badge frame / kana official illustrations

[yamujiburo]

Ketchum vs. Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

Woo! Finale time! I wanted to make this final battle feel special and give it more substance than I could do with just a comic. So! I got the help of @cyberwulf to write out this ending in fanfic form! Check it out here on AO3 if you prefer! If not, the journey continues below the cut~

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James Sidestory / Meowth Sidestory

A lot has happened since our Poké Moms began their journey. After a rocky start…

“*SQUAWK*”

…they’ve managed to catch some new Pokémon…

“Run! Run! Run!”

…in their own way.

“What a cute baby! You know, I have a son, too!”

With their month on the road almost up, Delia had just one more thing she wanted to do…

“I want to beat the Cerulean City Gym!”

But little did Delia know, there was a surprise waiting for her in Cerulean City!

“MOM??? JESSIE???”

“Let’s have a double battle! You and Ash versus Jessie and I!”

“You’re on! But I’m not going easy on you just cuz you’re family!”

“…What’s going on?”

Poké Mom Adventures

EP009

Ketchum vs Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

The water of the Cerulean gym battlefield glistened in the sunshine streaming through its crystal glass roof. Both teams gazed at each other with steely determination (and some lingering confusion, in Misty’s case) as above them, the Drone Rotom announced the rules.

“This will be a double battle between Gym Leader Misty and Champion Ash, and the challengers Delia and Jessie.” It projected a holographic image of both teams. “For today’s battle, each trainer may use two Pokémon. The battle is over when all of one team’s Pokémon can no longer battle.”

“All right!” Misty declared. “This is an official League battle for the Cascade badge!”

“And bragging rights!” Jessie added with a smirk.

“We’ll see about that!” Ash retorted. Misty glanced at him, taking in his clenched fists and gritted teeth. She’d seen Ash determined before, but… there was something here that she was missing. However, with the Drone Rotom hovering expectantly overhead, finding out what that something was would have to wait.

“Come out – Corsola!”

The Coral Pokémon landed on the rock in front of her, eagerly crying its name.

“This is a water-themed gym, so I’ll go with a Water-Type,” Ash remarked. “Oshawott, I choose you!”

“That’s the spirit, Ash!” Misty exclaimed. “It’s the job of a Gym Leader to help trainers learn type advantage and weaknesses by specialising in one kind of Pokémon, and around here that’s Water-Types!”

“Water, huh?” Jessie frowned as she considered the three Pokémon she had on hand. “Well, I don’t want my delicate little Ziggy to get her fur wet.” With a flourish, she tossed a Pokéball high in the air. “Go, Venomoth!”

The Poison Moth Pokémon emerged, hovering over the water.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any Grass or Electric-types,” Delia mused. “I guess we’ll just have to do our best with what we have.” Pushing her bangs out of her face, she called, “I choose you!”

Ash and Misty’s jaws dropped as the light from Delia’s Pokéball coalesced into a very large, very stern-looking Kangaskhan.

“I didn’t know your mom had such a strong Pokémon,” Misty whispered.

“Neither did I,” Ash whispered back. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down at his starter Pokémon. “Something wrong, Pikachu?”

“Pika…”

Pikachu gazed across the water at Kangaskhan, ears and tail up, alert to… something. But before anyone could figure out what had caught his attention, there was a small cry.

“Kangaskhan!”

The baby squirmed, spooked by the glistening water lapping all around the rock. She buried her face in her mother’s belly and cried again. Cradling her young protectively, Kangaskhan gave Delia an apologetic look.

“Oh, of course!” Delia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Kangaskhan, return.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called across the battlefield. “That doesn’t count as one of my Pokémon, does it?”

“Of course not, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty shouted back. “Please choose another Pokémon!”

“If she’s got one,” Ash said with a confident smirk. “I’m betting she’ll send out Mimey.”

“I choose you… Clefairy!”

“Looks like you bet wrong, Ash,” Misty laughed as Ash stared in surprise at the Fairy Pokémon.

Above them, the Drone Rotom moved into position.

“Begin!”

“All right, Oshawott!” Ash called out. “Open up with an Aqua Jet!”

With a determined cry, Oshawott blasted a jet of water across the field, hitting Clefairy square in the belly and knocking the Fairy Pokémon off the rock and into the water.

“Ash Ketchum!” Delia exclaimed reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Thrown off-guard, Ash gulped. “S-sorry!” (Oh man - I can’t believe I’m actually battling my mom!)

On the opposite side of the battlefield, a wet and bedraggled Clefairy clambered back up on the rock ridge, scowling at her attacker.

“Shake it off, Clefairy!” Delia urged as her Pokémon did just that, sending a fine shower of water droplets flying from her pink fur. “Use Disarming Voice!”

With a deep breath, Clefairy shot a vortex of pink hearts towards Oshawott, taking the Sea Otter Pokémon by surprise and knocking him into the water.

“Good work, Deerling!” Jessie shouted triumphantly. “Now it’s my turn!” She pointed at Corsola. “Venomoth, use Poison Sting!”

Venomoth hovered uncertainly for a few moments, then looked back at her.

“It doesn’t look like Venomoth knows that move, honey,” Delia remarked.

“Well, Dustox knew that move!” Jessie protested. “Venomoth should know it too, aren’t they both Bug-types?”

Venomoth just blinked at her.

“You really don’t know what moves your Pokémon knows?” Misty asked incredulously.

“Of course I do, just – just let me think!” Jessie spluttered, clenching her fists. “All right, Venomoth – use Gust!”

Venomoth didn’t move.

“Whirlwind!” Jessie tried. “Psybeam! …Tackle?”

Venomoth looked back and forth between Jessie and the battlefield as it fluttered about agitatedly, utterly confused by the barrage of unfamiliar orders.

“This is just sad,” Misty muttered, getting a nod of agreement from Ash. Raising her voice, she called out, “Corsola! Use Spike Cannon!”

Corsola glowed, and a split second later a shower of glowing white spikes slammed into Venomoth, driving it backwards towards the trainer box.

“Oh, no!” Delia groaned in dismay, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should’ve practiced with our new Pokémon before coming here!”

“We’re not giving up!” Jessie snarled, clenching her fists. “Venomoth! Get back out there!”

With a trill, Venomoth shook off the spikes, and floated towards its opponents again.

“Corsola!” Misty called. “Hit it with another Spike Cannon!”

Corsola began to glow.

“Well don’t just hover there!” Jessie barked out. “It’s about to attack again!” Venomoth looked back at her, and Jessie gestured angrily towards the battlefield. “Just do something! Anything!”

Once more, glowing white spikes shot towards Venomoth. This time, however, Venomoth dove towards the attack, sweeping its wings in front of itself at the last minute. Blue blades of light cut through the barrage of spikes, one hitting Corsola and driving it back.

“That’s Air Slash!” Ash exclaimed.

“Air Slash, eh?” Jessie shot her opponents a triumphant smirk. “Venomoth! Use Air Slash on that pitiful pink Pokémon again!”

“Hang in there, Corsola!” Misty called as her Pokémon was driven back for a second time. “Use Recover!”

“Don’t let it recover, Venomoth!” Jessie yelled. “Air Slash again!”

As her Pokémon geared up for another attack, she noticed Delia gazing at her in rapture.

“You’re so ferocious when you battle, Smoochum,” Delia remarked dreamily. She lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jessie blushed and giggled. “Baaabe, not in front of the twerps.”

Misty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “…Smoochum?”

“Freak out later, Misty!” Ash yelled. Venomoth was bearing down on Corsola, and the Coral Pokémon didn’t have much left. “Oshawott! Use Hydro Pump on Venomoth to protect Corsola!”

Leaping high into the air, Oshawott sent a powerful jet of water directly at Jessie’s Venomoth. With a cry, the Poison Moth hit the floor between Jessie and Delia, bounced once, and fainted.

“Hey, no fair!” Jessie bellowed, stamping her foot. “I was distracted!” She recalled Venomoth with a scowl. “I ought to ground you for making me look bad!”

“This is really weird,” Misty mumbled.

“You have no idea,” Ash sighed wearily.

“All right, you big blue blob,” Jessie growled to her faithful Patient Pokémon, “get out there and let’s win this thing!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet waddled forward, straight into the water. Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose as Wobbuffet awkwardly clambered up onto the protruding rock.

“Wobbles can’t attack unless he’s attacked first,” Delia murmured to herself. “Oshawott is strong, and Corsola can use Recover to gain back health. That means I’ve got to make this next move count!” She looked to Clefairy, wet and winded but not out of the battle. It was risky, but…

“Clefairy! Use Metronome!”

“Metronome?!” Misty exclaimed as Clefairy began to move her fingers hypnotically back and forth. “Now anything can happen!”

“Hold tight, everybody!” Ash called, just as the Fairy Pokémon’s fingers turned white.

Razor-sharp leaves whipped through the air, striking Oshawott and Corsola. The Grass-Type move was too much for the dual Rock/Water Type, and Corsola collapsed into the water, fainted. Oshawott was driven back against the rock ridge, and Ash held his breath, but the Drone Rotom only counted Corsola out.

“Oshawott! You hanging in there, buddy?”

With a grimace, the Sea Otter Pokémon gave him a determined nod. “Osha!”

“Ha!” Jessie cried triumphantly. “Now we’re even!” She clenched her fists, calling tauntingly across the battlefield. “Who’s next, twerpette? Togepi? Psyduck?”

“She sure is cocky for being down to just Wobbuffet,” Ash muttered.

“Not for long,” Misty replied with a smirk. She plucked her second Pokéball from her hip.

“Go – Gyarados!”

Delia’s eyes widened and Jessie took several steps back as the gigantic Pokémon appeared in the water. It glowered down at both trainers, making Delia swallow hard.

(Now’s not the time to lose my nerve! Gyarados is just a Pokémon like any other. All I have to do is-)

“Hey!” Jessie exclaimed angrily. “No fair using such a powerful Pokémon! What, are Staryu and Starmie at the Pokémon Centre or something?!”

Taken aback, Misty gaped at the former Team Rocket member in disbelief. “Since when do you care about playing fair?”

“Since you decided to use that monstrosity on a first-time trainer!” Jessie retorted with a shake of her fist. “That’s cheating!”

Misty paused, almost second-guessing her choice of Pokémon, when she remembered who she was dealing with. Squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “You’re not a first-time trainer!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” Jessie bawled.

“It’s okay, honey,” Delia murmured, placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “We can beat them. We just need to use strategy!”

“Gyarados!” Misty called out. Jessie may not have been the best trainer, and her track record with him was hit or miss, but Wobbuffet could reflect almost any attack. It might just have been luck, but Clefairy’s Metronome had taken out Corsola and left Oshawott just barely hanging on. There was only one choice of target.

“Use Hurricane on Clefairy, now!”

Rearing back, Gyarados shot a powerful blast of air directly at the Fairy Pokémon, sending her flying back to the trainer box.

“Oh no!” Delia cried. She knelt by her stricken Pokémon’s side, but it was obvious even without Drone Rotom saying so that Clefairy couldn’t continue. “You did a wonderful job, Clefairy.” Recalling her Pokémon, she rose, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and called her second Pokémon.

“Mimey, I choose you!”

Ash clenched his fists. No more surprises – he knew what Mimey was capable of. Oshawott was tough, but he’d taken a lot of damage. If the Sea Otter Pokémon only had one move left, then Ash had to make it count.

“Oshawott! Hit Mimey with Aqua Jet!”

“Mimey, dodge it!” Delia cried out.

The Barrier Pokémon leapt high in the air, leaving Ash to watch, powerless, as Aqua Jet splashed harmlessly on the ground between his mother and Jessie. But before he could call out another attack –

“Now, Mimey, Focus Punch on Oshawott!”

There was no time for Oshawott to get out of the way. Mimey dove straight down, fist outstretched, and scored a direct hit. Both Pokémon vanished underwater. All four trainers held their breath. After a few seconds, Mimey burst out of the water, effortlessly leaping onto the rock. A moment later Oshawott floated to the surface, fainted.

“Good work, Oshawott,” Ash murmured as he recalled his Pokémon. He turned to Pikachu. “Looks like my mom’s a tougher trainer than I thought. You ready, Pikachu?”

The yellow mouse nodded, one tiny fist raised. “Pika!”

“You be nice to us now, Pikachu!” Delia cheered brightly.

Jessie was less optimistic.

“Babe, this isn’t looking good,” she murmured urgently. “I’ve been beaten by that Pikachu a zillion times! And that Gyarados looks strong. And mean! I don’t know if…”

She trailed off as the other woman took her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Jessie Ketchum.” Delia gazed into her eyes, a look of fierce determination on her face. “A zillion battles. A zillion losses. Against that very Pikachu. And you never gave up. So you’re not gonna give up now! Okay?”

Jessie stared back at her. Time seemed to stand still. Delia’s fingers were warm on her own as her words of encouragement hung in the air.

“Jessie… Ketchum?”

With the briefest of nods, Delia turned to face their opponents.

“Ash honey, don’t you hold back just because I’m your mom!” she called. “We’re going to give it our all, even if we lose!”

“She’s a lot like you, Ash,” Misty laughed. As Ash tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his blush, she raised her voice and called to the challengers. “You’re doing great, Ms. Ketchum! I’m really impressed by your abilities as a trainer. Now show me you’re worthy of the Cascade badge!”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?! My Venomoth pushed your Corsola to the brink!”

Misty grimaced. This was all still too strange – Jessie was a good guy? Jessie and Ash’s mom were… partners? She struggled for something positive to say about Jessie’s performance so far.

“Uh – yeah!” she managed. “It was, uh, really great how you figured out that one move.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips. “Ugh, could you sound any more insincere?!”

With a growl of impatience, Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the battlefield. “Hey! Are we gonna battle or what?”

“Oh, we’re battling, twerp,” Jessie shot back. “And we’re gonna win!”

Ash grinned. “You ready, Pikachu?” The yellow Pokémon turned to look at his trainer. Ash pointed. “Quick attack!”

“Ha!” Jessie scoffed as Pikachu zigzagged along the rock ridge. “Wobbuffet, use Counter!”

Pikachu leaped forward…

“On Mimey!”

Delia and Jessie gasped as Pikachu pivoted and went straight for the Barrier Pokémon. Taken by surprise, he took the full brunt of the attack, losing his balance and hitting the water.

“A fake out!” Delia exclaimed. She beamed at her son with pride. “That was so smart of you, honey! You had us completely fooled!”

“Baaabe!” Jessie hissed. “I get that you care about him – I do too – but right now he’s the enemy!”

Delia tapped her fist against her head, grinning nervously. “Oh, right!”

“This is hurting my brain,” Misty groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Ash grumbled.

Delia took a moment to centre herself and assess the situation. Pikachu didn’t have a Type advantage, but his Electric attacks were powerful – not to mention that Mimey was still wet. Of course, using them ran the risk of electrifying the entire battlefield, including Gyarados, but only one Pokémon needed to be left standing in order for that Pokémon’s team to win.

“Mimey!” she commanded. “Use Psychic on Pikachu!”

“Mr Mime!”

Mimey fixed Pikachu with an intense stare, his eyes and hands glowing blue. Blue light enveloped the yellow mouse as he was lifted into the air. Pikachu strained and struggled, but couldn’t break free.

Ash groaned in exasperation.

“Misty, go for Mimey!” he called. “If you weaken him, maybe Pikachu can break free. Plus, he’s a lot stronger than Wobbuffet!”

Misty nodded. “Right!”

“Hey!” Jessie objected. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it!” She shook her fist at them. “I raised you better than that, Ash Ketchum!”

“Wha – ” Ash took a step back, flabbergasted. “You didn’t raise me at all!”

“The heck I didn’t!” Jessie retorted. “Who kept an eye on you while you twerped your way through eight regions, huh?!”

Misty rubbed her temples. The whole situation was giving her a headache.

“Gyarados!”

The Atrocious Pokémon stirred itself and looked her way.

“Use Crunch on Mr. Mime, now!”

“Oh no, not Crunch!” Delia fretted, as Gyarados reared back, a sinister purple aura swirling around its fangs. “That’s a Dark-Type move!”

“Wobbuffet!” Jessie barked. “Get between Mimey and Gyarados and use Counter!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet leaped in front of Mimey, his body outlined in orange light. Crunch hit, hard, and bounced back twice as hard. Both Gyarados and Wobbuffet recoiled from the damage.

“Wobbles!” Delia cried out, as Mimey caught Wobbuffet in his arms.

“Don’t you quit on me now, Wobbuffet!” Jessie shouted.

Wobbuffet saluted weakly as Mimey pushed him back onto his paws. The distraction worked, and Pikachu dropped back to the rock, freed from Psychic.

“Keep the pressure on, Pikachu!” Ash yelled. “Use Iron Tail on Mimey, now!”

“Quick, Mimey!” Delia shouted as Pikachu somersaulted through the air, tail glowing white. “Use Reflect!”

Pikachu hit the invisible barrier and flew backwards, landing in the water.

“Gyarados!” Misty commanded. “Use Crunch again!”

“Mimey, keep using Reflect!” Delia shouted. “Don’t let them in!” She had to think. Poor Wobbles, he didn’t have much left – one more shot from that big Gyarados and that would be it. Not to mention that if Crunch hit Mimey, the battle would be over! She’d completely forgotten Gyarados could learn that move! Oh, maybe she should’ve used Zaggy instead…

Mimey obediently continued to use Reflect as Gyarados and Pikachu attacked from either side. Slowly the invisible barriers began to box them in, till Mimey and Wobbuffet were crowded together on the rock.

“Babe!” Jessie urged. “We have to do something or we’re gonna lose!”

“I know!” Delia groaned. “I just…” She cupped her face in her hands, pulling down on her cheeks. “…I don’t know!”

“Ms Ketchum!”

Delia lifted her head.

“You can’t let us back you into a corner!” Misty called. “Use your environment to find a way out!”

