#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

[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.

[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

Please consider reblogging or leaving me a comment if you enjoyed. Reblogging is the only way for our work to reach others 🩷

[hotchs-big-hands]

The Slaughterhouse

Part 1|Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size!fem reader 7k words

Minors dni please

Warning(s): VERY DARK, graphic murder description, injury, gore, blood, fatphobia, extreme angst (with a happy ending), sort-of enemies to lovers, kidnapping, torture, references to SA, derogatory nsfw comments. Oh and I use the word fat because I personally reclaimed it to not rly insult me as it is merely a descriptive word. I do not use it in an insulting way even once in the series.

Please heed the warnings, this series is going to be dark asf. No smut in this series tho.

An escalating string of gruesomely murdered fat women begin to stack up with no end in sight. What started as an unfortunate routine case for the BAU team, takes a disturbing turn as you become entangled in the unsub's web, danger approaching closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before it's too late to bring the madness to an end.

Hello!!! It's been a bit since part 1 but here we are! My brain is fried but it is what it is. I hope you all enjoy this second part!!

The sounds of people talking outside nearby where a bar and restaurant was, was the only noise when you shut your mouth tight, apart from the pulsing of your heartbeat in your ears. Hotch was staring at you, processing your words. He blinked slowly.

"What do you mean?" He finally asked, his brows pulling together. You shifted around uncomfortably under his dark eyed gaze.

"I mean it's not on my person."

You skittered towards your bag and all but emptied it entirely, sifting through your belongings in an attempt to find the palm sized FBI badge. But aside from embarrassingly showing your undergarments you'd packed to your boss, there was no sign of it. You swallowed and glanced at him.

"I'll check the car you arrived in. Take your shower for now." He said.

With a hesitant nod, you watched him grab the car keys from his jacket pocket and rush out of the room. Exhaling, you returned to the shower room and decided to do as he said, undressing quickly and turning the water on. Upon the temperature reaching the level you preferred, you stepped under the spray and let it cascade down your form for a moment, tilting your head back and letting out a quiet groan. You hadn't realised how tense you'd become over the duration of the day. With your bottle of your favourite scented shower gel, you lathered up and began to massage your tight muscles gently. You didn't want to take too long as you were certain your roomie would no doubt want to take a shower of his own.

When you felt sufficiently clean you switched the water off and stepped out, grabbing your towel to begin drying yourself off. You dressed quickly, strongly regretting your choice of sleep attire even more so when you finally glanced at your reflection wearing it. Entirely inappropriate for your boss to see, you thought as your eyes trailed over the faded baggy crop top and tight pajama shorts that ended just below your rump. But there was nothing else you could do now, so with a sigh you grabbed your discarded clothes and wash bag after you'd hanged your towel up to dry and exited the shower room. Hotch had returned at some point looking frazzled as he paced the length of the room. He paused when you stepped out into the main space. He was frowning, only for him to raise a brow for a split moment when he took in your appearance..

"It's not in the car."

You felt your lower lip twitch.

"Oh. I'll have a look in the station tomorrow then." You mumbled, dipping your head slightly. “I’ll uhm, message the others and ask them if they’ve seen it too.”

Hotch puffed out air from his nostrils.

"Make sure you do, (L/n), this is highly irresponsible of you to lose it." He grunted in response. You blinked rapidly, you would not cry.

"Shower's all yours." You managed to choke out and you rushed towards your side of the bed. You heard him sigh.

"Thanks."

You dared not turn around until you heard the click of the shower room lock, to which you shakily exhaled and stuffed your dirty clothes into the bottom of your go bag. You were positively feeling like the biggest idiot right now, what the hell kind of FBI agent loses their credentials?! You hadn't heard of this happening before. Would you be reprimanded? Be forced to stay working in the office? What if you were deemed unsuitable for the job now and fired?? You hated the thought, a wave of nausea hitting you as coldness sunk deep into your stomach.

No. You wouldn't allow this to happen. You'd check the police precinct tomorrow, it would be okay.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to observe the room around you in an attempt to settle your mind.

As the vast majority of hotels you stayed in, it wasn’t overly decorated. The walls were a dull, pale grey which would give you a headache if you stared at them for too long under the pathetic excuse of a ceiling light. There were only a few canvases on the wall, the art uninspiring and forgettable as they hung slightly crooked. There was a single wooden table and uncomfortable chair towards the farside of the room, already occupied by your boss’ varying paperwork he never seemed to be without, no matter what. There was a simple flatscreen attached to the wall, usually unused by yourself and evidently by your temporary roommate as well. A small closet boasted nothing of interest, but the one thing that stood out was the floor length mirror, which stood near the bed. The placement was certainly… a choice.

You huffed out a breath as you settled down on the bed, laying down on your side facing away from the shower room and your eyes drifted towards the mirror again. You didn’t know why it took your brain so long to register what reflected for you to see until a moment too late; you had a perfect view of that door- and now it was open. Your eyes widened at the view of Aaron Hotchner towelling his short, dark hair dry and leaving it sticking up in odd directions. But that wasn’t the only thing your attention was drawn to.

The white tee shirt shaped around his arm muscles and his broad body, slightly damp from his dewy skin and revealing his, admittedly delicious, physique. You desperately wanted to- no, needed to- close your eyes right now and yet they remained open, drifting down the soft swell of his stomach until they met his underwear, tightly stretched around his strong thighs from the many years of running and cycling the man had partook in. He was certainly…endowed.

“I can see you too, you know.” Hotch’s slightly gruff, tired voice startled you and you met his eye in the mirror. Something flashed in those dark eyes and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Was thinking, sorry.”

“Mhm.”

The bed dipped under the man’s weight as he crawled onto the mattress, tucking under the covers with a quiet grunt. Your heart was pounding and you could only hope he wouldn’t be able to hear or feel it. There was quiet for a moment, then you cleared your throat.

“I… good night, sir.” you mumbled. You felt Hotch shift beside you as he strained to switch the light off.

“Good night.” you heard him respond quietly, and then you were plunged into darkness. You had no idea how the fuck you were meant to get some sleep now.