Ash shot her a glare. “Hey, whose side are you on?!”

“It’s my job as a Gym leader to help trainers to learn,” Misty explained with a smile. “Did you forget?”

“You didn’t help me when I battled you for the first time!” Ash replied indignantly, poking his thumb into his chest.

Misty glowered at him.

“That’s because you still owed me a new bike, Ash Ketchum!”

“Aaagh!” Ash placed both hands on his head, tugging his hat down. “Can’t you let that go already? It got repaired, didn’t it?”

While their opponents bickered, Delia had taken Misty’s words to heart.

“Use the environment…” she mused. There was only one place Mimey and Wobbles could go – but first they had to do something about the double attacks coming their way.

“Jessie!” she hissed, beckoning her partner to come closer. “Can you have Wobbles use Counter?”

Jessie looked at Wobbuffet, sweating nervously as he stood behind Mimey. She nodded.

“Okay,” Delia replied. She whispered quickly in the other woman’s ear. Jessie grinned, then straightened up.

“Wobbuffet! Use Counter on both those attacks!”

Without any hesitation, Wobbuffet moved in front of Mimey, body once more enveloped in an orange glow. Crunch and Iron Tail came back double on Gyarados and Pikachu, sending the two flying backwards. Both Pokémon landed hard on the rock, Gyarados almost wrapping around it with the force of the blow.

“On your feet, Pikachu!” Ash called. “It’s not over yet! …Huh?”

He blinked at the empty battlefield. Mimey and Wobbuffet had both disappeared. Ash tensed as he scoured the water for any sign of the enemy Pokémon, but the surface was still settling from the last bout of attacks. The sunlight streaming through the roof didn’t help either – it made the rippling water glitter.

Misty spotted movement a second too late.

“Look out-”

In tandem, Mimey and Wobbuffet burst through the surface, taking up positions either side of Gyarados and Pikachu, trapping their opponents between them.

“Good work, you two!” Delia cheered. She pointed dramatically. “Now, Mimey – use Psychic on both of them!”

Once more, Mimey’s eyes and hands glowed. Both Gyarados and Pikachu rose into the air, enveloped in blue light.

“Great strategy, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty called, earning a dirty look from Ash which she ignored. “There’s no point going for Wobbuffet – he’ll just Counter our attacks again.”

“Right,” Ash agreed. “We’ve gotta take out Mimey!” He raised his voice. “Pikachu!”

Misty did likewise. “Gyarados!”

Delia grinned. “Just as I thought.” She looked at her partner. “Get ready with Mirror Coat!”

Jessie blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”

“Thunderbolt –”

“Hydro Pump –”

“On Mimey!” both young trainers yelled in unison.

“Mimey!” Delia called, just as both Pokémon charged their attacks. “Drop them, use Light Screen and aim at Wobbles!”

“Aim at WHO?!” Jessie exclaimed.

There was no time to explain. Everything turned on a split second. Pikachu and Gyarados began to fall through the air. Several volts of electricity and a powerful torrent of water hit Mimey’s Light Screen and barrelled towards Wobbuffet.

The diabolical beauty of Delia’s devious plan suddenly caught up with Jessie. That pair of pathetic Pokémon were in for a –

“Now, honey!”

Jessie almost fumbled the command.

“M-Mirror Coat!”

Wobbuffet glowed, shrouded in a reflective aura. Everything seemed to slow down. The attacks hit. They bounced back at Mimey. Pikachu and Gyarados fell. Ash’s mouth opened in a silent noooo.

The timing was perfect.

Gyarados and Pikachu fell in front of Mimey, taking the full brunt of Thunderbolt and Hydro Pump, doubled by Mirror Coat. The sheer force of the attacks drove them along the surface of the water, causing huge plumes of water to rise into the air either side of them. The battlefield disappeared in a shroud of surf and spray.

“Pikachu!” Ash cried out.

All four trainers held their breath as the mist began to clear.

Jessie cried out in dismay on seeing Wobbuffet floating belly-up in the water. Ash groaned on spotting Pikachu doing likewise. Draped over the rock, Gyarados lifted its head weakly, then dropped it again.

Delia scanned the water, a smile spreading across her face as Mimey swam to the rock and clambered up, standing tall with a cry of, “Mr. Mime!”

“Wobbuffet, Pikachu, and Gyarados are unable to battle,” the Drone Rotom declared, as Ash sank to his knees. “The winners are the challengers, Delia and Jessie!”

“I… I can’t believe this…” Ash moaned.

“We…” Jessie couldn’t stop staring at the battlefield, Drone Rotom’s words ringing in her ears. “…we won?” She looked to Delia, and the joyful look on her face confirmed it. “We WON!!!”

Delia shrieked as Jessie caught hold of her and lifted her high in the air, doing a twirl before setting her back on her feet and peppering her face with kisses. “Hahahaha!” She turned to their opponents, pulling down on one eyelid while sticking her tongue out. “Suck it, twe – I mean, Ash and Misty! I knew this day would come sooner or later!”

“Jessica, I know you’re happy, but don’t be a bad winner,” Delia chided gently. “Magnanimity in victory goes a long way.”

“But baaaabe!” Jessie whined. “I’ve never had a victory this magnificent before!”

Delia just smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I think poor Wobbles wants you,” she remarked, nodding to the battlefield. “We’ll need to get him to a Pokémon Centre with Venomoth and Clefairy.”

Jessie nodded and went to haul Wobbuffet out of the water.

“Come on, you,” she grunted as she dragged the Patient Pokémon back onto dry land. Briefly she removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Fine, so she couldn’t taunt the twerps any more. Victory still tasted pretty sweet.

In her arms, Wobbuffet stirred and smiled weakly up at her. Jessie couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about that?” she murmured to him. “You’re a winner, Wobbuffet. I bet you can’t wait to tell the others.”

He managed a salute and a quiet “Wobba…” before Jessie recalled him to his Pokéball.

Ash, meanwhile, remained on his knees in the trainer box. “I can’t believe we lost to my mom.”

“You gotta admit, that last strategy was a thing of beauty,” Misty replied with a smile. She’d made her way out to the rock and was cradling Gyarados’s head, absently rubbing its crest. The big Pokémon opened its eyes and let out a quiet rumble. “I guess now we know where you get your battling skills from, champ!”

Stepping out of her sneakers, Delia carefully negotiated the slippery rock and fished Pikachu out of the water. A couple of vigorous rubs from his head to his tail, and the Electric Mouse Pokémon opened his eyes.

“You were great, Pikachu,” Delia murmured. She tickled him under his chin, getting a weak “Chaaa” in response. She made her way back to the side of the battlefield to find Ash, Misty and Jessie waiting. “You were great too, honey.”

Ash managed a smile as she handed Pikachu to him. “Thanks, Mom.” He gasped as he was pulled into a hug.

“That was such a fun battle!” Delia exclaimed. She loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “I can see why you like this so much.”

“Watch out, Ash,” Misty teased. “You might just have a new rival on your hands!”

Ash let out a distressed yelp.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for that,” Delia assured him with a wave of her hand. As Ash sighed with relief, she cupped his cheek and tilted his head up to look at him. “But travelling around this past month and battling with you today… it’s made me feel a little bit closer to you.”

Ash blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled with a grin.

“Ahem.”

Ash and Delia turned to see Misty holding out a Cascade badge.

“This is yours, Ms. Ketchum,” the Gym Leader declared. “You made the battlefield, your Pokémon and their moves work to your advantage. I’m impressed!”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Delia replied, blushing as she accepted the badge. Its blue surface seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the roof. “I’ll treasure this, always. Thank you.”

“That’s how you win a badge fair and square,” Misty teased, shooting a wink Ash’s way.

The Champion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All three turned to see Jessie holding out her hand.

“What about me?” she demanded. “The perfect Pokémon battle partner? Trainer of vicious Venomoth and wild Wobbuffet? Where’s my badge?”

Misty sighed. Jessie had been on the winning team, and she had won a badge fair and square, but the whole situation was still bizarre.

“I’ll give you a badge if you explain what all…” She waved her hand between Jessie and Delia. “…this is about.”

“Delia and I dating,” Jessie scoffed with a shrug. “It’s not that complicated.”

“I got that part,” Misty shot back irritatedly, “I just…” She looked from Jessie, standing with her arms crossed, to Ms. Ketchum, who had one hand on Jessie’s hip, to Ash, who looked like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. “…you know what, never mind.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a second Cascade badge.

“I can’t believe this is happening, but… you earned this!”

Jessie let out a little cry of joy as Misty put the badge into her hand.

“Oh, Deerling, look how pretty it is!” she gushed. “Do you think maybe we could just get the prettiest Gym badges?”

“I don’t see why not,” Delia replied. “With James to run the restaurant, I can take vacations more often!”

“James is –” Misty glared at Ash, who pulled the brim of his cap down and giggled nervously. “We’re going to the Pokémon Centre and then you’re telling me what’s been going on, Ash Ketchum!”

“Let’s all go to the Pokémon Centre,” Delia suggested. “Our Pokémon battled hard today, they deserve a good rest.”

It wasn’t long before Nurse Joy’s tender care had Venomoth, Corsola, Oshawott, Clefairy, Wobbuffet, Gyarados and Pikachu feeling like their old selves again. Delia squeezed Jessie’s hand, murmuring “that’ll be you one day, Smoochum” as they watched Joy work.

“Well, we should get going,” Delia declared once they had their Pokémon back.

“We were going to stay and have dinner, Ms. Ketchum,” Misty said. She eyed Jessie reluctantly, but made the offer anyway. “…You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s sweet of you, Misty, but we’ve been away long enough,” Delia replied, to both kids’ relief. “It’s time we headed home. Thank you both so much for such an amazing battle.” She hugged Ash tightly. “Don’t stay away too long, honey.”

“You know I won’t, Mom,” Ash replied, blushing. He shot Misty a grin. “I’ll be home right after I kick Misty’s butt in our rematch!”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Delia murmured. She let go of her son and gave Misty a quick hug and a wink. “Try not to beat him too badly!”

“Hey!” Ash exclaimed indignantly.

Delia stepped back, joining her girlfriend near the door of the Pokémon Centre. She gave her a look and nodded to both kids. With a sigh, Jessie trudged up to Ash and gave him a stiff hug.

“See you at home, kid,” she mumbled. Letting go, she turned to Misty. “Thanks for the battle and the badge, I guess...?”

The two gazed at each other for a few awkward moments, then Jessie took a step closer, slowly lifting her arms.

“Aah!” Misty hurriedly moved back, holding her hands up in front of her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Jessie dropped her arms with a huge sigh of relief. “Great! Me neither.” She offered her hand instead, and the Gym Leader shook it.

Ash and Misty stepped outside the Pokémon Centre to see them off, their goodbyes ringing in the air as Delia and Jessie got on the road. Jessie slung her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Happy, babe?”

“Yes and no,” Delia sighed. “I’m sad my journey’s over, but I couldn’t be happier about how it went. I made three wonderful new friends, foiled a nasty poacher, and that battle today –” She clenched her fists in front of her. “ – I never felt so alive! I can’t wait to tell Professor Oak and James and Meowth all about it!” She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.”

Jessie preened. “Oh it was nothing, babe, I –”

She broke off as Delia took hold of her hands.

“Thank you for making my dreams come true,” the other woman whispered. Jessie’s heart caught in her throat as she saw tears shining in Delia’s eyes. “Not just today, but every day we’re together.”

Jessie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. Delia deserved more, so much more, for putting up with her, believing in her, loving her. Not to mention all she’d done for James and Meowth too. Maybe one day –

- but before Jessie could continue the thought, Delia leaned up and pulled her into a tender kiss.

THE END

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home to our nice comfy bed!”

“Ugh, me too. I hate sleeping on the ground.”

“…who said anything about sleeping?”

[augustjoy]

The Color Pink

Based on the following ask: Hii, I was just wondering if you could do Aaron x reader but the team for some reason refuses to warm up to her for a while.  If you can please make the reader hyperfem only if you want to. Thank you!!!! I love the idea of Hotch with a hyperfem girlie – she’d be in pink ALWAYS, with a wardrobe and home full of ruffles! So, the BAU team is against this relationship of Hotch’s because 1. They assume she’s a bimbo due to the hyperfemininity and 2. She’s young. Basically, they are questioning Hotch’s judgement on this one. Flashbacks in italics.

Aaron Hotchner x HyperFem! Reader Angst/Fluff Word count: 2552

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is 20s/Hotch is 40s), female reader, np physical description (other than having hair long enough to curl and Aaron referring to her as little – which he’s big tall so everyone is small compared to him), hyperfeminine reader, explicit language, consultant reader, BAU being judgy overprotective, Morgan being rude, Spencer and Garcia defending the reader, Reader is a presumed Bimbo…but is actually really smart (Elle Woods-esque),  mentions of food/eating, reader has a flash of self-doubt, mention of Jack, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Meeting you had been an act of fate. At least, that’s how Aaron saw it. You were not the type of girl he’d typically go for…not ever. But that morning, you’d got a flat tire on your way to work, ironically on Aaron’s way to work. He had to do the right thing, any chivalrous man would, he was going to pull over no matter what, but when you stepped out of your car…that sealed the deal. He needed to pull over because if he didn’t, someone else would, someone potentially dangerous.

--

“Excuse me miss; do you need some help?” Aaron offered.

“Oh, I um – I got a flat. I called Triple A, but they said it be like forty-five minutes.” You explained.

You stepped out of your car and stole the breath from Aaron’s lungs. You were in a satin pink button-up blouse, with high-waisted white trousers, and strappy pink heels. Your hair was cascading over your shoulders in beautiful loose curls, your gaze lifted to his. Aaron had to release a light cough to pull himself out of the trance you had him in.

“Do you have a spare?” He asked.

“I don’ t think so. But like I said, Triple A is on the way, so I guess I will just sit and wait.” You shrugged.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving you here on your own.” Aaron admitted.

You gave him a once over. He was in a well-fitted gray suit, his hair lightly slicked back, black dress shoes, and a silver Rolex resting on his left wrist. You took quick note of the absence of a wedding ring. A very brief rush of unease slid through you, but it was washed away as he moved his hand to his hip, unknowingly flashing the FBI badge that was clipped to his belt loop.

“I’d hate to be an imposition. Plus, we are strangers…” You eyed him once more.

“Right, I uh – I’m Aaron Hotchner.” He introduced himself and offered you his hand to shake.

You shook it gently, giving him your name. You couldn’t help the blush that crept over your cheeks at the warmth radiating from him. It was your turn to feel breathless. Taking him in once more, you had to admit to yourself that he was handsome. Clearly older than you, but you didn’t mind…and age didn’t define beauty.

Aaron had waited the whole forty-five minutes with you, once Triple A showed up, he waited for you to get everything squared away with them before turning to leave.

“So that’s it?”  You called after him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned.

“You just sat and waited forty-five minutes with me and you’re just going to leave? Without asking me out? Or at least asking for my phone number?” You huffed.

Aaron was speechless. He had wanted to ask you out…truthfully he’d thought about it the moment you stepped out of your car, but he didn’t want you to fell that he was some sort of predator. But now here you were, this gorgeous little thing, asking him to ask you out.

“Would you go to dinner with me Friday? Provided my work doesn’t call me away.” He asks.

“Yes. Pick me up at seven.” You smiled, handing him a light pink business card.

--

Initially, Aaron didn’t introduce you to anyone because he wanted to see if your relationship would bloom into something real. As things did progress, he opened up to you about his life, his job, his family…and his demons. He hadn’t wanted to let his darkness taint your light, your sparkle, but one night while he was staying with you, he’d had a brutal nightmare, one that had him spewing all the information out to you while you held him close, your sparkle shining bright.

Another reason why Aaron had hesitated to really bring you into his world was because you were so different than the other women he’d dated. They were grown-up, mature (maybe even too mature), boring even, and here you were, this pastel princess whose home was filled with pink – ruffled pillows, lace curtains, fashion books, flowers, fluffy rugs, etc. you were the textbook definition of a girly-girl.

He was sure the BAU team would have some pretty strong opinions about his relationship with you, not only because of your differences, but also because of the almost 20-year age gap. It sounded silly, but he really wanted the team to like you.

The first time Aaron introduced you to the team hadn’t exactly gone as he had hoped. He had asked you to join them out at their favorite bar for drinks. They had put on quite the show in front of you, but when you stepped away to get a drink, the truth came out.

--

“Hey guys, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited my girlfriend to join us.” Aaron mentioned casually.

A chorus of “what” and “you have a girlfriend” and “who is she” all rang out at once. He couldn’t help but chuckle at them. He figured he should answer some of their questions now so that way they could focus on getting to know you once you arrived.

“She and I have been together for about six months. It’s getting pretty serious and, uh – she uh…” Aaron smiles to himself. “She um, she’s different than the other girls I’ve dated, so just keep an open mind and get to know her.”

You arrived about ten minutes later, rendering everyone speechless. You walked in with a light pink mini puff dress on. It flowed around you in a cloud of tulle it rested against your upper thighs which were adorned in sparkly nude tights. You’d chosen to wear white lace up heels with it, and your hair was pulled back, pinned up with loose tendrils framing your face.

“Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late, a client called last minute and, you totally do not want to hear about my boring work.” You sighed, meeting the gazes of the stunned agents seated before you.

Aaron had officially introduced you to everyone, they exchanged hesitant pleasantries, and you began making small talk. After a few awkward moments, you excused yourself to get a drink.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Aaron asked.

“No, no. I got it honey. I’ll get you another whiskey.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked toward the bar.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the questions came rolling in. Most notably, Dereks.

“What the hell are you doing man?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aaron was shocked.

“Hotch, man, she’s young enough to be your daughter. And I mean, look at her.” Derek gestured toward where you stood at the bar.

“I am well aware of her age Morgan. She and I have discussed that at length and have both agreed that it didn’t matter. Age doesn’t change how we feel about one another.”