However, it wasn't until the racing of your heart awoke you that you realised you most certainly had managed to finally doze off. But that wasn't the only thing you realised, with the scenes of your dream seared into your mind causing your chest to heave.

Why, of all times, did your brain have to make you dream of that? How embarrassing, you thought, and attempted to shift to a different position. Which was when you realised your blanket was heavy and your pillow far too warm. Then you heard him.

“Nngh… What is it?” he murmured, voice heavy and deep with sleep. His arm draped over your back tightened a little, pulling you closer to rest your head more on his chest. Surely, he would feel your frantic heart rate. You had to respond quickly so as not to arouse suspicion.

“Everything’s f-fine. Just go back to sleep.”

He grumbled and the grip tightened a little more when you made a second attempt to move.

“No… comfy.” his words slurred as he drifted back to sleep. Oh fuck. Trying to calm your breathing, you embraced the notion you were unmoving from his embrace now.

“Alright, tell me everything.” Emily greeted you the following morning as you made your way to the SUVs in the hotel parking lot after awkwardly navigating around your boss that morning. You scowled.

“Well good morning to you too.”

The dark haired woman grinned at you.

“You’re dodging my question.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.” you said quickly. Emily lightly shoved you in the shoulder with her hand and pulled an exaggerated pout.

“You’re still avoiding answering me.”

A defeated sigh passed your lips.

“Nothing actually happened. Well, besides sharing a bed because our room only had one in it.” you spoke quickly and quietly so as to not garner attention from the others. “It’s a big bed to be fair but still…”

Excitement sparkled in Emily’s eyes, a glint that caused the hair on your arms to raise. You were grateful when you spotted the younger men of the team; Derek and Spencer, exit the lobby and rush towards you. With one final warning glance at your devious friend, you opened your car door when you heard the lock click and ultimately, the moment was over.

“Any luck finding your credentials?” You heard JJ ask you as she approached the car. It would seem the five of you were travelling together today. You shook your head.

“No. I’m gonna have to check at the station.”

“That’s too bad, we could help you if you’d like.” Spencer offered and you smiled slightly, but declined.

“It’s okay. We have more important things to be doing anyway.”

The drive was unmemorable but allowed you some reprieve from a difficult night trying to sleep. But now came the task of trying to find that damn FBI badge. Deep down you already knew it wasn’t in the station, but there were no other options other than to check anyway. It was humiliating, what FBI agent lost their badge? Certainly none you had ever heard about before. Whilst your teammates were in the other room setting up for the day and firing off ideas, here you were frantically searching around whilst police officers leered at you. Eventually, you had to give up. But… that meant you had to inform Hotch you couldn’t find it.

You felt slightly shaky as you entered the spacious office the others were in and it was as though immediately all eyes were on you; it made your heart rate spike uncomfortably. His presence was around you then as he crossed the room to stand before you and you swallowed. You dared not look up at him, but you knew what his expression would be right now as he folded his arms across his broad chest.

“I hope you’re about to tell me you found your badge and that it isn't missing, agent.” he said abruptly, making you clench your hands into fists.

“Sir, I have tried searching. I’ve asked people and tried my best to find it but-”

“-So you’ve lost it then.” Hotch cut you off. “In all my time working in the FBI, I have never encountered an agent who was incompetent enough to lose their badge.”

You let out a quiet gasp, a cold feeling dropping into the pit of your stomach. Around you, several of the others had risen from their seats to mitigate the situation.

“Hotch…” You absently heard from behind the man towering over you, but you couldn’t pay the speaker any mind.

“Sir, I-”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of this, agent.” He cut you off as he stepped closer, dark eyes boring down into yours, “I’m not sure if I can allow you to work on the case until it is found, (L/n). This is highly irrespo-”

This time, you spoke before he could finish you spoke desperately, heart pounding in your chest.

“-Sir! You can’t kick me off the case, I didn’t intentionally lose it! We need everyone working on this one.” you said, earning a disapproving furrow of Hotch’s brow. But just as the man opened his mouth to speak, a hand pressed against his chest and lightly pushed him back, and it was then you realised Rossi had rushed over to separate the both of you.

“Aaron, back off. You know she is still capable of doing her job, badge or no badge.”

Hotch turned his head in the direction of the older agent, his chest puffing as he drew in a sharp breath.

“Dave, this was highly irresponsible of her to lose it-”

“And we can deal with the repercussions of this later but right now we have a case to work on.” The man countered, his tone firm but uncruel. The unit chief exhaled, closing his eyes for a mere moment as he slightly nodded.

“Right,” he glanced at you, the frustrated furrow of his brow dissipating. “Excuse me.”

Without so much as barely brushing against you, Hotch left the room and you stumbled back, overwhelmed by the emotions crashing down on you. Rossi reached out to steady you, bringing you back to reality. And then the sudden flush of tears sprang up in your eyes, making them sting.

“I-I-”

“You’re alright,” Rossi said calmly, holding onto your arms as he pulled you further into the room. “Aaron has been stressed about the badge more than he’ll admit. I’ll handle him though.”

You barely comprehended the others moving around the room until a plastic cup of cold water was gently pushed into your hands and you met the slightly blurred face of JJ as she smiled hesitantly at you.

“Come on, sit over here.”

You sniffled and sipped on the water.

“I should clean up in the restroom.” you murmured. Emily strode towards you immediately.

“Want me to come along?”

You shook your head.

“It’s okay. You guys should focus on the work anyway. I’ll be quick.”

Finishing the cup of water quickly, you didn’t wait for an answer and instead turned away to head out of the room. Your mind swirled, however. Maybe you should have just agreed to stay at Hotch’s side on this one, then perhaps you wouldn’t have ended up doing something as stupid as losing your FBI badge. But now not only was it still missing but he was angry with you, too. You dreaded the following days sharing a hotel room with him for a whole other reason at this point. You sighed as you pushed the door to the restrooms open and trudged over to one of the sinks to splash some cool water onto your face. There was nothing else you could do about that for now.

Not really feeling much better, you exited the restroom and returned to the others. He had not returned. With a resigned sigh, you turned your attention to the boards covered in the stomach-churning photographs of the victims. Beside you, Rossi sidled up.

“Any thoughts?” he asked. You cleared your throat.

“Well… one thing in common these women have, apart from having a similar body type to one another, is their body language in photos.” You began, pointing at the images of the victims from when they were alive. “If you study how they pose, the position they take in groups, their general demeanour; they are very uncomfortable. They don’t enjoy being noticed or the centre of attention.”

The man beside you tilted his head slightly as he studied the images with you.

“Insecurity?”

“Yes.”

“The others never mentioned that.” Rossi countered and you exhaled through your nose sharply.

“I figured. But I mean… this helps us to figure out the profile, right?”

The both of you glanced at one another and he nodded slightly.

“I’ll call Aaron in, ask the others to gather the officers so we can deliver the profile.” he said with a final nod, then he pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped away. Behind you, the rest of the team were gathering and you turned to them with a shuddering breath.

“Figured out a profile.”

There were far too many pairs of eyes upon you now with the station of officers and chiefs gathering before you. But the one pair that unnerved you the most was in the far back, staring intensely in the dim corner of the open bullpen you all resided in. This was your one chance to prove to Hotch you were still highly capable of working, and right now you were unsure you felt entirely confident you could.

You cleared your throat and turned your head to Rossi, who was joining you with the task. He smiled faintly and you wrinkled your nose nervously as you returned to address the room.

“We believe we have an idea of the type of person we are looking for,” you said confidently, eyes drifting around the room. “The unsub is a white male in his late twenties to early thirties, of above slightly more average attractiveness but not too attractive.”

Rossi continued on from you with ease.

“This is important, our victims would not have had the best confidence and so they would not trust following or even talking to someone who appeared far more attractive than the average person.”

“Pfft, I wonder why that is.” One of the officers out front muttered, elbowing the man next to him. Your brows furrowed, and you noted Emily and Derek moving towards the pair- only to be surprised when Hotch beat them to it as he sneered down at the men.

“I would be quiet, if I were you.” he hissed, glaring darkly with those deep brown eyes of his.

“Y-yeah…” the one who had originally spoken shifted uncomfortably in his seat. You glanced up, realising Hotch was watching you carefully. You offered a slight nod and drew in a deep breath.

“The unsub has a clear and distinct dislike for fat women in particular, as evident with the brutality of the killing. The wounds and draining of blood suggests experience with such things, so it would be a good idea to check on facilities that require such skills.”

“Why would the victims go with him if they had such a low opinion of themselves?” the chief of police questioned you. You sighed.

“When you’re someone who has gone through a life of rejection, of no one showing interest in you it affects you greatly.” Your eyes flicked to Hotch, of whom was a little closer this time, but quickly looked away when you met his stare. “But if someone shows apparent genuine interest in you, much like I think this unsub does to lure the victims, you can’t help but let your guard down and let that person get closer to you. You trust them.”

“Sounds like victim blaming.”

You felt your lip twitch. “Actually, I speak from a place of experience.”

Fuck, you needed a moment of respite. Sensing your discomfort, Rossi continued and finished the profile, leaving you to thank the police department for sitting through the profile. Your tight-lipped smile faded as soon as people began to stand and walk away and you exhaled, shaking your head to yourself as you processed everything.

The others approached you, Emily reaching you first and she smiled kindly.

"Not bad. I think you did a good job there." She said.

With a shrug you adjusted your clothing and turned to the board.

"Did my best."

Derek approached now with a creased brow of concern.

“Is it true? Y’know, about knowing from experience.” He asked you softly. Your eyes darted around and your body tensed upon the sight of Hotch speaking just out of range to the police chief, only to lock eyes with you once more.

“I… Now isn’t really the time to talk about that, don’t you think?”

Following your line of sight, he quirked his head and blinked slowly.

“Fair enough, we’ve got your back though, sweets.”

A faint smile dusted your lips in appreciation before it fell and you exhaled. It was then your leader approached, his face stony. Embarrassingly, you busied yourself with grabbing your casefile and flicking it open, hoping to appear invisible to the man. But of course, the cards were against you.

“(L/n).” You heard Hotch call out. You lifted your head up, eyes widening a little.

“Yes, sir?”

His expression was unreadable, but he nodded once at you. “You did very well with the profile, even with interruptions.” he said.

Oh. In return you smiled shyly and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Thank you, sir.”

An unfamiliar emotion swept across his face, only for him to quickly turn his attention to the rest of the BAU. You couldn’t help but feel a dullness in your chest but you tried to ignore it. There was work to still be done.

Irritably, the unsub had been elusive; no evidence on the bodies or a location they possibly could have been murdered before being dumped around the area. Rossi and yourself had even visited the butcher’s shop in town for leads, given the skill suggested in the murders. But in the end they came back with nothing. With nothing else to go by, it came down to the one thing the team hated most: waiting for the killer to strike again. And strike they did two days later.

There was a tension rising terribly between yourself and Hotch at this point, it was clear he was very much thinking about the lost FBI badge understandably, but something else hung over you both, an undeniable looming feeling that made hotel room sharing an even more difficult affair. Every night you found yourself waking up and curled up to him, his arm laid over your plush waist and your head on his chest. He never mentioned it to you, in the morning he was already out of bed by the time you awoke, suit pristine and the man heading out the door to give you privacy to get ready for the day ahead.

But unlike the other days you awoke, your alarm hadn’t gone off and this time the room was empty. Hotch was nowhere to be seen, the room felt absent of his presence. It was… off. Instinctively, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand beside you and pulled up the group chat, feeling your heart sink immediately.

Shit, this was a few minutes ago. As you stumbled out of bed, the phone began to buzz with a phone call. Hotchner. You swiped to answer and you cradled it against your ear with your shoulder whilst you fumbled with your go-bag.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. My alarm didn’t go off-”

“(L/n). Listen to me. There has been another body found.” Hotch cut you off. You froze. The phone dropped from its place between your ear and shoulder and clattered to the ground. It was the only thing to bring you to the present when you heard a crack. Shakily, you crouched and grabbed it and pressed it to your ear.

“(L/n)? What was that?”

You let out a shuddering breath.

“Sorry, dropped my phone. I’ll- I’ll be there as soon as I can, sir.”