“Hotch, I’m more worried about the fact that she looks like she just walked off of sorority row.” Emily shook her head.

“Yeah, her outfit…Hotch she’s not serious. I mean she’s still a kid.” JJ added.

“That’s enough, she and I are serious. She’s not a kid; she runs a very successful consulting firm, she is kind and sweet, she takes care of me, she gets along with Jack, and I and…well. I love her.” Aaron concluded.

A muffled remark sounded from across the table. Morgan had more to say, and Aaron wasn’t going to let it go. He cared about you and the people across from him were his family, their opinions meant a lot to him…but right now they were letting him down.

“Say it out loud Morgan.” Aaron demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Say it.” Aaron hissed.

“I said she gets along with Jack because they’re closer in age.” Derek shot back.

The table went silent, tension filling the air. Aaron scoffed, shook his head in disbelief, and walked away. Moving towards you, coming up with some lame excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Look, I know that was a lot, but I didn’t say anything that we weren’t all thinking. That girl, she’s a bimbo. Hotch needs someone more serious…more like Beth.” Derek justified.

“Wow.” Penelope scoffed, pushing her chair away from the table. “You guys are terrible.”

“What are you talking about?

“Did you not see his face? Hotch is happy, his smile took over his entire face…because of that girl and you all tore him down so quickly. I mean come on. Spence when was the last time Hotch smiled like that?” Penelope asked.

“The last time Hotch has smiled like that in front of us was back in 2005 when he introduced Jack to the team as a newborn.”  Spencer rattled off.

--

That was about eight months ago. Aaron and you have grown even more serious since then, you moved in together – into a new house where you could set up a space that was all your own, full of pink and ruffles and lace.

Honestly, Aaron had gone as far as buying a ring for you. He wanted to propose and had the whole thing planned. He and Jack were going to take you on a picnic and then they’d ask you to become a permanent part of their family.

Despite the happiness he felt at the idea of marrying you, he couldn’t help the disappointment that crept in. He wanted his family to all be there in support of you two…and his family, well that was the BAU.

He knew he’d have to talk to them, to do something to prove to them how incredible you are.

--

Aaron had called everyone to the round table. He needed to tell them about how serious he really was about you, and he needed them to love you.

 “I asked you all here because today we will have a special guest for lunch.” Aaron went on to explain that you’d be coming in, bringing in lunch from one of the BAU’s favorites. “I know that when you all first met her, you were unsure. But I need you all to realize that I’ve been with her for over a year now, we live together, and…”

“You can’t be serious man. She’s naïve, just some young hot thing seeking an older man, presumably for his money.” Derek interrupted.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Aaron commanded. “I plan on marrying her, and you guys are my family. I need my family there when I marry this woman. If you can’t get on board…then I guess you aren’t the people I thought you were.” Aaron says with finality.

There was a collective nod and shrug amongst everyone.

--

When you walked in, you could feel the tension like a thick fog. It was all consuming, like picking a hangnail until that piece of skin runs further and further up your finger, bleeding and tender.

You needed this to go well.

Aaron had told you to be your usual self. He wanted the team to like you for you, but you knew it would be best to tone it down at least a little bit. You’d choose to wear light blue jeans, a chunky pink sweater, and some heeled ballet flats. Your arms were juggling multiple bags, filled with sandwiches and another one with drinks for everyone.

“Hi guys.” You offered a small wave as you entered the conference room.

“Hey sweetheart, let me help you with those.” Aaron was quick to grab the bags from you.

“You look stunning as always! It’s good to see you again!” Penelope greeted.

“Oh, thanks babe! I love the new hair; it is such a good color!” You complimented. “Oh, Spence, I got you something!” You pulled a wrapped book from your bag, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He asked, gently pulling at the wrapping. “The Narrative of John Smith, this is one of my favorites!” Spencer gushed.

“It’s a special edition, they only made 200 of them. But that’s not the best part…open the cover.” You were giddy with excitement.

Spencer opened the book to reveal that it had been signed. “Are you kidding me! This is amazing, thank you so much!”

“It’s really no problem.” You smiled.

Aaron was beaming at you, you had been so kind, showing them all who you really were, and he just hoped that they’d all finally see you for who you truly are.

As everyone finished their lunch, you began clearing the trash. Everyone offers thanks to you, the girls planning a day out with you. Each of them seemed to be coming around except for Derek. Aaron couldn’t figure out why he was so against you.

--

You said your goodbyes and made your way out. They had all filtered out of the conference room when Aaron decided to confront Derek once and for all.

“Everyone else has come around, so why can’t you? What is your problem with her?” Aaron asked.

“It’s not her that I have a problem with. Not really.” Derek shrugged. “Look man, I am sorry for how I have acted towards her. It’s unacceptable. But I don’t think you dating her is a good idea.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced Morgan. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You think that now Hotch. But what are you going to do when she up and walks away. That is the type of girl who will ruin your life and Hotch, you’ve been hurt too many times. You and Jack have lost far too much.”

“Derek, I know you are worried for me, but I have to see this through. I really love this girl, and she can handle herself, she makes good money, so I know that isn’t the motivation here. She is everything to me, and she has done nothing but prove that she feels the same for me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I have your back man, and if you love her, then I’m not going to stand in your way.”

--

Things began looking up after that. Derek had pushed his concerns aside and took the time to get to know you, which only made him feel like an idiot for his behavior. Aaron had been right, you could hold your own – you were smart and witty and far to quick with your words, giving him a run for his money. Derek started to see how big your heart was, and he saw the changes in Aaron thanks to your presence in his life. He started to actually appreciate you and your love for his boss.

Aaron told you about his interaction with Derek and you offered some valuable insight.

“Honey, Derek looks up to you. You have made a huge impact on his life, and he has seen you lose so much because of your work, he’s seen you in, quite literally, your lowest moment. He just wants to protect you from hurting like that once again.”

“You are the smartest person I know sweetheart.” Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple.

--

Months later, the BAU team stood and witnessed Aaron and you vowing to spend forever with one another. You had finally been welcomed into this family.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna@crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[phantasm-ae]

Okay so I had this idea and I just JSJSJJSJSJSKKS. Anyways here it is. I hope you like it🥺

cw: some fluff

HEADCANON: Soap and Ghost got the wrong intel. Extraction at a… birthday party?

Pairing: Ghost and Soap

it was supposed to be a quick recon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Something they've done a couple out of a hundred times in their lifetime.

Check the warehouse. Mark supplies. Report back.

In. Out.

Easy.

Except Soap and Ghost being Soap and Ghost. Somehow took the wrong door and instead of being met with a supply stash of those black market ammo crates and smuggled gear Laswell briefed them on 2 weeks ago. They were instead met with a cascade of confetti. A blaring of colorful horns. Balloons floating around like some budget dream sequence and a bloody banner sagging lazily across the ceiling with the words "HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY JAYDEN" propped up by two mini-Spiderman balloons.

The two cartoony figures swaying ominously in the breeze of the open warehouse door.

Ghost and Soap stood fucking stock still at the sight.

Two hulking and massive men in full tactical gear. Rifles on hand. Kevlar. Christ even bloody prepped with face paint on -- were now staring into the abyss of the suburban chaos in front of them

A table covered in Spiderman themed paper plates. Crowd of sugared-up kids frozen mid-scream at the sight of them. A magician in a sparkly vest holding a rabbit, wide-eyed and doozy. A dad in cargo shorts holding a phone, mid-picture. And in the center, a fucking stunned kid wearing a party hat and face paint… that eerily resembled Ghost’s skull mask.

Soap’s finger hovered awkwardly near the safety switch on his rifle. Ghost just muttered, “...fuckin' hell.”

Then chaos.

One of the kids let out a shriek, but not out of fear -- rather out of sheer and enthusiastic delight. “COOL ARMY GUYS!”

Another yelled, “THEY’RE HERE FOR THE PARTY!” “LOOK, ONE OF THEM’S A SKELETON!”

Ghost could only stand up straighter at that. Eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in annoyance and unease. Turning slightly to Soap and muttering flatly, “This is your fault.”

"How's this ma fault?"

“You’re the one who said ‘let’s take the shortcut.’” “It wis labeled—!

"Labeled with what?"

"Ma gut"

Soap then. Now also irritated and confused. Tried to shoo off some wee scunners around his boots and gear. Some palming and prodding their tiny fingers into velcro and buckles -- "Aw fuck. Dinnae touch that. That's ma di-- uhh... magazine" -- almost swatting a bairn silly for trying to reach for his flashbang.

“Oi! That’s not a toy, ya wee gremlin -- put that down before we all see God.”

And the kid just. This 3'5 kid with some frosting and glitter smeared across his shirt just giggled like Soap said the funniest thing on earth. Clutching the round cap like it was a new Hot Wheels and darting off into the bouncy castle with alarming speed before Soap could pry the dangerous things off of his sticky fingers.

Soap stared after him, jaw slack. "The child's armed"

Soap immediately tried to backpedal toward the door, one hand reaching out blindly for Ghost. But the brooding and hulking mass of a man -- all 6'4 and weighty muscle -- was cornered by some determined little girl wearing various kinds of glittery plastic sheriff badges and a unicorn headband and -- God help them -- trying to handcuff Ghost still with rainbow slap bracelets. A proper master of hostage negotiation she was. She had him pinned down Simon let her. A slap bracelet now stretched around Ghost's wrist, holding him in place like some deranged form of child’s play.

And Ghost, deadpan and trying to remain indifferent despite his amused and softened tone. A distinct air of a man emotionally unraveled, muttered, “Soap, you’ve made contact with the enemy.”

Lips quirking up a bit beneath the mask as she let him lead her to Soap.

“She’s ten!” Soap hissed. Unable to do anything else. Flinching as the girl snapped one of the bracelets on his wrist as well with terrifying precision. "An’ she’s armed wi’ accessories!"

Another kid zipped by them, shrieking with laughter, waving what looked horrifyingly like a half-unwrapped glow stick taped to a toy pistol. Ghost sidestepped just in time to avoid being hit in the shin.

And somewhere in the bloody distance, a karaoke machine started playing Let It Go.

And then came the giggle again.

That same little demon child with the flashbang poked his frosting-smeared head out of the bouncy castle flap, holding the device above his head like Simba in The Lion King, yelling, “LOOK WHAT I GOT!”

Every adult in the room clapped, thinking it was a toy too. Fucking idiots

Soap grabbed Ghost by the tactical vest and hissed, “If we don’t leave right now, that wee gremlin’s gonna detonate us into the stratosphere and the last thing we’ll see is Elsa.”

Well fuck that. Ghost wanted to die sure. But not to some fucking disney song in the background while his body gets scattered into smithereens. Ghost didn’t even argue anymore. He turned. Slowly removed the colored straps on his wrists with an apologetic nod toward the glitter-covered child still trying to fashion a tiara out of pipe cleaners for him -- “Sorry, love. Your boyband’s disbanding yeah?” -- and pushed open the exit with his boot. Both men. Once covererd with warpaint and eyeblack, now stumbled out into the daylight -- covered in glitter, foam sword dents, and existential horror.

But before either of them could properly make a break for it though, a woman -- possibly the birthday boy’s mother -- strode up, wine cooler in hand, phone in the other. “Oh my God, you’re the entertainment?! You didn’t tell me you were doing full cosplay -- this is incredible! What’s your TikTok?”

Soap only blinked.

Ghost shook his head, clearly contemplating his life choices.

“We didn’t hire—” Soap started.

“Do you do face painting?” a child asked Ghost, reaching up to touch his mask.

Ghost took a step back. “Touch me and I vanish.”

That somehow made him more mysterious. A whole circle of kids now followed him like ducklings.

“Do a trick!” someone yelled.

Soap glanced around at the swarm of kids and chaos and, seeing no way out without causing a scene, turned to Ghost with the deadest eyes possible. “Mate, we’re in it up tae our eyeballs”

Ghost sighed heavily, albeit relaxing as he saw the wee lass approach again -- this time, not with slap bracelets, but with her finished paper crown, now glittered, crooked, and proudly labeled “KInG GhoSt” in chunky stickers.

She beamed at him, arms raised in offering.

And Ghost -- Ghost, who had walked through fire, cleaving a man from ear to ear, racked up three targets point blank in one shot, and once barreled through two doors in a single kick -- did not protest. Didn’t move. Didn’t growl or flee.

He simply knelt.

The crown was placed on his head with all the ceremony of a royal coronation, and the little girl patted his shoulder like she was knighting him.

“Fine. Ten minutes. No longer.”

3 hours later, Soap was engaged in a full-on Nerf battle behind the bounce house, dual-wielding foam dart guns he confiscated from a particularly rowdy six-year-old. And Ghost. All tank, heavy, and bruising muscle was sitting in a lawn chair with two toddlers now on his lap and that little girl -- Ella -- sleeping on his shoulder with a half-finished juice pouch in her unconscious grip.

The magician quit.

The cake was served. Soap was somehow made to cut it with a plastic bayonet.

And Laswell. Watching through the drone feed back at base after her two best operatives went complete radio silent could only mutter -- “...I don’t even want to know.”

Price would ask questions. Soap would lie.

Ghost would deny everything.

But Jayden?

Jayden would remember and so would his little sister Ella.

The flashbang though? It was tucked into some kid’s pocket, shiny and definitely armed, but would be later found in Jayden's toy box, where it sat like a prized possession next to a small mountain of Legos, a collection of Hot Wheels, and what appeared to be a very, very well-loved stuffed rabbit modeled after the skeleton guy.

Soap didn’t realize any of this though until a week later when a small package arrived at base. His name written in bright, bubbly handwriting on the envelope -- Jayden and Ella. Soap opened it slowly, half expecting it to explode in his face, but instead, there was a note tucked inside:

"THanK u fOR tHe PArtY Mr. BubBleS ! ThIs BELonGS 2 U - J AnD E."

And nestled carefully in the corner of the box was the flashbang. Clean. Untouched. But most of all -- in one bleedin' piece. Thank fuckin' Christ. The stealthy and dangerous thing nestled in some more shredded color paper and glitters?? in the box like it was just another toy.

Soap got a proper mouthing from Price after that though.

Something about civilian safety. An OPSEC violation? an AR190-03... Christ he didn't know. He forgot. Actually it all bled out into some blurry, distant, and obtuse backdrop. Half-listening like he always did.

Because back on his desk. Scattered. Cluttered. Disorganized and messy -- pinned what Soap taught to be one of the best masterpiece he's ever seen and received in his life.

A crayon drawing of himself in full tactical gear, looking like the proudest soldier on earth, and Ghost, tragically interpreted as a “skeleton king” with a bloody smiley face.

But most importantly. Taped beside it. Creased. Glittery. Slightly sticky with colored and shimmering glue -- was the crooked paper crown. Still intact. Still regal. And still Ghost's.

Aye.

it was worth it.

masterlist

[wandasaura]

LEAVE ME ALONE

summary — to the majority of essex, leighton murray is an unapproachable bitch. to you, she’s the only person in a crowded room.

warning(s) — friends with benefits, mutual feelings, alludes to pining/yearning, sorority events, college, slight dom/sub dynamics, dom leighton murray, closeted leighton murray, sneaking away, light banter, biting, hickies, possessive leighton, mean leighton, kissing, dirty talk, implied voyeurism, 69ing, fingering (r!receiving), degradation, punishment aspects, nipple stimulation, forced orgasm, mutual orgasm, overstimulation, porn with plot, aftercare, men/minors dni

authors note — inspired by leave me alone, very specifically ‘line my lips just to match my nipples’… enjoy some babie leighton smut

“No way Leighton Murray actually showed up.” A strawberry blonde in a pink dress chirped at your side, her eyes wide as they took in the sight of Essex College’s very own blonde bombshell stepping past the threshold of the sliding glass doors. The incandescent sunlight cascaded down on her platinum locks with such lightness that it gleamed almost like a halo from a distance. Her ever sharp brown eyes were dangerous as they searched the yard, unmaking anyone she spent more than five seconds analyzing with her lips pulled taut into a neutral expression of indifference.

“Come on, she’s not that bad.” You interject weakly, your head lulling to the side until your gaze can find the girls scrutinizing eyes. You don’t know why you’re so quick to defend Leighton — who’s pointedly avoided glancing in your direction — but you do, and it leaves a bad taste in the pledges mouth.

Her eyes haven’t wandered to the details of your dress. They’re pretty, you’ll admit it, but they haven’t found the gold membership badge pinned to your sweetheart neckline, accented with a classy string of pearls. She’s unaware of your role in the sorority, entirely focused on Leighton. It doesn’t pain you in the slightest to scratch her name off the mental list of pledges you’ve memorized in preparation for this event.

“She’s practically Godzilla.” The girl — Kaylee Towers, a freshman pledge with a stellar recommendation list — said in response, still oblivious to how she was talking herself out of any chance of making it into Kappa. “If Godzilla had pretty blonde hair, I mean.”

“Complementing her kind of negates the entire point of sulking over her presence, doesn’t it?” You raised a single questioning eyebrow, further craning your body toward Kaylee. The shift in stance had pointed your chest in her direction, and when her eyes trailed down to the neckline of your pink dress, a gleam of satisfaction sparked in your settled gaze when she paled.

“I-I wasn’t—“ It was entirely discomforting to watch her flounder beside you on the grass; never the type to gravel in somebody else’s misfortunes even if embarrassment was warranted.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to stand beneath the weight of pointless backtracking for long, being called away toward the stairs leading up to the deck by your fellow sorer and Kappa’s esteemed, motivated president. Leighton wasn’t at the top anymore, no longer glancing down at the mingling bodies and warm smiles of performative friendliness scattered around the backyard as you took them slowly, with a slight swing in your hips that was probably unnecessary.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the music that was playing in the background. It was soft but just loud enough to provide a safety net in moments where conversation dwindled. When it cut out abruptly, and Madison clapped her hands together three times, every single set of eyes on the premise was on you — all except one chilling pair.