You ended the call quickly and scrambled to clean up and dress yourself before you were out the door in a panic. You felt a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“(L/n), I need you at the crime scene with Reid and I.” Hotch said when you rushed over to the gathered group outside the precinct.

You nodded without question. “Of course.”

The drive was quiet on your end, only barely hearing the words “deceased for a few hours at most” at one point.

“Hey, are you alright?” You heard Reid ask you. You swallowed thickly.

“Sure, sure. I mean, I don’t think anyone really feels alright on the way to a new crime scene.” you uttered, then grimaced. “Sorry, that came out rude. I’ll be okay, Spencer.”

You looked into the side mirror and noted he was smiling softly at you in response.

“You said your alarm didn’t ring.” Hotch said. You shifted in your seat.

"It didn’t, no. I don’t know why though. I have it set for everyday.”

He said nothing else, but it mattered not anyway when the location of the crime scene came into view. Swallowing the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, you exited the SUV when Hotch parked up and the three of you quickly pulled on hazmat gear on, something you didn’t often do given you were not the ones to visit a crime scene in which a body was still present. A group of forensic were near where you assumed the body to be, turning to your trio when they heard you approach. The way their faces changed when they noticed you though… You didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh… Is she okay being here?” One asked and Hotch stepped forth.

“Yes. She is a highly capable agent as any other.” He said. You blinked a few times, surprised by his words. You certainly didn’t expect the change of tone in regards to you from him.

Seemingly defeated, the figures parted the way and you were able to see the body.

It was as though your heart leaped into your throat.

There, laying splayed out and naked with her legs spread, as all the other victims were, was the body of someone you recognised. Well, as much as you could through the mutilations to her face. Immediately, Hotch and Reid could tell something was wrong.

“(Y/n)...” You heard the older of the two say in warning. You didn’t feel you were fully there.

“I… I knew her.” You managed to muster. “That’s Carla Reynolds; I spoke to her on the first day when Derek and I were talking to people at the bar the victim before her was last seen. I…”

Then you spotted it.

“(L/n).” Hotch said in warning as you knelt. One of the forensic team followed you down as you pointed at the mutilated space between the victim’s legs.

“Something’s there.” You whispered. The CSI carefully reached forward and grabbed the small, flat object that was lodged face upwards in the victim’s genitals. Before they had pulled it out the whole way you knew instantly what it was. You swallowed the urge to vomit. Covered in blood and other substances in their hand was your FBI badge. You barely managed to stand without stumbling, your companions grasping you to steady you when the badge was opened to reveal your photo within.

“Oh god…” You whispered. “I-I someone bumped into me in the bar- I-”

“You encountered our unsub without realising it.” Reid finished. Wordlessly, Hotch grasped your upper arm carefully and pulled you away from the scene, the young doctor following. Your eyes couldn’t leave Carla’s lifeless form, not until the broad form of Hotch blocked your way.

“(L/n). You are to stay with Reid, I’m calling the others and we are returning to the station immediately, are we clear?” His voice was gentle, but tinged with urgency as his dark brown eyes searched your face. You nodded numbly. He swallowed and gazed over your shoulder at the young man. “Reid, stay with her. We need to make a move, quickly.”

You felt the world spiralling around you, your feet not quite grounded, not the air upon your skin or the fabric on your skin. The unsub knew about you and now… Now he was toying with you.

Interrogation room chairs were never comfortable, but now the posture it forced you into was causing a dull ache in your back. It was decided you would try to talk it through, find out if you could remember whoever it was that had bumped into you that day. Your mind couldn’t stop replaying the crime scene. Carla’s body, the badge extraction… You didn’t feel on Earth right now.

The door behind you opened and you flinched violently, your chair squeaking on the shiny floor.

“Hey, it's okay. Just Reid and I.” You heard Derek’s voice. You cleared your throat as the two rounded the table to sit opposite you. This wasn’t a position you ever expected to be in. Your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt. There was silence for a moment as the two figures studied you.

“(Y/n), we don’t need to do this now.” Reid said cautiously. Your eyes finally lifted from where they had been staring at the table.

“We do. Carla was alive up until seven hours ago.” You abruptly responded then drew in a sharp sniff. Derek leaned forward in his chair.

“You better not be blaming yourself right now, sweets.”

“By being part of this investigation I’ve directly caused a woman to be murdered.” You scoffed. “Didn’t even fucking notice the bastard when he was there that day.”

Reid knitted his fingers together and laid them on the table, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he thought about what he wanted to say.

“Neither yourself or Morgan did, though. Our unsub is trying to get into your head right now, you know this.”

Swallowing thickly, you curled in on yourself in the chair.

“I wish I’d just lost my badge just because I’m a fucking idiot. Instead, I lost it because I was too stupid to consider that I would attract the unsub’s attention.” You said bitterly.

Derek frowned.

“You’re not stupid or an idiot. This is all on the unsub, not you.”

You let out a sharp, humourless laugh.

“Oh I am the biggest fucking idiot here, Morgan. And now Carla is dead.”

Another beat of silence, followed by a saddened sigh hung in the air.

“Alright… Let’s just try and help you think back to that day, see if you remember any faces at all.” Reid said after a moment in a slightly croaky voice.

Your eyes drifted shut. You had to remember for Carla, for all of them.

However, the next hour was aggravating and ultimately fruitless, much to your dismay. Why… Why couldn’t you remember? This was unfair, you felt ashamed. You didn’t know who had decided to call off the interrogation, only remarking on Emily and JJ coming to your side and leading you to an empty office so you could have some space for yourself. You ignored their expressions of concern when you declined their offer for a drink and instead settled onto the rather uncomfortable couch that was placed by the far wall. You hadn’t seen Hotch since returning to the station, not that you were in the right frame of mind to do so now. At this point you felt hollow, unconsolable. You had been dragged into this mess and now there was a young woman dead because of you. Your head was hanging low, staring at the carpeted floor of the office as you wondered what you could possibly do now.

It was only when you heard distant, distressed voices from outside the office that you raised your head and glanced out of the window to the rest of the precinct. Two figures, a man and a woman who both appeared to be in their mid to late fifties, were rapidly storming to your location after spotting you through the glass. But by the time you realised who they were it was too late, the man barging through the door and the both of them rushed inside.

“You!” The man shouted, pointing at you. This was the Reynolds, Carla’s parents. There was no other possibility.

You shot up from where you sat and held your hands open in surrender.

“Sir, I-”

“You’re the one from that picture!” The man was toe-to-toe with you, tears streaming down his red cheeks. His wife let out a sob as your eyes flicked between the two figures.

“Sir, please allow me to-”

Blinded by grief and anger, Mr Reynolds grasped the front of your shirt and pulled you towards him, shaking you slightly.

“Don’t fucking talk, you got our daughter killed!”

The wife stared at you, her eyes were filled with utter rage and heartbreak. Your chest felt tight.

“Why… Why did that bastard have your photo?” She spoke, her voice was thick with tears. Your heart rate quickened. “Why did you have to talk to our Carla?!”

Your mouth opened and closed, but you couldn’t speak. The room was becoming fuzzy. Suddenly, there were multiple people in the room ripping the father’s hands off you and pulling the couple away as they fought with them.

“It’s your fault our daughter is dead! You got our daughter fucking killed!” the father’s screech was fading in and out as the pulsing of your blood filled your ears. You were completely trapped in your mind, staring at the hatred in their eyes.

“Get them out of here!” One voice cut through the paralysis. Aaron Hotchner. You blinked, then stumbled backwards. Hands reached for you and you flailed.

“D–don’t touch me!” You stuttered, struggling with whoever was grabbing you.

“Hey, it's okay! It’s us!” You heard Emily call out to you, but it was too much. Your mind was fractured, too chaotic and overstimulated. The room was too busy. You choked out a whimper and pulled away.

“Alright, everyone out. And find out who let them in here and why.” Hotch snapped, his voice a beacon and grounding you a little. It was neither sharp, nor grating and as the crowd filtered out of the room you collapsed to your knees and your hands came to hide your face. The following silence throbbed in your ears, a roar which threatened to swallow you whole.

“Agent (L/n).”

You didn’t move.

“Why do you call me that?” You finally whispered. Hotch knelt down to sit opposite you, keeping a safe distance to not overwhelm you.

“I’m sorry, it’s a force of habit. I-”

“-I’m hardly much of an agent, sir.” You cut him off, missing the surprise that arose on his face.

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand what you mean.”

You wet your lip as your hands dropped from your face.

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.”

Dissatisfied, Hotch frowned and leaned forward slightly.

“No, tell me what you mean.” He demanded. You just couldn’t though.

“It really doesn’t matter, sir. Forget it.” You pushed up from the ground and smoothed out your clothes, although at this point you no longer cared for your appearance. “We should go, there’s no point sitting around.”

Without waiting for him to stand up or speak, you exited the room and through dull eyes you spotted the couple being ushered into a separate room. You were thankful they didn’t spot you, you supposed.

“(Y/n), what they said to you…” JJ trailed off when you returned to the group, noting the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Don’t. I really don’t want to hear it.” You muttered.

Derek folded his arms and huffed slightly.

“They’re wrong. The only one to blame is the unsub.”

You had nothing more to say though, instead drifting your attention to the new photos on the board. You swallowed and glanced away from the photos of Carla from when she was alive. Bile bubbled in your stomach when you realised pictures of your FBI badge were on there too. It shouldn’t have turned out this way. Upon the board was a map of the area with pins showcasing the locations the victims were last seen and where their bodies showed up. It appeared random, or atleast at first it did. The butcher’s shop remained in the centre of it all, a street with many businesses including a grocer’s, a handiwork business, a pet groomer. But investigating this area had already brought nothing of note to the case. You sighed quietly and wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Maybe they work one or more part time jobs.” You finally suggested aloud.

“What?” Rossi joined you at the board. You shrugged.

“Well, it’s just an idea. But wasn’t there a handiwork van parked out front of the butcher’s shop we visited the other day?” You turned to him, your brows furrowing. “Same company branding as the handiwork shop on the same street.”

“There was, yes. I originally chalked it up to there being no space for the van to park that day. But perhaps it’s worth looking into.”

“We should check back at the butcher’s and visit the handiwork business as well.” Hotch said from behind you. You hummed and made a move to grab your jacket, only to have his hand take hold of your wrist gently. “I think you should stay back here.”

“But-” You wanted to protest, but the look in his eye silenced you.

“Please, just stay here for the rest of the day.”

Fuck it, you pulled your arm from his grip and settled down in one of the chairs.

“Fine.”

Through tired eyes you watched everyone besides Hotch and Rossi gather their jackets and rush out, leaving you with the eldest members of the team. It was nothing short of humiliating in your mind. But you had reached a point where you had no more fight left in you to argue.

The handiwork shop wasn’t open, you later found out. The butcher’s shop had two different workers in than when you were there last, neither fitted the profile, however. Some vital information had been found though, an employee who worked part time as a butcher in the back of the shop and a travelling handyman. Derek had called Penelope to find an address for the man; James Humphrey, and aside from you and Reid the team had stormed his unassuming home with the swat team. He wasn’t there, nor was there anything out of the ordinary there either. And now… Well, you were walking back to the hotel room finally.

You were just tired, not for sleep, just tired. Hotch didn’t try to force conversation with you, knowing you needed some quiet to process the events of the day. Upon opening the door you were faced with the frantic disarray of your clothes and unattended sheets, the memory of the morning feeling so distant now.

You settled down on the mattress, avoiding your discarded clothes for you were not quite feeling ready to move them just yet. Behind you, Hotch toed his shoes off and discarded his jacket on the chair before running his hands through his short hair, creating a “hedgehog effect”. He gazed over at you helplessly, his face slightly contorted in concern.

“(Y/n), would you like to take a shower first?” He offered gently, you craned your neck to glance at him and smiled weakly.

“It’s okay. You go first, sir.”

“You sure?”

You nodded and cleared your throat.

“Yeah. Thank you though.”