Leighton hovered in the back corner. The baby blue blazer draped around her shoulders brought out the clarity in her complexion. Leighton didn’t have perfect skin. She’d never attended class sporting pimple patches as evidence of any hormonal breakouts, but there are times when you look at her, and you can see the texture in her skin. Her pores look blurred from where you stand, nerves bubbling with familiar attentiveness. She’s not looking at anything in particular, you trace her gaze to the side of the house where a white fence is overgrown with rose vines.

“Hello! Welcome to Kappa — where sisterhood is sparkly, sacred, and so much more than just matching sweatshirts, okay?” Madison began spiritedly, and while the painstakingly curated hook had the designated effect on the majority of pledges, Leighton wasn’t captivated by the stereotypical cutesy inflection. You’d suggested that Madison refine the speech, that maybe it was time to down back how much they really leaned into the whole shtick of it all. The corners of your lips twitch at Leighton’s cold indifference. She’s the only one you’re looking for. “I’m Madison Hart, Kappa’s president! Now, before I get too carried away bragging about how amazing this year is going to be — and trust me, it is — for those of you who make it through initiation, at least.” Madison giggled. I’d like to introduce you to Y/N Y/L/N. Unfortunately, our Vice President couldn’t be here with us today, but Y/N is our absolutely amazing treasure, and she was willing to come in her place. She keeps our books tighter than last year’s formal dresses and yes, she did get a five in AP Calc.” Madison smiled, but your face flamed with heat. You hadn’t known she was going to include that. It wasn’t mentioned any of the seven times she made you listen to this while over the course of the last week.

Out of the corner of your eye, because it was impossible not to be drawn to Leighton when the pastel blue of her blazer stuck out amongst the crowd of whites and bubblegum pinks starkly, you could see her lips quirk upwards, but her eyes never lingered toward Madison’s voice for even a second. It bothered you, but you don’t know why. This is typical Leighton behavior.

“To all our pledges, I cannot wait to get to know each and every one of you…assuming you survive the next two weeks. I’m kidding! Kind of. Anyways, get ready for glitter, giggles, and growth, because you’re not just joining a sorority— you’re joining the sorority!” There’s such a stark difference between someone like you and someone like Madison, but you don’t have the attention span to consider where the vault line rests. “Now, before I let you all get back to mingling, Y/N has a few things to say!”

You smiled softly, waving your hand at the crowd. Your eyes pass over Leighton again, unconsciously, you don’t even mean to, but it pangs your heart slightly to realize she’s still absorbed in the rose petals on her right.

“Hi everyone! I’m seriously so excited to see all of your faces. It makes all the spreadsheet stress and hours on Excel worth it.” Your lips curve into a gentle grin, one that conveys just how serious you take this event. “I’m incredibly lucky to be serving as treasurer for the second year with Kappa. Now, I know money talk isn’t exactly the glamorous part of sorority life, but I promise— it’s what keeps this all running. My role is to make sure that we can take quality sisterhood retreats as well as maintain our traditional events. Kappa has been a delightful presence in my life, and I aim to provide the same experiences for you and our chapter again this year.” You pause for a moment, letting your eyes sweep over the faces in the crowd.

A few of the girls you recognize from a handful of random classes, but nobody sticks out like Leighton does. Your eyes land on her again, and this time she’s looking directly at you. Her stare is chilling, but not in a way that turns you cold and hollow. She fills you with warmth and butterflies; you know she’d hate that if you ever told her.

When Leighton realizes that you haven’t paused to give the crowd a chance to absorb the information you’d just projected with ease, her blonde brow raises questioningly; challengingly. You swallow thickly, a lump bobbing in your throat when your mouth is suddenly dry in an instant.

If Leighton notices the effects of her wordless gesture over you, there’s no indication in her stone features that command you keep going at all odds. “So, to our new baby Kappas; you are so welcome here. If you ever need anything — help with dues, advice, or just someone to sit with during a movie night — I’m your girl. This house isn’t just about the events or the merchandise. It’s about real connection, and I cannot wait to see how each and every one of you shine in your own way. Some of you might not be with us at the end of these two weeks, but even your consideration at all is enough for Kappa to welcome you anytime in the future. Welcome home, and please, enjoy the refreshments. There’s more inside if it gets too warm out here.”

Madison waved her hands encouragingly, and the music started playing again. You barely had a chance to step off the stairs before conversation swept you up, carrying you through the backyard in a loop until you ended up in the living room with a bottle of water and three girls surrounding you cheerfully. You didn’t know how it was accomplished; how one person finished with you and another swept you up in a second like they’d been waiting in line for a turn.

Leighton somehow evaded you during the entire ordeal. One minute she’d still been standing beside the gate in the corner, and the next she’d been nowhere in sight. You’d be lying if you denied that your heart had sank to your belly thinking she’d left without saying anything, but quickly was that thought buried. You hadn’t let yourself dwell on the thought of her, but then it genuinely had fallen away from your mind, and all that consumed you was getting to know these pledges so when she did cross your gaze again, the breath was stolen from your lungs.

Somehow, there was an angel looking out for you in that single moment. As Leighton crossed your path, her head inclining toward the stairs that she knew led to your bedroom, the three pledges in front of you glanced at the television screen that Madison had set to project a clock. They excused themselves politely, like the majority of the other pledges had done, and you’d taken advantage of the three seconds of isolation you found in that moment to escape upstairs to find Leighton.

It didn’t take much scrounging to find. All of your bedroom doors had been tightly closed in preparation of having a few hundred people swarming the backyard and downstairs living areas, but now yours was cracked, a faint glow stretching out into the hallway. Leighton adored the gold wire lamp shaped like a star on your nightstand. It doesn’t shock you to find it on when you push the door open enough to slip inside.

“You came.” You smiled tenderly, your features melting as you took in the sight of Leighton in your bedroom, dressed up for an event that was so entirely you, and so distinctly not her. Leighton is silly, and soft, and incredibly stubborn, and sure she’s a legacy socialite who belongs at this function more than you do, but it’s not her. Leighton is sneaky hookups in the pouring rain. She’s black eyeliner and lip liner that matches the darker hue around her nipple when they peddle so prettily beneath your fingers. Leighton is tight cuddling in bed, and only socks in the dorm hallway not slippers, never slippers. Leighton Murray doesn’t own a pair of slippers and she hasn;t since she was six. You don’t know how you know that, or if Leighton even realizes you remember her telling you one time and one time only.

Leighton shrugged, her fingers toying with the shade over your lamp. Her chronic nonchalance unsettles you deeply, even after all this time fooling around in the dark. “I wanted to see what it was all about.”

“You’re sure that’s all you came for?” Your lips pull taunt; considering. You know her better than that, you know that she didn’t drag her ass to this sorority house just to watch you from a distance for hours. She’d done a lot of things for you, but wasting her time is not something you’d ever ask. Your intentions were clear when you’d asked her over, but you’d expected her later on, halfway through, or even not at all. But here she was, dressed to impress, standing in your bedroom, flush from the heat of the sun on her skin for hours with no true purpose.

Leightons fingers curl around the threaded chord beneath the lampshade and in a second your bedroom is drenched in darkness, the blinds closed, blocking out the still bright abyss of blue beyond the window. “No.” She answers and your core clenches at her sultry tone, dampness pooling in your panties as she stalks forward with seduction in her every soft footstep.

“Oh?” You lead, and Leighton scoffs as she closes the gap between your bodies, her hands settling heavily on your hips, attempting to claim you with just a simple touch. Her possession is addicting. When she’s not around, the weight of her hands on your hips, on your waist, on your inner thighs, and your neck… it lives in your memory, replays in your head. Leighton knows that. She can tell just by looking at you right now that you’ll still be thinking of this moment later — this simple moment before she’s even done anything to your body.

“Do you know how hot you look in this dress?” Leighton groans, dragging her teeth down your neck when she cranes her head to fall into the pocket of darkness between your jaw and shoulder. Your hair tickles her cheek as she sucks a purple bruise into the crevice of your neck, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle in response to the sensation as you sigh contentedly. “So fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” You whisper, your eyes fluttering closed as your head lulled sideways in submission, providing more surface area for Leightons lips to taste in her descent. She kisses down the sweetheart neckline of the pink dress, and her lips are moist, soft, even the nude lipstick she wears feels like velvet as she drags it across your skin tantalizingly.

“Yeah.” Leighton confirmed as she pulled away, a lustful haze over her eyes as her blown pupils corrupted her brown stare until glittering black stared back at you. “But I need you to take it off. Right now. If you think I didn’t see you shaking your ass when you climbed those stairs, you’re fucking delusional.” The heat of her accusation leaves goosebumps on your skin, and you shudder as you comply.

“I know you saw me.” You whispered as you spun around, sweeping your hair to one side of your neck in favor of exposing the hidden zipper in the back. Madison had needed to help you get into it in the first place, but Leightons fingers felt better at the nape of your neck, toying with the clasp of your necklace.

“Pearls are a girl's best friend, you know.” Leighton murmured against your skin, stepping closer until the soft fabric of her blazer brushed against your exposed shoulders. A tremble jostled your frame, weakening your knees.

Your eyebrows furrowed through the haze of your arousal, your head craning just slightly to steal a glance at Leighton over your shoulder. “I thought that was diamonds.” You panted breathlessly, your eyes fixed on her lips, unable to envision anything other than her pert nipples.

”Not when I’m the one playing with them.” Leighton husked and your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling backwards onto her shoulder as you breathed heavily, your body alight with heat. It was a slight shock when the zipper began to glide down your spine, Leighton deciding to finally begin undressing you when you’d least expected it. “I’ll save that for another time.” Leighton smirked as she stepped away from your body, letting her nimble fingers guide the straps of your dress away from your shoulders until nothing was keeping the fabric on your body.

It pooled around your ankles in loose crumbles and Leighton helped you step out of it with a hand in yours that eagerly led you toward the bed in the center of the room, unable to hold herself back anymore when it had been hours upon hours of being on her best behavior, something that Leighotn’s admittedly not very good at. She knows how to make up for it though.

She spins you around with ease, trapping you against her chest until she can walk the both of you back into the bed, falling on top of your frame with a graceful ease. The second your body meets the mattress she’s grabbing your wrists and guiding them over your head, holding them down whilst her lips press into yours. The weight of her on top of you, fully clothed while the only garment you still sport is your lace panties that are undeniably sodden through completely.

Her kiss is enough to break you beneath her hands, every thought leaving your brain until all you can consider is that everything with Leighton feels perfectly right and earned. Her fingers slide away from your wrists when she gathers that you’re not going to be moving without her consent anytime soon, a dazzling smirk on her features as she pulls away from the bruising kiss you’d shared to instead press her fingertips into your clit above your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so god damn wet.” Leighton cursed, easing her fingers into small tight circles that were annoyingly soft against your core. She grinned when you huffed probing your entrance when your eyes screwed shut in frustration. “Does this get you off? Getting fucked like a slut while your sisters are still downstairs entertaining pledges?”

“Does this get you off? Fucking a girl with people downstairs? None of them aware of the fact that the Leighton Murray is a lesbian.” Your eyes burn with fire, passion, desire. They snap open at her teasing, her practiced degrading that incorporates the slightest illusion of voyeurism. Your rebuttal is a low blow, one that you’d typically refrain from letting past your lips, but you have no control over what you’re saying, and you know that it’ll piss her off enough to actually get working on your body that’s eager to be completely unmade and re-written by her touch.

Leighton knows that you’d never rush her out of the closet. She knows that you have no desire to make things public, not when you’d rather keep any and all relationships a few hundred feet away from the girls you share a house with. You adore them, but any conversation regarding romance doesn’t end for at least three hours on a good day and selfishly you want to keep Leighton all to yourself.

“You’ll say anything to get fucked, won’t you?” Leighton groans before she smashes her lips against yours again, all while easing your panties to the side and sinking two fingers into your walls. The whine that falls off of your lips is entirely pathetic, and it fuels Leightons ego as she doubles her efforts to a quick climax. She knows you hate when she forces it out of you, when she takes advantage of how well she knows your body and works you up fast and quick. “When are you going to learn?” She pouts condescendingly, her lips downturns into a pout that is so painfully sweet it makes your eyes glimmer with tears because you know how insincere it is. Leighton lives for these moments when you give her exactly what she claims she doesn’t want, though both of you know deflection is her default.

“Fuck!” You whine, fists grabbing handfuls of the pastel yellow sheets beneath your body. You wriggle beneath her, fighting to escape the intense pleasure she unleashes on your cunt as her thumb rubs over your clit harshly. It’s only a minute longer before you explode around her fingers with spasming walls. “Fuck, fuck!” You clasp a hand over your mouth, paranoid about how loud you let yourself be when people are around. You might make quips and digs about the risky situations you get yourselves into, but neither one of you wants to face the music if anyone comes knocking.

Leighton doesn’t make any effort to overstimulate you, which immediately relaxes you on the bed as you pant for breath with flushed cheeks. She strips out of her pantsuit at the edges of your bed, looming over your sprawled out frame with confidence and conviction that reminds you how much power she holds over you. Maybe there's not much that separates you and Leighton besides a few points on your GPA’s,

“God, I want you to eat my pussy.” She groans as she takes in the sight to your body, her hands bracing on your hips as she lies ned forward. “But first, we need to take these off of you.” She notes, and you lift your hips cooperatively for her, shivering when cold air blows against your warm core. Your hips jump and Leighton smirks, her hands trailing up until they find your breasts, rolling your nipples between her fingertips.

Your own eyes glance at her exposed body. Her nipples are pebbled already, a nude turned pinky color rimmed with a darker toned neutral, and the insides of her thighs gleam with arousal that’s wept from her entrance, ruined her panties, and begun to drip down the insides of her thighs when she pressed her legs together. Her composure is better than yours, but not even Leighton can resist the feelings you spark over her body without even trying.

She crawls over your body seductively, her damp thighs dragging along the curves of your waist, You huff in stifled amusement when she turns around over your face, her cunt hovering over your mouth, her ass attempting sight above your eyes, Your hands held her thighs, pulling her down onto your face without her compliance. Leighton said nothing about your eagerness, too consumed with the broad strokes of pleasure your tongue pulled from her core abruptly.

“Fuck.” She breathed as she fell forward, sinking down father and farther until her head was between your thighs, her hands prying your thighs open until she could plunge her tongue into your entrance where her fingers had just been, easing you through the brief moment of overstimulation when her tongue flicked your sensitive clit for the first time. “You’re still so wet.” Her words reverberate through your clit, and your head spins at the sensations shooting through your body.

Your own tongue laps at her core, at her clit specifically before it sinks to her entrance, dipping in until the tangy nectar she drips coats your tongue in thickness that’s not easily dissolved. You don’t care, lapping and slurping at her with frivolous motions that become uncoordinated the farther she works you up with her own tongue between your thighs.

Leighton pulls away from your pussy when your tongue plunges against her g-spot, pressing into the spongy part of her walls with strained efforts to even reach that far at all. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” She groans before she dives back in, taking one a single deep breath before she’s attacking you with ambition she somehow didn’t possess before and you didn’t think it possible now.

“Cum with me, cum with me.” She pants against your core, her nails digging into your thighs as her hips jerk across your face, seeking even more pleasure from you though you don’t complain, you’d never complain about having her thighs wrapped around her head and her warm core on your tongue heavily and fully. ”Come on, baby, come with me.”

It doesn’t take much encouragement, or really any at all; Leighton’s tongue is more than enough of a motivator for you as it licks a broad stripe from your weeping, clenching, quivering entrance to your sensitive clit before she creates a suction around your engorged bundle of nerves and sucks deeply, sending stars shooting through your vision. Your nails dig into her thighs the same way hers dig into yours, and your hips are wide on the mattress as they squirm and attempt to hump, though the weight of her on top of you prevents your body from being able to do much without her permission.

You work Leighton through her orgasm as she works you through yours, trailing kisses down your thighs when she leaves your clit alone for the night decisively. You don’t take the same initiative, licking soft stripes and strokes across her thighs until they gleam with evidence of your saliva instead of her arousal.

Leighton slides off of you after a moment, her chest rising and falling heavily as she settles into the pillows beside you. Once upon a time, she’d adamantly rejected staying the night with you after, but the sun has fallen behind trees now, and neither one of you are keen on another round, but she doesn’t make any indication of getting up to crawl back to her down. Instead, she reaches beneath her body and grabs the corner of your comforter, pulling it around her body with enough maneuvering to have you huffing and doing the same, figuring if one of you is going to be comfortable it should at least be you in your own bed.

“You’re staying?” You ask with heavy eyelids. You’ve been going nonstop lately trying to see this event through, but now that it is over, just another fond memory to look back on in a couple of years down the road, you’re burnt out and exhausted.

“Mhm. That okay?” Leighton always looked so insecure when you caught her in moments like this, and it makes your heart ache, because someone so talented and sweet and deserving of good things in life should be the last person constantly torn apart with worry that she’s not enough.

“Yeah.” You answer, because you would’ve never dreamed of saying no to begin with, but it feels too daunting to tell her that, so you don’t, and Leighton might never know you were thinking it at all. ”You should pee. I should pee.”

You roll over onto Leighton’s chest, your head burrowed against her breaths comfortably as you sigh dramatically. “We could always just stay here and take our chances with a UTI.”

”Chlamydia scared me into safe sex habits. Get up.” She settles you with a stern glare, even though you look so precious draped across her chest, and you find yourself complying with a dramatic sigh.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know sleeping with women could still lead to STDs.” You scoffed softly, clambering out of bed with her, your hand finding hers instinctively. If Leighton thought anything of your clinginess, she didn’t say anything as she led you to the ensuite bathroom you’d been lucky enough to claim.