There was no movement at first, then you heard the rustling of Hotch moving behind you, then the door to the shower room clicking shut. You waited. The lock clicked, but you waited still. Only when there was the sound of the shower switching on did you cautiously rise to your feet, making sure the mattress didn’t creak. You checked your holster; gun still there. You eyed the closed shower room door. The sound of the water was different, telling of Hotch standing under the spray. Carefully, you made your way to the hotel room door, slipping the car keys from Hotch’s neatly discarded jacket and, with your room key, you let yourself out and locked it quietly behind you. The corridor was empty, hopefully the others wouldn’t catch you right now. Every step out of the hotel filled your stomach with anxiety, but you needed to move quickly before your hotel roommate would finish his shower.

When you were finally behind the wheel of the car you had previously travelled back to the hotel in a mere 10 minutes earlier, you exhaled and started the engine. You knew what you had to do now.

From bar-to-bar, you checked without any luck. By the time you decided to check your phone, standing in a crowded and noisy club, you panicked at the sight of 20+ messages and 12 voicemails and even more missed calls. At that point, the phone buzzed again. Hotchner’s name flashed on screen. You swallowed thickly and pressed it to your ear after swiping to answer, feeling a sense of deja vu from that same morning.

“S-sir.”

“Where the hell are you?!” He hissed frantically down the line. You grimaced and cleared your throat.

“I… I needed to clear my head.”

“Sounds extremely noisy wherever you are to be doing that. So I will ask you again, (L/n), Where are you?”

Before you could answer you felt something pointed press into your back, not enough to pierce through the fabric of your shirt, but enough to make itself known.

“I…”

“Careful now, agent (L/n). Choose your next words carefully.” An unfamiliar male voice sneered behind you. You felt nauseous as you reached for your gun. He chuckled when your hands brushed against the now empty holster. “Whoops.”

“I… I have to go.” You said, then ended the call and pocketed the device. There was a chuckle behind you.

“I suggest we go outside, don’t you think?” The unfamiliar voice said. The blade pressed in deeper, this time touching your skin. You swallowed.

“Fine.”

This really couldn’t be happening, surely not. But as you stepped outside again into the cool air of the night you felt the knife press into you still when you tried to stop walking.

“Turn left and keep going until we get to the end of the street.” The man said. You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to relax. As you turned down the street he had instructed you to do so you noted it was dimly lit. Fucking fantastic.

“Alright, now stop.” The man commanded you. You stood still. Your eyes widened as you realised what vehicle you had stopped beside. The handiwork business logo mocked you on the side of the van you’d seen days prior. “Mmhm, you’re very receptive to commands, good piggy.”

You wanted to turn around, but as you made the move to step and face the man he grabbed you roughly, and you felt a sharp sting in your neck. A needle. Your eyes widened and you struggled, attempting to open your mouth to scream but he had already covered your mouth with his palm to silence you. He was strong, very strong. The prickle of whatever he had injected into you spread through your body and the world around you started to blur. And then, you were lost to the world.

Dun dun dunnnnn omg I wonder what will happen next?? (Not good) thanks so much for reaching the end!! If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!

[elvisgirlie]

ꪆৎ the new rookie ..

bimbo! reader — 1k words , slightly suggestive . 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ♡

Mike Cochrane was hanging on by a thread.

Sitting in the cramped, dimly lit waiting room of the armored truck company’s general offices, he could feel his patience slipping. The air was thick with the sound of his team’s idiotic chatter—grown men acting like a bunch of damn teenagers.

Dobbs was sprawled in his seat, whistling some out-of-tune melody while tapping his fingers on the armrest. Baines and Palmer were talking and laughing—howling— like frat boys. One of the younger guys was tossing a crumpled paper ball at another, who ducked and retaliated by flicking a rubber band at him. Idiots.

Mike sat with his arms crossed, knee bouncing up and down as he huffed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. Every single thing irritated him lately. The way Dobbs kept tapping his boot against the metal chair, the way Phil slurped his coffee like a goddamn child, the way nobody seemed to care that they were at work, not in some high school locker room.

Mike exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck there. His temples throbbed, and his fingers twitched where they rested against his knee. It had been like this all week—no one listening to him, goofing off, making his job ten times harder than it needed to be.

And he wasn't getting paid enough to deal with this nonsense.

And now, here they were, wasting their time because Duncan had called them in about a new rookie. Another one.

Mike already knew how it would go. Some kid straight out of whatever dead-end job they’d come from, someone who thought they knew everything and would question every single move he made. Another burden to drag around, another headache waiting to happen.

His patience was gone.

When Duncan finally stepped into the waiting room and motioned for him, Mike didn’t hesitate to push off the armrest and stand, his movements sharp, aggressive. The rest of the team barely noticed—too busy running their damn mouths to care.

The older man guided him away from the group under the guise of talking leader-to-leader.

Mike barely let Duncan close the door behind them before snapping. “Listen, man, if you dragged me out here to tell me we’ve got another useless rookie, I swear to god, you can take that cop badge of yours and shove it right up your—” His voice was rough, edged with pure frustration as he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply.

Duncan—calm as ever—just chuckled.

Mike clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shove him off when Duncan wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a familiar, almost fatherly gesture. Then came the condescending little pat to his chest—right over his badge.

Mike’s nostrils flared. Oh, he was about to lose it.

Instead of answering, Duncan started leading him back toward the room, his grip on Mike’s shoulder firm. Just before they reached the door, the older man leaned in and murmured, “I fetched this pretty little thing just for you.”

Mike blinked. “The hell does that—”

The door swung open, and Mike nearly stumbled over his own damn feet.

You stood there, laughing at something Joey had said, your smile warm and open, like you belonged there already. But that wasn’t what made Mike’s brain short-circuit. No, it was everything else.

Tall. Lush. Shiny, glossy lips that caught the shitty fluorescent lighting just right. Drawing attention to a mouth that looked entirely too kissable for a workplace introduction. Big, doe-like eyes that flickered over to him, locking onto his with a sparkle that was almost too sweet to be real. Dark, wavy hair cascading down your back, looking too damn good for a job like this. And that uniform—god help him, that uniform—hugging you just a little too tight, fabric straining over soft curves that didn’t belong in this dingy-ass office.

Mike nearly stumbled.