“I adamantly denied being a lesbian until I met you, and then I spiraled for two months until I finally had the balls to go up to you at that party. I mean, it was probably only a month and two weeks, but I had to wait for the Chlamydia to clear up.” She mutters, and you wonder if anybody would even believe you if you went and ran your mouth on campus about Leighton Murray’s sex live and sexuality, it certainly clashed with her reputation on campus, but it just made perfect sense to you. Everything about her makes perfect sense to you.

”Yes, thank you for that.” You mused sarcastically, shivering as you sat down on the toilet, cursing yourself for not at least grabbing a change of clothes from the dresser when you’d stumbled past it. “It’s freezing in here.”

“No, it’s not. You’re just always cold after.” Leighton rolled her eyes, and you pouted petulantly at her. When you’d first met, she never would batted an eye at whether you were cold or not after she’d just entirely recreated your definition of euphoria, but then you’d softened her heart, and now she can’t help but think of all the little things that make you who you are.

“Stop knowing things about me.” You smile softly, and Leighton smirks as she switches places with you on the toilet, something that makes you giggle with a domestic warmth before you retreat to the sink, pumping two handfuls of coconut scented soap into your palm. ”Do you want sweats or shorts?”

“Panties.” Leighton answered and you rolled your eyes but nodded, turning toward the bedroom to grab the clothes that she’d requested for the night ahead of the both of you.

[pukefactory]

Theoretically can u do autistic ena and also autistic reader

•☽────✧˖°˖ ON THE SAME PAGE ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Autistic Salesperson ENA X Autistic Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @crepeurie

☆ You and ENA have your sacred rituals: Tuesday breakfast is always toast with melted neon butter and the 11:34 AM infodump session. Salesperson will perch like a bent gargoyle on the countertop, frantically gesturing with a spoon as she info-dumps the entire economic structure of the frog-based currency system while you quietly eat your food. Meanie interrupts once to scream “You think you’re better than me because you memorize timestamps???” before crawling under the table and sobbing. You assure her no one is better, only indexed differently.

☆ Crowds and fluorescent lights mean sudden shutdowns, but you and ENA have devised a flawless system. If one of you starts to overload, the other throws a glitter bomb (figurative or literal), yells “Emergency business evacuation, this is a false meeting!”, grabs the other’s hand and vanishes into the nearest quiet alley or liminal bathroom. No questions asked. Afterwards, you both stim together with a random ball she seemingly pulled from thin air and share two cold fries.

☆ When you’re both in the zone, it becomes a cascade of vocal stims and overlapping lectures. ENA starts explaining the metaphysical implications of cashier counters (“Are they cages? Are we the animals or the currency?”) while you recount the full history of an obscure children’s cartoon from 1992. Suddenly she switches voices mid-sentence and yells “YOU FOOL! HOW DARE YOU EXPLAIN THINGS MORE EFFICIENTLY THAN ME! I AM THE ANOMALY!” before biting a pillow and then praising your memory. You both agree you’re geniuses and resume the info-dump like nothing happened.

☆ There’s no need to pretend. You don’t force eye contact. ENA doesn’t try to keep one tone of voice. In fact, some days you both speak in binary or whale noises, just because it feels better than pushing your throats into “normal.” She once said, “To mold myself into acceptability is to betray the blueprint of my soul.” You said, “Same.” That was the first time either of you cried with joy.

☆ Neither of you are great with sudden contact, but you’ve devised a system of color-coded Post-it notes. Blue means “safe for cuddles,” green means “high-five me or I will scream,” yellow means “only touch my hair, not my arms,” and red means “DO NOT.” ENA wears them like a business badge. Salesperson treats it like customer service and makes announcements like “Due to recent software updates, my hug policies have changed! Please check the chart before approaching the asset!”

☆ Your happiest moments are silent, side-by-side chaos. ENA is furiously scribbling a business plan to buy the sky while you’re solving a 2000-piece puzzle of a brightly coloured brick. Neither of you talk, but occasionally she throws a plush at you or mutters, “You’re my favourite co-worker in crime.” Meanie occasionally screams at a spreadsheet, but you offer her a sticker shaped like a frog and she gently mumbles, “…acceptance level restored.”

☆ When ENA has a breakdown, the landscape might glitch. Buildings will hum. Skies go plaid. Her cap floats off like a soul. You hold her hand, quietly narrating her favorite facts about clouds and the sound whales make when they mourn. When you melt down, she slips into her salesperson voice and sets up a faux customer service booth where you can “file a complaint with GØD.” Afterwards she quietly places a sticker over your heart and says, “Return to sender: all love, no judgment.”

☆ You both speak in riddles when you’re emotionally flooded. You once told her you were “a slushie machine trying to pour magma.” She nodded gravely and said, “Understood. I, too, am a tax form in a washing machine.” Sometimes it’s more honest than literal language ever could be. You understand each other best through the absurd—because neurodivergence is absurd, and it deserves poetry, not precision.

☆ Together, you accidentally created an “Autistic Mutual Aid Multiverse Hotline” where people can call in and receive personalized coping affirmations, stims, or frog-themed business plans. ENA’s Salesperson side handles calls with “Let’s customize your coping mechanisms like a solid investment portfolio!” and her Meanie side threatens to bite the caller if they say something self-deprecating. You record gentle breathing loops and trivia about sensory-friendly textures. It gets five stars. No profits. Just peace.

☆ You’re not good with big words. Neither is ENA, not when it comes to emotions. So instead, you both plan a “Business Picnic of Non-Capitalist Affection,” where you bring a spreadsheet titled “Reasons I Like Being Alive When You’re Around.” ENA wears a hat made of receipts and reads hers aloud in two voices: one reciting stats, the other singing strange off-key poetry. Her final line is, “You’re my favourite variable in the cosmic data sheet.” You press your foreheads together and agree to keep doing this forever—quiet, weird, wordless, real.

[xhoneygirlxx]

We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

-

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall. 

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up. 

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-" 

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?" 

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock." 

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs." 

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants." 

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?" 

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all." 

*

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager. 

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously." 

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-" 

Dustin starts squealing. 

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat. 

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?" 

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve." 

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile. 

"Baker boy, hi!" 

Steve's mouth goes dry. 

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone. 

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves. 

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner? 

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?" 

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk. 

"Told you I was the best." 

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-" 

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?" 

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-" 

"We'd love to stay!" 

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy. 

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?" 

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate. 

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite." 

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!" 

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-" 

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor." 

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first." 

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though." 

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail. 

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

[neighbourscat]

౨౿ nicholas chavez who visits his black!girlfriend at abbott elementary — he’s startled by the documentary crew, almost dropping the box of rainbow-sprinkled donuts and container of chocolate-chip cookies he’d brought for your kindergarten students; today was move-up day and you asked him if he could use a few hours of his day-off and drop off their treats to congratulate. after he’s given an ‘abbott elementary visitors badge’, he’s dragged through the bustling hallways — walls decorated in brilliant hand-made drawings and banners, the noisy chatter of students, and the hustle of teachers — and into an empty classroom for a confessional; “wha .. what am i suppose to say here?” nicholas asked, adjusting the box of donuts and container of cookies . .. . he blinked into the camera lens, the grin on his face crooked, sheepish, and the look in his eyes that of a scared child.

౨౿ nicholas chavez who spots your classroom, room 220, and hurried toward it — the camera crew and principal ava coleman, heels clicking loudly, behind him — the sound of young laughter, meaningless conversations, and chairs scraping the floor growing louder. the door was slightly ajar, and through the small opening, he could see you — ms. y/l/n to the young humans — standing at the front of room, talking animatedly to your class of kindergartners. your smile lit up the space, and your long, knotless braids swung as you gestured toward the main entrance and exit.

nicholas smiled to himself, watching you in your element. this was the side of you he admired so much — the way you commanded the room full of children, the warmth you exuded when you taught or played around. he gripped the doorknob and- “me personally . .. . i would’ve just walked with me to the gymnasium.” his brown eyes found the camera lens again, letting the crew capture his frustrated expression. “look, there’s still time before those goblins actually start lining up -“ ava pleaded, “i’m telling you - you and i leave now, we can still make brunch at reno’s.”

nicholas stared at the crew again, begging them to do ‘something’, and then down at ava. “who watches these .. things?” he asked the principal, releasing the doorknob — he turned his body to face her fully, showing her that she had his attention .. ava smirked, proud and knowing, flipping back the cascade of jet-black hair that fell effortlessly around her shoulders. “all of america. why? scared to be seen with a woman this attractive?” she finished with a cheeky giggle, brows wiggling while looking into the camera — the confusion on his face has yet to fade. ava: “if you’re worried about being wrongfully perceived, don’t. your face is pretty, your body is tight - if your personality is bleep, the ladies at home won’t care. that’s how it is.” her hands gripped her hips, “you can be the bleep bleep person on the planet, but guess what? if you’re hot, you get screentime.”

just in time, your classroom door swung open — nicholas, relieved, nearly jumped out of his skin. at the sight of jabrieah, your line-leader, peeking out of the door, ava quickly turned on her heels and rushed down the hall and turned the corner in a hurry — the camera angling in on her as she descended.

your kindergartners’ were in their graduation gowns; a vibrant shade of blue, charming and whimsical, and designed to celebrate the joyous milestone of young learners. their gowns were adorned with cheerful motifs, such as stars, balloons, and playful animals, which represented the joy and wonder of early education —

— “donuts! cookies!” malachi; the second in line, cheered, alerting you and the other children. gio; the teacher-helper and aiden; the caboose ripped themselves from your hands and pushed through most of the line to reach nicholas first. and when your boyfriend met your disappointed glare .. his shoulders dropped and he seemed to shrink into himself.

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

“okay, so, i asked nicholas - my boyfriend - if he could pick up my special order from lulu’s; the best pastry spot in philly, and swing by after the graduation. two nights ago, nic and i thought it would be cute to - to give them something else to look forward to after their ceremony,” you spoke into the camera, warm and bubbly — emphasis on ‘after’. “he’s just an hour early,” you continued, smile slowly falling, “which .. which isn’t so bad, necessarily, but .. y’know .. i had a surprise set in place for my kids. so . .. .” you blinked away and then back at the camera, tongue poking the inside of your cheek.

౨౿ nicholas chavez who helps mr. johnson, gregory eddie, janine teagues, and jacob hill stack the parent chairs away and against the gymnasium walls — making room for the fun festivities. the main camera was zoned in on ava; fixing her patterned blouse ( revealing more of her cleavage ) and watching the muscles in nicholas’ large arms flex and spasm. “that young man is spoken for ava.” barbara howard came into view. “this is your sixth reminder ..” the camera shifted up at barbara and then back to ava as she asked, without hesitation or much care; “be honest. completely. who looks better? me or y/n?”

barbara sighed deeply and gave her a gentle tap on the forearm. “come. come,” she urged kindly. “this way. come help me and melissa with the cotton candy machine.”

౨౿ nicholas chavez who watches tariq temple — like he’s headlining coachella, tariq’s wearing a gold chain that probably has a cartoon character on it, sunglasses indoors, and a loud glittering jacket with “kiddie class of swag” embroidered on the back — abbott elementary’s very own rapper, perform and jump around the gymnasium stage .. with an unsure look on his face. he wasn’t sure if he should move his body or remain still, for the message tariq had been spewing into the microphone was .. highly inappropriate for elementary school students; so wrong, yet undoubtedly catchy.

you, on the other-hand, had been loving it — rocking side to side with the thumping beat. the just-graduated children were dancing with their friends, the big-kids, and parents, tariq’s raps going into one ear and right out of the other.

“y’all, for real — remember when y’all couldn’t even color in the lines? look at you now! first grade's ‘bouta be a breeze .. except maybe the bleep math! yo, don’t let ‘em trip you up with that new bleep-bleep math. trust me, that bleep is’a damn scam!”

the camera zoomed in on you and nicholas; eyes widening in the crowd as you both winced — then, the crew quickly switched the attention to barbara and melissa schemmenti, who were in absolute disbelief, mouths opened and brows raised so high, seemingly stitched to their hairlines.

“nah yo! real talk, first grade ain’t no bleep joke. i heard they got y’all doin’ homework?! don’t be out here messin' with them trapper keepers!” janine stopped the sway of her hips, fully focused on tariq and his nonsense piece — jacob lost his smile, he and gregory too stunned, but ava .. unbothered.

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

“ayo, congrats to all the lil’ homies!” the camera crew had met with tariq backstage after his massive performance. “i can’t believe they graduated, like . ..” tariq clutched a hand over his still-racing heart, “they grown now, like for real. been around this school so damn long, i feel like they mine . .. . y’all feel’me?” no response from the crew. “do good bleep, homies!” tariq flashed his signature grin, showing off the gold-tooth plate and giving the camera a wink before strutting out of camera-view, arms lifted like he’d just performed at a sold-out stadium.

[maldaptivedreamer]

Locker Room Fantasies

You attempt to relax in the empty locker rooms. Tyler helps.

content: Not proofread, not accurate to alien universe, maybe ooc character, fem reader, smut, shower sex, voyeurism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, spitting like once, oral (reader receiving), empty but sex in public space, lack of shoes in public shower

wc: ~2.7k

a/n:  Just a PSA, if you use a public shower, wear shoes. Also be safe.

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

A weary breath escapes your nose as you scan your badge across the card reader. It flashes green before the door clicks open with a loud buzz. The sound of your thick boots clicking on the ground echoes throughout the room. Scanning the rows of lockers, your voice bounces on the tiles as you call out, “Hello?”

Closing your eyes, a sigh of appreciation escapes your lips as you reach your locker. Sitting on the bench, you hunch over, rubbing your face in exhaustion. Your tense body protests at the position, but you ignore it. Massaging your shoulder, you silently pray that a shower will provide some relief.

Roughly rubbing your burning eyes, you push yourself up. Unlocking your locker, you mechanically proceed to prepare for your shower. With a lazy slam, you close the door and take a deep breath before heading to the shower stalls.

Your feet silently pad across the floor. The frigid tiles bleed through your socks, sending a chill up your spine.

Entering the stall in the far corner, you hang your towel on the metal hook. Carelessly dropping your soap onto the damp floor, you reach for the flimsy gray curtain. It shuts with a loud clink.

The bright fluorescent lights dull slightly as you pull the curtain closed. You twist the knob of the shower, and it sputters on, a few drops of lukewarm water catch the skin of your hand before fully springing to life.

Flicking away the stray droplets, you begin to undress. Slowly peeling off each layer of your sweaty uniform, you pile them haphazardly in one corner of the stall. Stepping under the hot spray of water, you close your eyes. You let out a sigh of relief as the warmth cascades over your tired muscles.

Leaning forward, you rest your forehead against the cool tile wall, letting the water run down your back. After a moment, you push yourself away from the wall and bend down to grab your soap. With a firm squeeze, you release a glob into your palm and raise it to your hair. Your fingers work through each strand, massaging your scalp and releasing any tension that lingers there.

Rinsing your hair, you can feel a familiar tingling sensation spreading through your body. Swallowing, you allow your mind to drift. There’s no one here. You could just listen and stop if someone walks in.

Biting your lip, you scrub your soapy hands along your body. Your breath catches in your throat as you experimentally brush a hand over your erect nipple. Slowly, your other hand follows suit, tracing a path down to your core where you tentatively press a single finger to your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp.

Your anxious eyes dart around the stark white walls, hyper-aware of any noise outside of the stall. But you don’t stop. The thrill of being caught only fuels your desire and you continue to explore your body with growing confidence.

Stepping out from under the warm spray of water, you bend over and place a hand against the cool tiles of the shower wall. Your legs spread wide, and your fingers begin to trace slow circles around your sensitive clit, quiet moans fall from your lips.

Despite the temptation to tease and prolong the pleasure, you resist and slowly insert your fingers into your dripping core. You release a desperate moan, but you quickly stifle it by pressing your cheek against the tiles, providing some relief to your flushed skin.

You thrust your fingers in and out of yourself, feeling the slick walls of your pussy clenching around them. Each time, your palm grazes over your swollen clit. The sound of wet squelching mixes with the steady stream of water.

With eyes clenched shut and thighs trembling, you risk letting out a louder moan. Moving your hand from the wall to your mouth, you muffle your noises as you quicken the pace of your fingers.

Tears form a misty veil over your eyes, blurring your vision as you watch your hand plunge into yourself. Fingers curl tightly and disappear, your palm slaps against your clit with loud smacks.

The overwhelming pleasure consumes you, making it almost impossible to hear the loud buzz of the door. Your gasp is stifled as you freeze, every muscle tense.

Heavy footsteps reverberate through the room, each one causing your heart to race faster. You strain to listen for any indication of who walked in, fingers still buried deep inside of you.

With your legs pressed tightly together, you can feel the desperate ache pulsing through your body. But you don’t move.

“Hello?” Tyler's accented voice breaks through the silence, sending shivers down your spine.

Your walls clench around your fingers and your eyes roll back in pleasure. Swallowing hard, you try to regain composure as you reply with a slight crack in your voice, “Hey.”

You can almost see him furrow his brows from behind the thin curtain, his deep voice calling out your name in question. “You good?”

You nod, clearing your throat with a wince. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

The sound of metal clanging echoes through the room as he opens his locker. His footsteps draw closer to your stall as he asks, “Good… Mind if I take a shower?”

Your fingers twitch as you answer, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "No, of course not."

There is no response, and you press your forehead against the cold wall, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Your mind races with the potential consequences of being caught. Pushing your worries aside, you decide that you can be quiet. Really quiet. And careful.

Just as you come to this resolution, the sound of running water fills the air as the shower next to yours turns on.

Your whole-body tenses and you turn to face the wall that now separates you from him. Chewing on your lip anxiously, you slowly begin to grind your fingers in and out of yourself, careful to keep your movements silent and undetected. A mix of guilt and desire washes over you as you touch yourself.

“How was your day?” The timbre of his voice breaks the silence of the room, sending shivers down your spine. You imagine him running his hands along his body as he talks to you, just as you had done to your own earlier. The sound of his voice intensifies the sensations coursing through your body.

With a sigh that he mistakes for exhaustion, you reply, "Long." You rest your back against the wall and lift a hand to your chest. You palm at your breast, as your fingers scissor into you.

Your eyes fixate on the wall in front of you as he grunts in agreement. With each thrust and touch, you feel yourself growing more confident and lost in pleasure. Nibbling on your lip, you loudly gasp out his name, "Tyler."

For a moment, there is only silence as he pauses. You can feel the burn of his eyes on you through the wall. His voice is low when he responds, "Yeah?"

Leveling out your voice, you speak. “Tell me about your day.”

His movements are hesitant as he starts moving again. “Went on patrol and was partnered with Alex again.”

You hum in response, and he continues, his voice rumbling in your ears as you press your fingers deeper into you. You shove two fingers into your mouth as you try to muffle your whimpers. “-can’t stand Alex. Told you they should partner us up again…”

You hope, pray, that his voice drowns out the noise of your messy pussy as you speed up your fingers, unable to restrain yourself.

He pauses on the other side of the wall, but you can still hear the faint sound of his hands moving. “Thought about you… Was thinkin’ about you a lot.”

A surge of desire and anticipation runs through you as you feel yourself approaching your release. Your fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop. “Yeah?” Your voice is breathless and eager.

“Yeah.” Tyler’s voice is like velvet, deep and alluring. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, “Daydreamin’ about you. Your mouth. How tight you’d feel around my cock.”

Tyler's voice sends shivers down your spine, its husky depth drawing you further into him. Your mind races with images of his mouth on yours, and the tightness you know would come from him being inside you.

As you rub circles over your swollen clit, you try to muffle your screams, but the effort is useless. "Oh fuck! Tyler!"

The sound of the curtain being roughly pulled open and closed goes unnoticed as you scramble to steady your trembling body against the wall.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand on your hip, as his other engulfs your cheek. You gasp as Tyler's lips press against your ear. His growl echoes through you, sending chills of desire through your body. "Thought I heard somethin’ in here," he says, his hands trailing over your slick skin. "Couldn't resist touching yourself, could you? ‘Spose I couldn't either."

You sneak a glance downward and feel a surge of desire as you take in his swollen, red cock. The flushed head beads a translucent pearl, just for you. A low moan escapes your lips as you realize that he had been pleasuring himself while talking to you.

Tyler’s large hand move down your skin before he slowly pushes two thick fingers inside of you, the slickness and tightness engulfing them easily. Your body responds immediately, arching toward his touch. "Tyler, please," you gasp out.

"Shh," he whispers against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. "Gotta stay quiet, remember? Can't risk anyone else walking in on us."

Your hand folds over his, feeling each flex as he thrusts into you. You tug on his hair as his other hand raises to knead at your breast. You bite your lip hard, struggling to contain your noises.

Tyler’s erection presses insistently against your thigh, begging for attention. You squeeze his hand as his fingers curl into you before grasping him. His skin is slick with sweat, and he feels heavy and thick in your hand.

As he lifts his head from your neck, his brown eyes search yours. They darken with intensity as he finds whatever he was looking for and he presses a harsh, possessive kiss to your lips. He explores your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a soft whimper from you. With a low groan, he withdraws his fingers and turns you around, your hands instinctively falling to the wall for support.

Your head spins as you look down, catching a glimpse of him dropping to his knees. His throbbing cock bobs up and down as he bends over. He spits into your clenching core before spreading it with his thumb. Tyler lightly presses into you before withdrawing to press his lips against you.

Tyler's tongue delves between your folds, eagerly lapping at your slick heat. Despite his attempt to shush you, the sound of his mouth on you is unmistakably loud. The wet slurping of his tongue against your skin sends shivers through your body, and you gasp and push back against him, craving more of his touch. His big hands grip your thighs, holding you steady and open for him.

"Fuck, you taste lovely," he growls against you, sending vibrations throughout your body as he speaks.

You bite down on your knuckles to muffle your cries of pleasure. The shower continues to beat down on your back as Tyler devours you from behind. His tongue swirls around your clit before dipping inside you, fucking you with quick, firm strokes.

"Oh god, Tyler," you whimper, your legs trembling. You're so close.

He grunts and hums against you. His large hand slides up to squeeze and knead your ass, sucking hard on your sensitive clit.

Your orgasm crashes over you suddenly, like a wave breaking on the shore. Letting out a muffled cry of his name, your body trembles and shudders with each intense wave of pleasure.

With a final, languid lick, Tyler rises to his feet. He gives your ass a light slap and seeing the mark it leaves, he groans. “We’ll have to save that for another day.”

He spins you around and in one smooth motion, he lifts you up and presses you against the cool tile wall.

Tyler’s cock throbs against your stomach, and your breasts are crushed against his chest. As he leans in, your hand reaches up to caress his feverish cheek, bringing his face closer to yours. His breath is warm as it brushes against your face, “If anything gets to be too much, you let me know.”

His brown eyes meet yours and you nod with a smile. Kissing him, your hand trails down his chest. Feeling the familiar weight of him, you circle your thumb around his head. He gasps as you lightly stroke him.

His hands firmly grip your thighs as he pulls back. His breath catches against your lips as you guide him inside of you, feeling yourself open up to accommodate him.

Tyler's eyes lock with yours as he slowly pushes into you, stretching you. You both let out low moans as he bottoms out, filling you completely. For a moment, you both still, savoring the feeling of his thick cock pulsing inside of you.

Then, he begins to move, setting a steady rhythm. The water from the shower cascades over both of your bodies as he drives into you again and again. His hips snap against yours, driving his cock deep with each thrust. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle slightly. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Tyler groans, his accent thicker with arousal.

You cling to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you. Tyler's lips find your neck. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small stall, the running water doing little to hide your noises.

"That's it, love. Your takin’ me so well.” Groaning into you, he continues. “D’you think about it? About how I’d feel inside of you?”

Your breath hitches at his words. "Yes," you gasp out. "All the time."

His thrusts become harsher at your admission. One hand braces against the wall, raising your leg higher and giving him more leverage to drive into you harder.

"Tell me,” He demands, his voice rough with need. "Tell me what you’d think about when you stuffed yourself with your fingers."

"Imagined they were yours," you pant, struggling to form any coherent thoughts. "Filling me up, stretching me out. Imagined how you’d feel inside of me. How you’d make me yours as I screamed your name."

His grip on you tightens and he nudges you with his nose. Meeting his dark eyes with teary ones, he growls possessively. "You are mine. Aren’t you?”

The intensity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You're there, right there.

"Yes. Fuck! Yes. I’m yours Tyler. O’ly yours, please, ‘m so close," you babble, clinging to him desperately.

"Cum for me, love," he urges, his voice strained. "Let me feel you."

Your body responds immediately to his command. The tension that's been building inside you reaches its peak, and you come undone in his arms. Your inner walls clench tightly around his cock, and you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries of ecstasy, your nails digging into his back.

Tyler groans deeply as he feels you pulsing around him. His thrusts lose their rhythm as he reaches his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and cums with a muffled shout against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his release filling you as his cock pulses within you.

For a long moment, you both stay still, panting heavily as you come down from your highs. The water from the shower continues to cascade over your intertwined bodies. Tyler presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he catches his breath.

Slowly, he lowers you back to your feet, keeping a steadying hand on your waist as your legs wobble beneath you. You lean against him, watching as his cum drips out of you onto the floor before disappearing down the drain.

You feel boneless and sated. Every part of you, relaxed.

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Contract

Aaron Hotchner X F!Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Over All Warnings: 18 + Only, MDNI, SMUT. Language, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive(mentally) father figure, does not line up with a specific time line, flip flops between 3rd and 2nd POV, so use of Y/n. BDSM Dynamics, contract, Dom! Aaron Hotchner, Sub! Reader, emotional detachment, reader is not good at taking care of herself, Age gap (Reader 25 Arron 40), explicit Smut detailed in chapters. This is a series 😅

A/N: listen y’all, Aaron Hot Hotchner has had me in a choke hold, I wish, since the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s only fitting he gets some love.

15 Years Ago

Her hands sting with little paint splinters, their jagged edges imbedding deeper each time her fists connect with the door. She gasps around another harsh sob, her eyes squeezed shut against the blinding darkness surrounding her. “Please daddy! Let me out!” She begs desperately, her small voice cracking. The door violently rattles back with a deafening crack, making her stumble back. She falls into the sink, clutching at its porcelain surface to stop herself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Her father’s guttural voice fills the confined space of the restroom, “The longer you cry the longer you’ll stay in there!” His words are slurred from the deers he’d had with his dinner, combined with the six he’d consumed during the day.

“Please daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

The only reply is the vibration of his heavy boots as he storms down the hall, shaking the old house. She presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her cries as she dares a peek at her surroundings. A pitch black void greets her, no light to be seen, not even from the bottom of the door. Blindly she feels around, the sink to her right, the rusted toilet to her left. Sinking to her knees she wedges herself in the space between them, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping thin arms around them.

She rests her head against the column of the sink, every small noise making her jump and squirm, her young imagination running wild. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, getting caught in the hairs stuck to her face before sliding down her throat, finally drenching the neck of her night gown.

5 Years Ago

“Congratulations! You have worked extremely hard to get here, and I can see great potential in your future working here with the FBI.” The Superintendent, a short stocky man, who’s suit is a size too big, holds out his hand to the woman across from him. She’s schooled her features into a mask of calm and restraint. She shakes his hand firmly, quick and to the point.

“Thank you, sir. This is an opportunity of a life time for me, I do not wish to squander it.” Just barely, if he had blinked he would have missed it, does her lips twitch up at the corners. She’s dressed very plainly, black blouse with grey dress pants. The nicest clothing she owns in her sparse closet.

“You’ll be stationed close to home, for now. With high marks such as yours though, I can’t see you staying long should you request a transfer.” Turning the older man retrieves a small black badge book from his mahogany desk, her eyes trained on his movements with restrained elation. “Your credentials, Agent Smit.”

2 Years Ago

Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she requested to be called, brings the young woman into the heart of the Quantico department. Her eyes are bright, turning slowly as she walks taking in every inch of the Bull Pen.

“It can be a little intimidating the first time, but you get use to it.” The blond smiles with a soft laugh, a stack of folders pressed to her chest as she tails behind. “It’s just this way to your desk.” She points towards an empty half cubical, the plain desk void of anything other than a computer and a gold name plate, displaying the name ‘Y/n Smith’.

“Thank you, JJ, for taking the time to show me around.” Y/n turns with a genuine smile, setting her purse and bag down on the small rolling chair.

JJ waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem, I remember how it felt coming in here a bit green behind the ears. I’m glad to help, anytime.” Her blue eyes flicker over Y/n’s shoulder, her smile faltering. Y/n turns around, finding a stoic looking man staring down at them from the landing above. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, raven black hair styled neatly yet a few strands still fall across his forehead. His brown eyes are hard and imposing.

“We have a case.” His voice is deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey, an air of superiority lacing those four simple words. His stance gives him away, hands resting on his hips and chin held high, let’s her know he must be the one in charge.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner this is Agent Y/n Smith.” JJ begins but he holds up his hand, his face hard and set with an unwavering determination.

“I’m aware of who this is, and what you are here to do. Gather the team and meet on the plane. We will debrief there.” And with that he’s gone.

Y/n turns to JJ, her mouth age slightly. “Is he… always like this?”

JJ forces a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, yes. But he means well. Come I’ll show you where we need to go.”

3 Months Ago

“How do you do it?” Garcia blurts the question out in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to look at her at once. Her cheeks grow a little darker under her blush as she realizes just how loud she had been.

“Do what?” Y/n asks back, spinning around in one of the chairs circling the table in the conference room. The team had just landed forty minutes ago, everyone decompressing with coffee and donuts, generously gifted to them by the bubbling blond herself. Y/n takes another sip of her black coffee as she waits.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

The question startles Y/n momentarily, her mind going on the defense as she tries to come up with a suitable answer. Opening her mouth she closes it again as Reid begins, “Ya know she’s right. We work a lot of hard cases but you stay pretty stoic.”

Turning to the rest of the team she glances over their curious faces, her gaze snagging on Hotch. His eyebrow is cocked, but otherwise his expression is impassive, impossible to guess what he is thinking. He holds her stare, almost with a hint of a challenge and despite herself she drops her gaze first, clearing her throat.

“I-I don’t know. Just got a good emotional switch, is all.” Y/n shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers against the side of the mug resting between her palms. The heat is nice, seeing as the weather is turning and winter is right around the corner, the office is cold having been shut down for hours now, the clock on the wall reading 1 am.

“Some say that the reason others don’t cry as often or as much is because they are repressing their own emotions, or have a hard time connecting with them. Some just don’t have tear ducts.” She glares at Reid, that smart brain of his going to get him in trouble. Emily scoffs and turns on him in your defense, hand resting on her hip.

“Spencer.” She says his name drawn out and scolding, making him slouch slightly in his seat, appearing sheepish. Y/n holds up her hands, coming to Boy Wonders rescue.

“It’s fine, really though I’m just good at detaching myself, emotionally, from the situation. Emotions are frivolous things that can get in the way of an investigation.” She shrugs her shoulder, her demeanor convincing them she is uncaring of the topic.

“Titanic.” Derek suddenly pipes up. “I bet she cries at Titanic.”

The group laughs, Y/n forcing out one of her own as her heart starts to pound in her chest. Morgan and Emily turn on Spencer, lecturing him about what is appropriate to state facts about, while JJ and Garcia begin to clean up. Slowly chatter and shuffling turns to white noise, a ringing in Y/n’s ears filling their place.

She stares down at the table, shifting in her seat as she tries to squash the rising anxiety. Memories, harsh and bitter like her coffee, pelt her; her chest tightening uncomfortably. All the whole Aaron’s watchful gaze never leaves her face, her mask of indifference and solidarity cracking the longer she sits across from him.

Present Day

You stare out the window of your hotel room, the city is shrouded in darkness but there’s the eternal glow of the night life that makes the inky blackness not so suppressing. Chewing absently at your thumb nail you sway on your feel, comforting yourself with the gentle motion. Today had been hard, grueling and long, but in the end the good guys came out on top.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts, your body stilling and instinctively your eyes travel to your gun resting on the end table. 3am is a little late for a visitor. Another knock spurs you into actions and you cross the shaggy green carpet to the door. Peaking through the peep whole your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you step back, pulling the door open with you.

Aaron Hotchner stands in the threshold, still wearing his suit from earlier minute the blazer. The off white compliments his complexion and raven hair. “Hotch?”

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t sound surprised, more so relieved.

“So are you.” You keep the door pressed to your body, concealing the thin tank top and sweatpants you’ve dressed in for bed.

“Yes, I am.” He looks past you into the small room before gesturing to it. “May I come in?”

You bite your lip, eyeing around him down the deserted hallway before nodding. “Yes, of course.” He steps in full and you close the door, turning quickly to the chair across the room, grabbing your jacket. You pull it on, zipping it part of the way before turning back to your boss. He’s looking around, that part of his brain he can never turn off analyzing every inch.

“So… what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, going back to the spot you’d spent most of the night occupying.

“I wanted to let you know the hospital called. Jenny is going to be just fine.” He watches as your shoulders sink, a breath blowing through your nose as you visibly relax.

“That’s… That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

Jenny Campell, the 9 year old little girl abducted by her father, who was held hostage for two weeks in a remote part of Boston. She was severely dehydrated and would likely have lasting psychological problems from the abuse her father put her through; but she was alive, and the good guys had won.

“I wanted to talk to you… about the house.” Aaron’s head tilts slightly, as it always does when he’s approaching a subject he thinks may cause someone some uncomfort. You hold his gaze, crossing your arms over your chest, confused by where this could be going. Aaron clears his throat before he begins. “How did you know to look for a secret door?”

6 Hours Earlier

The house was dank smelling, clouds of dust swirled through the rays of light coming from the flash lights of the officers ahead of you. The house has been cleared, but something was missing, Charles Campell said his daughter was here, but where?

You circle back into the smallest bedroom, the voices of Hotch and Morgan floating through the open door as they try to discuss a new plan. The room was littered with trash, a twin sized bed sits in one corner, a large oak wardrobe opposite it. Children’s drawings adorn the peeling walls, and a dusty pink sign hangs above the bed frame, ‘Jenny Girl’.

You step closer to the armoire, newspapers and takeout boxes crunching under foot, as you shine your light over the furniture. It’s new, newer than anything else in the entire house making it stand out against the decay. It isn’t until you’re right beside it do you notice the scratches along the lime green paint.

The realization dawns on your like a bucket of ice water being thrown in your face and before you know it your yelling for your team mates. “Here! Hotch!” Your put your weight into the side of the wardrobe, pushing with everything you have as the two men rush into the room.

Morgan runs for the other side, pulling as Hotch takes up the space behind you, his arms caging you in as he pushes. The three of you move it easily, a small door, presumably to a crawl space, appears in the wall and you rush to pull it open. Morgan covers you with his gun drawn, giving you a nod to go before you yank the door open.

There, curled up in her side, is the little blond girl you all have been searching for. “Medic!” Hotch screams from above you, as you quickly moves towards the girl. She small and light, her hair matted and dirty like her blue night gown. You presses your fingers to the girls throat, a weak pulse answering.

~*~*~*~

“Y/n?” Hotch snaps you out do your thoughts, and you shake your head, clearing yourself of the memory.

“Sorry… I just… I knew there was something there, I won’t say I could sense it but my gut hasn’t lead me wrong, thus far.” Aaron nods, waiting to see if you will continue. “Charles isn’t a lier, his motivation for taking her were simple, revenge on her mother. Make her squirm and give him more parental rights. He never assumed she would get the police involved. Much less the FBI.”