And Duncan? Oh, Duncan was chuckling—loudly. The bastard had planned this.

Then you locked eyes with him. And everything stopped. Mike felt it leave him.

All of it—the irritation, the anger, the frustration that had been gnawing at his nerves for weeks.

Mike wasn’t even fully aware of the way he’d relaxed slightly in Duncan’s grip, his irritation, his exhaustion, his goddamn bad mood vanishing in the span of a single heartbeat. Gone. Just like that.

Instead, something else settled low and heavy in his stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

Then, as if things weren’t already messing with his head enough, you walked over to him. Duncan, the bastard, just clapped a rough hand on his back with a gruff chuckle.

Mike barely felt it. Because you were walking toward him.

Your hips swayed just slightly with each step, but it wasn’t intentional. You weren’t trying to get their attention—you just had it.

And then, you were right in front of him. Syrupy sweet smile never wavering as you stretched out a delicate hand towards him.

“Mr. Cochrane, sir.”

Holy. Shit.

Mike felt something hot and dark curl inside him, pooling deep.

Because a pretty thing this damn cute, with manners to match? It was almost too good.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, not quite a grin. He barely spared Duncan a glance—the older man was smirking knowingly, like he’d just handed him the winning lottery ticket.

Mike took your hand, rough fingers grazing soft skin. And just like that, something long buried, something he thought the years had beaten out of him, stirred.

It settled low and deep in his stomach, spreading slow like warm liquor.

He hadn’t felt this in years. Not since before the job had drained him, before everything had started irritating him, before he'd grown bitter.

Now this—this was a birthday gift.

"nice to meet you, sweet'eart" and from the way his voice came out lower, rougher, warmer than usual when he finally spoke, he could already tell—he was going to enjoy this.

You.

A whole lot.

[sykilik101]

Hook, Line, and Sin

So this [LIME] was a collab with @hollylu-ships-it; she showed me some artwork, and I was like "Bet, I'll write a snippet for this." If you wanna see the artwork, you can go here. (I know I already said it, but this is a lime, so it's kinda spicy; children, go to bed.)

Water. Lemonade. Water. Lemonade.

The decision had been weighing on Ash’s mind for the longest 30 seconds, his eyes darting between the two bottles sitting in the fridge. His hand slowly reached towards the water, but hesitated; the lemonade beckoned to him, equally as tantalizing. He motioned towards the citrusy drink, but faltered once more. Did he really want something sugary this late at night?

Ring ring!

Ash practically jumped out of his skin, the stillness of the kitchen amplifying the phone’s ringing. Who in their right mind would be calling at this hour? Another ring echoed through the silence, and with a small huff Ash chucked the refrigerator door closed before yanking the phone off the hook.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Ash!”

He blinked. “...Mist?”

“The one and only!”

“Is, uh, something wrong?”

“What, am I not allowed to call you?”

“No, but…” Ash leaned back against the countertop, “Couldn’t you just, y’know-”

“Aw, come on, Ash, phone calls are so romantic, don’t you think?”

Ash rolled his eyes with a grin, shaking his head as he twirled the phone cord in his fingers. “So how was your day, Mist?”

“It was pretty good. I won almost all of my Gym matches today; I only gave away one Cascade Badge.”

“You actually lost? Sounds to me like you’re getting a bit rusty.”

“Hey, at least he actually won his badge, unlike some trainers.”

Ash crossed one ankle over the other, his tapping foot reverberating in the kitchen. “I’m pretty sure I’ve beaten you a few times since that battle.”

“But not in an official Gym battle.”

He could practically see the snarky grin splayed across her lips, and the way she bobbed her head side to side when she was winning one of their many squabbles. The bad news was that she’d gotten annoyingly good at that; the good news was he’d gotten even better at rolling with her punches.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight if we battled, Mist. I am a Pokémon Monarch, after all.”

“Politoed versus Corphish.”

“...I threw that match so you could battle Clauncher.”

She giggled into the phone. Her laughter injected warmth straight into his veins, as it had always done even before “I love you” first escaped their adolescent lips. Hands held where nobody could catch them, her eyes lighting up when a Mantyke was newly born, an impassioned kiss after a week absent each other; these were a handful of memories that had helped forge Misty’s spot in his heart. It was an endlessly warm spot, one that never failed to make him smile.

“Are you sure about that? I seem to remember you trying your best to win.”

“You’re probably just remembering wrong. It was a few years ago now.”

“Whatever you say, Monarch.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm and mockery; she knew she was still winning. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Really? You sure you’re not just remembering wrong?”

He chuckled. “You’re extra sassy tonight, huh?”

A rare, brief moment of silence from her. Then, “Talking on the phone like this, it’s like you’re whispering in my ear.”

He could practically taste her breath and her words through the phone, goosebumps raising at the lowered timbre of her voice. He shifted from one leg to the other, using his free hand to hold his elbow as he pressed the phone further into his ear. “Hey, Mist?”

“Yeah, Ash?”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Just lying in bed.” Another silence before, “Thinking that it’s too big for one person.”

A gentle flush occupied Ash’s cheeks. “I bet you could use some company.”

“Yeah, I could.” He heard a shuffle on the other end of the call. “Cerulean City’s kind of cold tonight, and having someone next to me would warm me up.”

“What are you wearing right now?”

Misty hummed playfully through the phone. He could picture her bottom lip held between her teeth, envision the way her eyes would glaze as she stared him down. “Perv.”

Ash smirked. “That doesn’t answer my question, Mist.”

She was silent for a moment, save for yet another shuffle worming through the earpiece. “Guess.”

Leave it to his red-headed love to be a tease no matter the situation. “Well, since it’s late, I’m betting you’re in your pajamas, right?”

“Not anymore.”

The mental image turned his cheeks’ previous pink into a soft maroon, feeling the air around him ignite from their sparks. He reflexively licked his lips. “I’m sure that’s not going to help your cold issue.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got ways to warm myself up.”

“And how are you planning to do that?”

For a few moments, all he could hear was the gentle tick and tock of the kitchen clock. With each passing second of silence his focus on the earpiece became more concentrated, so much so that he hardly realized he was holding his breath. He almost wondered if perhaps she’d whispered her response and he’d missed it.