“Jenny’s father is not only a drug user but a heavy drinker. Everything he had done was under the influence and when he was captured, and the substances in his system wore off he had gaps in his memories of what he did with Jenny. Explaining why he couldn’t tell us exactly where she was, just that she was at the house.” Hotch finishes for you.

“Exactly.” You pause, eyeing him over. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, in fact you did amazing in the field today. You worked out the clue no one else could’ve, and if it wasn’t for you there is no telling if we would have found Jenny in time. I’m extremely proud of you.” His praise makes something in your chest stir without your permission. Your clear your throat to speak, but he cuts you off. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know there would be a door behind the wardrobe?”

Your palms suddenly feel clammy, nervousness making your spine straighten. “I don’t know what you-.”

“You do realize I am the one that goes through ever personnel file before someone is permitted to work with my team, correct?” His voice doesn’t have that hard edge like it normally holds, in fact his entire demeanor is soft, calming. Almost like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal.

You are the animal.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I know about your father, Y/n. I have seen the police reports, and I know you take cases with children very seriously and hold them close to your heart.” He takes a step forward and instinctively you move back, a look of hurt washing over his features. “I need you to tell me if you are alright, if this case was to much for you.”

~*~*~*~

The red lights of the ambulance quickly fade away through the woods, leaving the house illuminated only by the head lights of the surrounding cop cars. Aaron is removing his vest as he walks around watching as people file in and out of the house taping and marking things off.

He stops by the van, pulling the door open and throwing his vest inside, when he notices a figure standing off by themselves. He squints into the darkness along the side of the house, the person is hunched over, hands on their knees as their shoulder shake subtly. He scans the people around him, finding Morgan by the entrance to the house, on the phone with the rest of the team and the other 5 officers are accounted for. That leaves only you.

Slowly he moves closer just barely making out the sounds of you muffled crying over the noises of the others. Concern wipes through his body like lightning but before he can move any farther Morgan is yelling his name, startling you in the process.

You straighten up quickly, wiping your face with your jacket sleeves and Aaron retreats towards the others. Giving you your space without the fear of embarrassment of being caught.

~*~*~*~

Your face burns, cheeks bright pink. You open your mouth then close it again, a mixture of emotions tumbling around inside you.

Embarrassment, anger, hatred, regret, longing to finally let it all go. None of which are directly targeted at your boss but he’s the only thing in sight.

“How dare you.” You seethe, letting anger take over because it’s the easiest to roll with. “Don’t come to my room at all hours of the morning, trying to… to… get something out of me.” Your anger propels you forward and you find yourself inches in front of Hotch. He holds his ground, his hands moving to rest on his hips and you break eye contact long enough to glance at them.

“I’m asking you if you are alright.” Aaron’s voice has dropped, the timber low and you can’t help but like the sound of it. There’s no denying Aaron is a handsome man, but there’s always denying your feelings.

“I’m. Fine.” You ground out.

“Your lying to me.”

“Hotc-“

“Sweetheart.” The nickname catches you off guard, your eyes widening with surprise, breath trapped in your throat. Aaron takes the opportunity, his large hands cupping your face, giving you no other choice but to keep eye contact even as your body stiffens and a look of almost pain flashes across your face. “I know you’re lying to me because I am good at my job and so is everyone else here. You think we haven’t noticed your apprehension when it comes to a dark room? Or the way you always stand closer to the other females in the room, even if it’s just Spencer?”

Your hands find their way to his wrists, tugging but he stays firm, he isn’t hurting you but he’s going to make you listen. “Sto-.”

“Youre to comfortable placating than possibly rocking the boat for yourself. You never finish a cup of coffee because you hate it plain, you’d rather wonder around a new building than bother someone to ask where a room is, you dont open up to a single person because of your anxiety.” Hurt is written clearly on your features, hurt mixed with anger but before you can say anything Aaron steams ahead. “With that being said, you are one of my best profilers. I’ve seen you take on men twice your size and never bat a lash. Behavior like this doesn’t just come from nowhere. Something happened to you that made you this way.”

That unwelcoming pressure behind your eyes begins to overwhelm you, much like Aaron’s presence, his cologne infiltrating your nose with each ragged inhale. “What do you care? I’ve done just fine with how I am by myself, I don’t need you digging around for answers that will have no impact on you whatsoever.” Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, making you hate yourself more.

“I care,” He emphasizes with a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, a foreign feeling on your skin. “Because I can not sit back and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

You scoff, trying again to pull away, managing to take a few steps back only for him to follow. A hand slips to the back of your neck, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place. “You’re being dramatic, Hotchner.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you open your mouth only to realize you aren’t sure. “I… I had a snack in the car. On the way here.” It’s a lame excuse, and he sees right through it.

“I want to make you an offer.” His brown eyes search your face, the anger turning into confusion.

“An offer?”

“Yes, I’d like for you to hear me out before you make a decision. Okay?”

“If it means you will let me go, then yes.” You give his wrists one last tug and he relents, but not before giving your neck a final squeeze. You move until your back is against the window, the cold night air seeping through the glass and into your jacket.

Aaron sits down in the only chair before gesturing to the bed, “Why don’t you sit.” It’s more of a command than it is a suggestion, making you root to your spot, giving him your best disgruntled look that rivals his on a good day. Sighing he leans his elbows against his knees, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired, the wear and tear off the job showing more and more. Dark circles from a lack of sleep, a few new greeting hairs You could have sworn weren’t there when this case began.

“Well?” You snap, throwing your hand up before letting it drop against your thigh. Aarons eyes slowly lift to yours, a look you are unfamiliar with lurking under his features as he reaches behind himself, pulling a folded piece of paper you hadn’t noticed before from his back pocket. He tosses it onto the bed and a thousand possibilities run through your mind all at once. Leave of absence? Demotion? Pink slip? “Hotch…”

“Go on. It isn’t going to bite you, honey.” He let’s a little bit of humor color his words and you shoot him a glare. You close the distance, snatching it off of the bed and unfolding it to realize it’s a few sheets stapled together. Your eyes nearly double their size, mouth falling open as you read the header.

‘Consent of Submission.’

Paragraphs make up the first page, the words jumbling together as you try to make sense of where this is heading. The next page is filled with bullet points, titled ‘Rules’. Eat three full meals a day, go to bed at an appropriate time, check in with how you are feeling; to name a few.

As you continue to stare at the paper, confusion and distraught winning the war of emotions on your face, Aaron begins speaking. “It’s a contract, between you and I. It will help you properly take care of your self and I will help enforce it.

“‘Submission’? Aaron… This is… What?” You begin to tremble with a vengeance, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, it will help you learn to regain some control over your trauma and your everyday life. It will help with the anxiety, depression, and emotional detachment you are facing.” He speaks so surely, like he has done this before, and maybe he has.

“You mean it will help you control me.” Your accusation doesn’t phase him, in fact he looks to calm for the situation. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his seat with his head propped on his first. A complete opposite juxtaposition to yourself.

“In a sense, it’s power exchange. Nothing happens without your explicit consent, which gives you the power in what we do. Where I have the power is how we navigate those consents, what we do, where we do it, and how.” He takes a deep breath, giving you a gentle smile. “I’ve found people in your type of situation benefited greatly from being able to let their brains turn off, not have to over think every step of the day. Just exist and let someone else… Take care of them.”

“And if I say I don’t want to sign this?” You slam the papers back on the bed, more to hide your shaking hands than anything.

“Then I will have you go to therapy within the BAU system.” He shrugs his shoulder feigning indifference, even though his heart is thumping wildly. He thought the days of this life style were behind him, no longer needed, but the moment you turned up on the plane, he knew. Your lips were pressed into a tight smile, your body language screaming how uncomfortable you were seated between Derek and Rossi, though you desperately tried to mimic the calm demeanor surrounding you. Something stirred awake in his chest that morning, and he’s just been bidding his time every since.

Your stomach churns, weighing out your options. Somehow the latter seems worse. You run your hands into your hair, blowing out a breath. “I’m not submissive Aaron, you know this. This job requires to much for this to be a possibility. I don’t… I don’t see how it could work.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I think there are things you haven’t learned about yourself yet. As for our job this is not apart of that, this is separate. We will just be ourselves, nothing out of the ordinary.” He says all of this so sincerely, a part of you wants to trust him. But the part of you that says no one is to be trusted squares your shoulders.

“What do you want in exchange? How do I know you won’t use this as black mail, or some chip to hold over my head?

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sweetheart, There’s nothing I want in exchange, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” You answer before you can even give it thought. Deflect, shut it down, move on. How you handle any sort of situation that strikes a little to close to home, that tries to dig out your weaknesses like he is doing now.

Aaron prepared for this, knew you would meet him with head on resistance, but also knew with the choices given what you would pick. You’ve gone back to staring at the papers, the wheels in your head turning at full force. He can guess within reason what you might be thinking, he had that same look on his face when he was introduced to the lifestyle all those years ago.

“Y/n.” Your eyes dart up to his, large and uncertain. “Give me a month, just one. If it doesn’t help, if it’s too much, then we call it quits.”

“Just one?” You echo back, Aaron nodding. He stands from his seat, large hand stretched out, palm facing the sky. This is crazy, wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the amount of trouble you both could end up in if someone so happen to come across this. Every fiber of your being screams the sentiment. But it’s your heart, though it bruises your ribs, that makes you place your hand in his. Aaron gently pulls you to your feet, making sure you have your balance before letting go.

“Go wash your face, then I want you in bed. You need to sleep.” Instantly you want to rebel against the order, the phrase ‘you don’t control me’ coming to mind but instead you turn on your heel. “Good girl.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and your shoulders tense up, but you force yourself to walk into the restroom, closing the door a little to hard. You turn to the mirror, a woman with scarlet red cheeks stares back at you and you huff. What are you doing? Where has your brain gone? Groaning lowly you angrily grab for your face wash.

Coming back out into the room, dabbing at your face with a hand towel, you find the room is lit only by the bedside lamp. Aaron, with the contract in his hands, looks up when he hears you. Your hand tightens around the scratchy white towel as a small smile tugs his lips up. “You look beautiful even without the makeup.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the towel into the small tub behind you. “A very typical male complement, Hotch.” You quip, glancing towards your bed. The covers have been turned down, and there’s a glass of water on the night stand.

“Here.” Aaron holds out a pen, and the paper, suddenly your hands have never been so clammy.

“I thought you said we would just try this for a month. Why do I need to sign?” You skirt around him, fidgeting with your jackets zipper. You can feel your heart beat everywhere, from your fingertips to the bottom of your bare feet.

“To protect us both, either you sign or there’s no deal and you go to therapy.” Skin bristling you spin around, whatever you were about to snap suddenly dissolving on your tongue. His chest is mere inches from your face, forcing you to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. He never seemed this tall from across the room. “You’re wearing my patience thin, little one.” The heady rasp of his voice as he whispers to you makes your stomach clench, for an entirely new reason.

Begrudgingly you take the pen and paper, pressing it to his chest to bear down on as you scrawl out your name on the little line. You notice his signature is already on the other side.“There. Happy?”

He holds your stare for a moment longer, and you think he might say something more before he steps back, taking everything with him. “We will go over everything at breakfast, we have an appointment with Jenny and her mother Clair at noon.”

Your eyebrows come together as he reaches the door, pulling it open. “I thought the teams going home today?”

“They are. I have paper work that needs to be done and you are my only child psychologist. Goodnight, Y/n.” He smiles as he closes the door behind himself, relishing in the shock written on your face.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Why Trump's corruption matters.

May 28, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

Tuesday was a mixed day for defenders of democracy. On the one hand, the president’s corruption boiled over in a public display of graft on a scale and depth of depravity never before seen in our nation’s history—a display directly traceable to the Supreme Court’s immunity decision. On the other hand, the courts continued to grant relief to almost everyone who has risen to challenge Trump's reign of lawlessness.

As to the public display of graft, the obvious question is, “What can we do about it?” In a healthy democracy, Trump would have already been impeached, convicted, and removed from office by joint action of the House and Senate.

Because the GOP will not defend the Constitution by impeaching Trump, the next obvious remedy is to prosecute Trump under the US criminal code—a route barred (with one exception) by the US Supreme Court’s grant of presidential immunity in Trump v. US.

Once again, the remedy falls to us. We must speak the truth about Trump's public corruption. And, once again, I remind those who say, “It won’t matter; Trump doesn’t care; his base doesn’t care,” that we are not speaking to Trump or his base. We are talking to persuadable voters who supported Trump and eligible voters who stayed home in 2024. We are speaking to family members, children, and grandchildren. We are speaking to future historians. And we are reminding ourselves that honest government matters to us.

If we stop caring about corruption, surrender to cynicism, or succumb to defeatism, our democracy is lost. We cannot let that happen. We will not let it happen��not on our watch.

Yes, it is painful and galling to review the daily corruption by Trump, but we must be able to communicate that corruption to everyone who matters.

So, let’s take a look at the actions by the most corrupt administration in history.

Why Trump’s corruption matters.

Trump’s corruption is becoming more blatant and public—while the media is becoming increasingly quiet about the unfolding scandals. Josh Marshall describes the increasing complacency of the media as “The Great Quieting.” (“[L]ots of things are not being said or reported because people are afraid to say them.”)

Multiple scandals, several orders of magnitude worse than Watergate, unfolded over the last 72 hours, but the media is eerily quiet about the cascading corruption. (Except for Jake Tapper, who is on British television telling anyone who will listen that the alleged “cover up” about Joe Biden's health is “worse than Watergate”—while Tapper says nothing about Trump's current scandals because they won’t help boost his book sales. No wonder the trending meme on the internet is “F*** Jake Tapper.”)

The corruption is so bad that the person Trump has appointed to lead the DOJ Office of Pardons—the disgraced Ed Martin—tweeted “No MAGA left behind” after announcing the pardon of a corrupt Virginia sheriff convicted of “selling” fake police badges. See Alternet, 'No MAGA left behind': Outrage as Trump pardon chief issues new vow.

Ed Martin’s shameful tweet is a play on the unofficial motto of the US military: “No man left behind.” But in Martin’s perverted version, he is saying that the DOJ will not leave any MAGA convicted criminal without a pardon—no matter how egregious the crime.

On Memorial Day, Trump pardoned Sheriff Scott Jenkins for issuing police badges in exchange for bribes. See Rolling Stone, Trump Capped Memorial Day by Pardoning a Crooked Sheriff. A jury convicted Jenkins on charges of wire fraud, conspiracy, and bribery. Ed Martin’s post-pardon tweet made clear that Sheriff Jenkins was pardoned under the “No MAGA Left Behind” policy.

To a similar effect is the pardon of Paul Walczak, a nursing home executive who pleaded guilty to tax violations. Per the NYTimes

[Walczak] withheld more than $10 million from the paychecks of the nurses, doctors and others who worked at his facilities under the pretext of using it for their Social Security, Medicare and federal income taxes. Instead, he used some of the money to buy a $2 million yacht and to pay for travel and purchases at high-end retailers, including Bergdorf Goodman and Cartier, prosecutors said.

Trump pardoned Walczak three weeks after his mother attended a $1 million-per-person fundraising dinner at Mar-a-Lago.

In any other administration with any other Congress, the president would be subject to an impeachment investigation, if not conviction and removal. The facts strongly suggest a quid pro quo that deserves scrutiny. But under the Supreme Court’s immunity decision, Trump's exercise of his core presidential power of issuing pardons is above the law.

So, too, with Trump's pardon of two “reality TV stars,” convicted of tax evasion and fraud. CNBC, Trump to pardon reality TV stars Todd and Julie Chrisley.

Trump pardoned the Chrisleys after their daughter made a request to Trump. The Chrisleys’ daughter actively campaigned for Trump in 2024, leading the “Women’s Tour for Trump.” Loyalty to Trump matters above all else, including defrauding innocent victims.

But the pardons are chump change for Trump. The parent company for his social media venture announced on Tuesday that it was raising $2.5 billion for a cryptocurrency fund. See Business Insider, Trump Media Is Raising $2.5 Billion To Build A Bitcoin Reserve.

The president, of course, is presiding over decisions regarding the future regulation of the crypto industry, which he once called a “scam.” He recently hosted a dinner at the White House for the largest purchasers of a newly issued crypto meme coin called $TRUMP.

Within a matter of hours, the worthless $TRUMP meme coin became the 15th largest cryptocurrency in the world.

Why?

Because it provides access to President Trump, which is precisely what the largest purchasers received when they were invited to the White House for a dinner with Trump.

When reporters asked White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt about the obvious conflicts of interest for a president selling cryptocurrency that granted access to the White House, she responded that the dinner and related activities were done on Trump's “personal time.” See Mediate, Karoline Leavitt Insists Trump Is Attending Shady Crypto Dinner With Foreign Investors in His ‘Personal Time’

Bingo! If Trump is “selling” access to the White House on his “personal time,” then the presidential immunity granted by the Supreme Court does not apply. See Raw Story, White House claim puts Trump 'potentially outside the immunity shield': attorney.

So, Trump's grotesque spree of corruption may have exceeded the capacious boundaries of presidential immunity granted by the Supreme Court. There is still hope that Trump will be criminally convicted after his term expires!

But, regardless of what happens, we must remember, “It’s the corruption, people!” The cavalcade of corruption is taking place at the very moment that the Senate is considering cutting off lifesaving benefits for tens of millions of Americans. It doesn’t get any more outrageous than that!

Successes in Resisting Trump's lawless agenda

Now that we have addressed Trump's corruption, let’s look at successful efforts to resist his lawless agenda.

Perhaps the most instructive story is that a CNN journalist who was about to be barred from Pete Hegseth’s trip to Singapore because the journalist had hurt Hegseth’s tender feelings with mean tweets. The other journalists in the Pentagon press pool took the only sensible action—they refused as a group to travel with Hegseth to Singapore, thereby denying Hegseth the media coverage that prevents him from melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Guess what the Pentagon did? It relented and allowed the CNN journalist to travel as part of the press pool on Hegseth’s trip to Singapore. See Oliver Darcy, Status News, Hegseth's Safe Space.

The moral of this story should be burned into the hearts and minds of everyone who resists Trump: Together, there is nothing we cannot do!

Next, NPR has sued the Trump administration over cuts to public broadcasting imposed in an executive order. See NPR, NPR, public radio stations sue Trump White House over funding ban.

Before commenting on the NPR suit, it bears repeating that the president has no authority to cut, withhold, or impound funds appropriated by Congress. Doing so violates Article I, Section 9, Clause 7 of the Constitution and the Impoundment Control Act of 1974. Trump's conduct in withholding funds appropriated by Congress is an impeachable offense that should result in Trump's conviction and removal from office.

Because Trump's actions are unconstitutional and illegal, NPR will win. The resistance by NPR is precisely what every institution affected by illegal executive orders should do.

The NPR story has another positive aspect—the fact that the preeminent law firm of Gibson Dunn & Crutcher and star attorney Ted Boutrous are representing NPR in its lawsuit against the administration. Some of Gibson Dunn’s most prominent attorneys have long been part of the Republican establishment. But those past political associations did not stop Gibson Dunn from taking on NPR as a client in a just lawsuit against an illegal order.

Kudos to Gibson Dunn and Ted Boutrous. They are leading by example during a fraught time in our nation’s history. [Disclosure: I was a partner at Gibson Dunn & Crutcher for several years before joining Morrison & Foerster.]

Speaking of the legal profession being put to the test, U.S. District Judge Richard J. Leon issued a permanent injunction in favor of the law firm WilmerHale in its lawsuit challenging Trump's executive order, which punished the firm for employing Robert Mueller.

The opinion is here: Wilmer Hale v. Executive Office of President | Memorandum Opinion | 5/27/25.

Judge Leon found that Trump's executive order violated the First, Fifth, and Sixth Amendments to the Constitution as well as the doctrine of separation of powers. In the introduction to his opinion, Judge Leon writes:

The cornerstone of the American system of justice is an independent judiciary and an independent bar willing to tackle unpopular cases, however daunting. The Founding Fathers knew this! Accordingly, they took pains to enshrine in the Constitution certain rights that would serve as the foundation for that independence. Little wonder that in the nearly 250 years since the Constitution was adopted no Executive Order has been issued challenging these fundamental rights. Now, however, several Executive Orders have been issued directly challenging these rights and that independence. One of these Orders is the subject of this case. For the reasons set forth below, I have concluded that this Order must be struck down in its entirety as unconstitutional. Indeed, to rule otherwise would be unfaithful to the judgment and vision of the Founding Fathers!

The future of the legal profession hangs in the balance. Some firms—such as WilmerHale, Jenner & Block, Perkins Coie, Gibson Dunn, King & Spalding, Quinn Emanuel, Susman Godfrey, and Covington & Burling—have stood up to Trump. Others have capitulated.1

The lesson of Wilmer Hale is that resistance works and encourages others to resist. The legal profession must remain united in its opposition to the lawlessness of the Trump administration.

In the section below on Opportunities for Reader Engagement, I invite everyone (but especially lawyers) to join an event by Speak Up For Justice, an initiative by leaders in the legal profession to defend the judiciary against attacks by the administration.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Just Breathe: The Dinosaur Diaries✨

✨Part 1: Introductions✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: One of my favorite things is writing about the first time Joel and reader meet, so this is how their story starts off 💚

Chapter Summary: It’s your first day at Sauros Corporation as a research assistant, but what you don’t know is you’ll be working under one of the hottest paleontologists that you’ve ever laid eyes on. Can you keep your wits about yourself, or will you fall fast for your smooth talking boss?

Pairing: paleontologist! Joel x fem researcher! reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+

Chapter Tags: Reader starts her first day as a research assistant, feelings, Joel being a casual flirt, Joel in a lab coat and glasses, mentions of Jurassic Park, allusions to smut, eventual smut, Joel is so broad, Jurassic Park au, science terminology I had to look up

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your palms sweat as you enter the intimidating glass building of Sauros Corporation. One of the biggest, most well known science businesses that specializes in paleontology. What you got your master’s in. You strive to continue on to get your PhD, but first you need to get a little work experience. So that’s why you’re here in this massive corporation that might just eat you alive. 

   Your black heels click against the polished white tile as fluorescent lights reflect off the cascading glass windows. You pull at your pressed pink dress and flex your fingers around the soft cotton as nerves rush down your body. Today was the most important day of your life. A gateway to your future, your dream job that you’ve wanted for your entire life. This was it. It was finally here. 

   When you walk up to the pearlescent marble front counter, a bubbly blonde girl smiles and stands from her office chair. “Hi there. How can I help you?”

   You show her your work ID badge that you had gotten in orientation and respond, “This is my first day here. I’m here for…”

   Her eyes brighten the moment she sees your name on the shiny badge. “Oh! You’re the new research assistant. Doctor Miller has been so eager to meet you! Your interviewer, Kylie, couldn’t stop talking about you to him. He’s already spoken so highly of you. He looked at your resume and everything,” she gushes as she comes around the bright desk and smoothes her pencil skirt down. 

   “He’s talked about me? Who is Doctor Miller?” you ask as you knit your eyebrows together and step back as she passes in front of you. You knew of Doctor Kepler, who you thought you’d be working under. But Doctor Miller? You never heard of him before, at least you don’t think.

   “He’s who you’ll be working under,” she smiles warmly as she nods her head and signals for you to follow behind as her blonde hair bounces down her shoulders. “He’s our best scientist in the department, I’m sure you’ll love him.”

   “How long has he been working here?” you ask as you pass through the lavish halls that are covered in glass framed pictures of dinosaur bones and biology cells. 

   “Over five years, he’s the best of the best. If you want to be a great scientist then he’s the perfect one to practice under. And you’re so lucky,” she beams as she looks back at you with big crimson lips.

   “Why’s that?” you laugh as the click of heels echo down the lit up halls.

   “Because,” she stops before entering the pad locked doors where only authorized personnel can get through, “he’s ridiculously good looking, but don’t tell him I said that.” She winks at you before turning to the glowing padlock.

   Just what were you getting yourself into? Doctor Miller? Was he really all she talked him up to be? And was he really impressed by your resume and talks of your interview? Guess you’d find out. 

   She scans her badge and with a click of the door, they part open as she pushes herself through the strong metal doors. Your eyes scan over the expansive lab as your breath hitches in your throat. The lab is absolutely enormous. Colorful test tubes fill various racks on the metal shelves along the cream colored walls. Microscopes line the tables that fill the center of the room. Petri dishes with different organisms in them sit in glass refrigerators, sturdy dinosaur bones sit displayed in glass cases, and expensive scientific materials cover the room. It’s all intimidating as you step through your new work space. 

   “Right over here,” she smiles as she leads you to the middle of the room where two men stand around a fluorescence microscope. 

   Your eyes peel over the tall man that adjusts the lense while he talks confidently to his coworker. You listen as his deep voice carries through the room. “There we go. Think I got it just right this time. The edges are perfect, can actually see the cementum where those tiny black dots are. Fascinatin’,” he says in awe as he adjusts the microscope lense again to get a better look. 

   You study the man in front of you, watching the way his broad shoulders shift everytime he moves his arms. The white lab coat seems to cling to large muscles. He’s so very large and tall, very tall. Standing just above six feet. And his hands. Big, thick hands of a paleontologist for sure. 

   Just when you start to get lost in his words, the girl who had brought you back into the room interrupts their conversation. She clears her voice and steps forward as platinum blonde hair swishes behind her shoulders. “Doctor Miller? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to meet you.”

   He turns quickly and adjusts his thick, rimmed glasses against his curved nose and smiles gently. You suck in a breath when you see his face, his smile, his eyes. He’s so gorgeous that you think you might fall over and knock a bunch of expensive lab equipment over. 

   He has the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes that you’ve ever seen before. His hair is tousled, curls spilling onto his forehead, dark brown with strings of grey twisting around each strand. His facial hair looks soft to the touch, salt-and-pepper scruff patching along his sharp jawline. And his smile. God, his smile. It’s so gentle and bright that it lights a fire inside your core. And he’s so broad. Strong muscles pulling against the white lab coat that clings to tanned skin. He’s the hottest scientist you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’re working under him?!

   “Oh, you must be my new research assistant, yeah?” he asks as he smiles gently and says your name, pushing himself off the metal table as he starts making his way over to you. You feel like you’re about to topple over at any moment. 

   “That’s me,” you say shyly as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you wish you wouldn’t do. 

   “Well, so nice to meet you,” he drawls, a Southern accent that rings through your ears like a sweet melody that was made just for you. He sticks his arm out and opens his palm for you to take. You automatically reach out to shake his hand, your own hand shaking as you’re completely intimidated by the hot scientist that stands in front of you. 

   When he clasps his fingers over yours and squeezes, you gulp as you look up into beautiful honey glazed eyes. Eyes that you could wade in and get lost in. His hands are so big, calloused fingers grazing against yours as you feel nerves pulling at every fiber in your body. He probably does a lot with those hands. Hands of an experienced, successful, gorgeous paleontologist. 

   “It’s nice to meet you, too, Doctor Miller,” you say in a daze.

   “Jus’ Joel is fine. You don’t have to call me Doctor Miller, unless you want to,” he mutters softly. 

   “Oh okay, Joel…” you answer barely above a whisper, your palm sweating from how close he is. 

   He lets his hand linger in yours for a few seconds too long, and you swear he’s staring deep into your eyes as you see the glint of a sparkle flash in the flecks of light brown. When he releases his grip, he runs a hand slowly through his tousled, thick curls and just for that moment you wonder what it’d be like to be underneath his large body, running your own fingers through messy, soft curls…

   “I took a look at your resume the other day. I was quite impressed by what I saw.”

   Your eyes go a little wide at what he just said. “Impressed? Of me?” you ask, floored by the obvious compliment. He was impressed with you? 

   “Mhm,” he smiles as he pulls at the sleeves of his pristine lab coat, “straight A student, top of your class? And you went to the dig site in Montana to do some research last summer? Very impressive.” 

   He stares at you a moment with one eyebrow cocked up, his eyes flicking over your figure as you swear he checks you out. Your cheeks burn red as he looks so intently at you, and it’s in that moment that you don’t know how you’ll ever work with this man. He’s so distracting, all you want to do is get lost in those syrupy brown eyes. 

   “I umm... I’m not that impressive,” you say shyly as you look nervously up at him. 

   “Oh, but you are. M’sorry if you were lookin’ forward to workin’ with Doctor Kepler, but I kinda convinced him to let me take you under my wing instead. Yours was the most impressive resume of them all, and trust me when I say I read them all.”

   “Oh.” Your eyes widen and every bone in your body stiffens as you take in what he just said. He thinks you’re smart? He wanted you to work under him. Oh, fuck. “No, I… I’m sure I’ll enjoy you just as much as I would him.” Your cheeks glow red as you turn your head when you hear him chuckling under his breath. Did you really just say that out loud? Christ. 

   “C’mere. Wanna show you somethin’.” He nods his head as a tousled curl bounces against the side of his forehead, and you follow him over to the table that has the microscope all set up with a tiny fossil underneath. 

   “Go ahead,” he says with a nod to his head, asking you to look through the ocular lense. 

   You nervously walk up and dip your head down as you close one eye and focus intently on the fossil that sits beneath the lense. You take in the yellow tint of the amber, examine each particle that makes up the masterpiece of what sits beneath you, study exactly what you think it is. 

   Joel’s honeydew voice comes out deep and raspy as it stirs you to jump in your skin. “Let me pick your brain a minute. I wanna know if you can figure out what fossil that right there is,” he says as he comes to stand right beside you. 

   His hand presses against the base of the microscope, and you feel his warm breath run down the side of your neck. You can feel his body heat reverberate against yours as you start to breathe faster. Your mind is a blur as his body weight shifts against the counter, his lab coat brushing against the side of your arm as you hold tight to the tube of the microscope. It’s so hard to focus on what’s in front of you when his large, all consuming presence is right next to you. He’s not even touching you, and you’re already all worked up, and you know your thighs are sticky from sweat. What the hell is wrong with you?

   “Hmm, let me think a minute,” you say as you try to depict what sits in front of you. You squint your eye as you try to register what sits underneath the glow of the fossil. There’s a small beak-like impression as you assess dark lines that almost looks like a hummingbird.

   “It almost looks like… wait, maybe if I can get a closer look I can see,” you murmur as you continue to assess the shiny fossil. 

   “Here, let me jus’ fix this.” His large hand comes to sit on your shoulder as he pushes you carefully away from the eyepiece. His patchy scruff brushes against the side of your cheek, and you gasp at how close he is to you. You feel tension in your shoulders as you watch him adjust the dials to the right on the lense as he carefully looks through with one eye closed. 

   You watch him with bated breath, your eyes lock on his broad figure, thick fingers brushing against the crevice of the lense. You wonder what it’d feel like to be pinned underneath those strong arms, his thick fingers exploring every inch of your sweltering skin as he consumes you with the entirety of his mouth. 

   Fuck. This man is your boss, you can’t be having wet fantasies about him. He’s off limits, it can’t happen. You need to be professional, but why is it so hard to clear your clouded mind? He’s good looking, smart, nice. That does not give you the right to fantasize about him. Get a fucking grip on yourself for Christ’s sake. Enough. 

   “Ahh there we go. Go on now, take another peek.” He places his hand gently over the small of your back and pushes you forward as your breath hitches at the hand that burns through your dress and goes straight down to your skin that’s tingling from him. 

   You shake your head and get yourself composed as you lower your head and focus back on the fossil that’s waiting for you to examine. Your eyes widen as you see so much more clearly, the bright light shining straight through the yellow glow of the fossil as you can see exactly what’s in front of you now. 

   You gasp as you realize what it is. “No way! Is that an Oculudentavis? The smallest dinosaur to ever walk the planet?” You hear him chuckle and look up to see him smiling down at you. 

   “Very good,” he smiles as he gives you another once over glance, making your heart thump loudly in your chest as his honey eyes slip over you. “Now, how did you know that?” he asks curiously as he ticks his jaw and cocks an eyebrow up.

   “I read a lot,” you shrug as you bite your lower lip. His eyes drop down to your glossy lips, and it makes you burn with need. Focus. 

   “Yeah, I’m sure ya do,” he chuckles as he leans against the table and crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

   “How old is this fossil?” you ask wondrously as your eyes flick back to the ancient fossil. 

   “Over fifty million years old,” he replies as his eyes weigh carefully on you. “Y’know, it’s not really a bird like everyone suspected it to be. It’s actually a genus of a lizard.”

   “Fascinating,” you say dreamily as you lean up against the table and bump the side of your hip as your eyes train solely on him. 

   “It came from the domain Eukaryota, and the phylum it belongs to is Chordata. Funny how the Latin words revolve around a bird when really it’s a reptile. Some scientists even argue whether it was really a dinosaur or just a large lizard. But if you wanna hear my voice on the matter, I say it was a dinosaur.” He winks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush crimson again as you slip another lock of hair behind your ear and clear your throat before you decide to be a complete puddle on the floor. 

   “Think you’re right, Doctor Miller,” you respond shakily. 

   “Jus’ Joel, darlin’.”

   Darlin’? Christ, a pet name? Or maybe it was just his Southern hospitality. But whatever it was made you weak at the knees. 

   “Joel…” you repeat, letting the name slip against your tongue as you swallow all feelings of want and desire down your throat. You are not falling for your boss. 

   “Attagirl,” he smirks. 

   Fuck. 

   “So, you want to be a real paleontologist?” he asks as his eyes flicker down to yours.

   “Mhm,” you nod as you shift your weight in your heels.

   “So tell me, how do you feel about real dinosaurs?” he asks as he shifts his weight to stand in front of you, his arms still crossed tight against the fabric of the button-up green flannel underneath his lab coat. 

   “Real dinosaurs?” you question as you knit your eyebrows together and try to decipher his question. 

   “That’s right. Real dinosaurs.” He smirks and the glisten in his chocolate coated eyes are pressing into yours like he knows something you don’t, and he’s chuckling about it in front of your face. 

   “Ummm I mean, I’m in the field trying to study them. I’d say I love them?” Your answer is hesitant as you still question him. What does he mean real dinosaurs?

   “Well, guess it’s your lucky day cause your first assignment is about Stegosauruses.”

   Your eyes shift to his as yours widen just a smidge. “What’s the assignment about?” 

   “Guess you’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckles as he adjusts his glasses and moves just enough to brush his arm against yours. You step out of the danger zone and pull yourself together instead of staring down into forearms that are filled with thick, twisting veins against tanned skin. 

   “Get where?” you ask carefully as you slide your tongue against the bottom of your teeth. 

   “To Jurassic Park. Home of the dinosaurs. Real dinosaurs,” he smirks as you see trouble brewing in those dark eyes of his. He’s going to get you into trouble with those honey eyes and sly smirk, you just know it. 

   “Real dinosaurs? But they’re… they’re extinct,” you whisper as you raise your eyebrows in question.

   “Not at Jurassic Park they’re not,” he teases as he crosses his arms again. You just stare speechless at him as you get the feeling this man would never lie to you. 

   “So, how ‘bout it? My new research partner wanna go on a little adventure with me? Promise I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirks as you taste trouble on just his words alone.

   And that’s where the adventure started, right there in his gigantic lab. Right when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes. You knew. This is where it’d all begin. 

Tags: @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @burntheedges @mountainsandmayhem @littlevenicebitch69 @vivian-pascal @pedrostories @survivingandenduring @msjarvis @syd-djarin @mothandpidgeon @eugenedream @cozylittlepigeon @marvlstark @rav3n-pascal22

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