“Mist?”

Right as he called her name, a tiny gasp wafted into Ash’s ear.

The blood in his veins immediately ran red hot. A barely-contained moan soon followed, and Ash sucked in a breath that was decidedly and painfully devoid of her taste. Misty had yet to verbally reply to him, but the little noises she continued to make more than made up her answer. He envisioned her wandering fingers, her flushed skin, a thin sheen of sweat across every inch of her body, and he craved seeing her come undone underneath him.

“Ash?”

Her voice was so breathy, so in need, and he was certain that for the rest of their conversation, his tone would match hers. “Yeah?”

“I need you now.”

“What do you need?”

“You, your hands, everything.”

Ash licked his lips once more, acutely aware of his salacious state and his everything that he wanted to give her. “I’ll be right there, Mist.”

“Don’t make me wait too long, Ash.”

“I won’t.”

With that he hung up the phone, his nerves on the fritz and his heart in overdrive. He turned for the entryway of the kitchen, but paused. Without a second thought he pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbing both of the drinks.

He was going to need them later.

With an impatient smirk he waltzed out of the kitchen, his feet guiding him automatically down familiar hallways until the bedroom was before him. Turning the knob, he thrust the door open, and was greeted by Misty on her bed wearing her most wanton grin and very little else.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long, Mist.”

“If you make me wait another second, you’re not gonna be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

Ash tossed the bottles onto her desk before approaching the foot of her bed, pulling his shirt off. “I thought that was the plan anyw-”

Misty didn’t allow him the chance to finish his sentence, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him down onto the bed before straddling him with finesse and experience. Almost immediately his vision was consumed by tangerine hair, oceanic eyes, and a wicked smile as she took a fistful of his hair. She lowered her face towards his, and Ash began raising his lips to meet hers, but before they connected she pressed his head back down onto the pillow. With a glint in her eyes she sauntered her body up until her thighs rested on either side of his face.

“Use that mouth for something else.”

For the rest of the night Ash’s thirst was thoroughly satiated, the water and lemonade entirely forgotten.

[pinkofatom]

Maria's corruption

Content Warning: Femdom, Femsub, Futanari, Transformation, Centaur, Corruption, Humiliation

💜💜💜

Maria kneeled in front of the chapel's altar. Light poured through the blue window over her. Her blonde locks, her one vanity, cascaded beneath her veil to the ground. Most of her body, blessed with moderate curves, was hidden beneath her dark blue uniform.

Hands raised in prayer, she gave praises to the goddess when the doors to her small wayward sanctuary creaked. Interrupting her ritual, she stood up, hands clasped in front of her stomach. A small smile graced her lips at the sight of a stranger. She looked unkempt, her clothes tattered, but the silver badge hanging on her coat meant one thing. The poor soul was a guild member—one of the people who used their talents for the betterment of all.

Graceful, she stepped forward, delighted by her careful but respectful stance. Rarely visitors showed proper manners, looking at Maria's chapel as if it were a typical tavern. Yet here entered a woman clearly having survived a terrible ordeal and still acting pious. Her heart swelled. She would give her best morning service and hospitality to the woman.

"Welcome, stranger. Feel the goddess' blessing upon you and know no ill shall befall you," Maria greeted softly. "Please pray with me; the morning service has just begun."

A smirk appeared on the stranger's face, a tiny little thing Maria barely noticed. It had been so long since she talked with people. Was this a good sign? The stranger's following words reassured Maria of her good intentions.

"I would be delighted, madame bishop." Velvet tones belying the rough exterior caressed her ears.

From Maria's lips escaped a small laugh. Fast, she tried to hide it behind her right hand while warmth seeped into her cheeks. Embarrassed, she corrected the woman.

"Oh no, I am not a bishop. Just a simple nun." Taking a deep breath, she straightened her lower dress. "Please follow me." She smiled at him.

Together, they knelt in front of the altar. Maria clasped her hands together. Steady, she recited the morning prayer.

"Oh goddess, protector of mankind. We, your children, thank you for bringing a new day. May our actions please you." With that, the morning service started.

A soft hymn followed her main chant, her guest matching her tune. Surprised, she stared a bit too long into the stranger's beautiful eyes. Amber pools, almost akin to a lion's, captivated her. They seemed so deep that Maria felt lost inside. Suddenly, she stumbled in her reciting. Cold flooded her veins while heat burned her face. Oh no, what had she done?

But the visitor kept gazing into her crystal blue eyes. The adventurer's gaze held her. Assured she continued her prayers.

"Oh goddess, mother of mankind, bless us with your pleasure?" The last word intoned like a question. These were not the usual words. Maria stared more deeply into the woman's amber pools. She had nothing to worry about. Everything was fine. Maria knew this and felt how right everything was.

The stranger nodded, an assuring, pleasant smile on her lips. Relaxed, Maria enjoyed her prayers. Nothing was wrong, and whatever happened only helped her. Slowly, a fog clouded her thoughts. Thickening, it became harder and harder to concentrate. But her lips still formed pious words.

"Oh lady of pleasure, hear our words, bless our bodies." Deep, heavy breaths filled the gaps between her monotone words. All she wanted was to stare at the magnificent woman. Molten heat spread between her legs. Lust swirled within her mind. Fog now enveloped every thought. Every try to dispel these confusing feelings made them stronger.

"Thank you, oh lady of lust, grant us enlightening delight." What was happening? Her pussy quivered in excitement, and something warm pressed out. For the first time, her breasts ached. Yet all she desired was the stranger. Her deep red skin. The vuloptuos curves glittering naked under purple lights. Those black majestic horns proudly erected from her forehead. And the bulging manhood beneath tattered trousers.

Licking her lips, tingling with new plumpness, she continued. "Oh great lady of deviance, fill this willing form with your unending lust." Heavy, irregular pants interrupted her chants. Maria struggled not to moan wanton. But her growing pussy had become sensitive beyond her experiences. Dizziness drowned her mind. Did the church always glow so brightly? Violet light radiating from the window illuminated her perverted body.

"Envelop this loyal vessel with your forbidden presence."

Hard she breathed, no, panted, the scent of roses filled her nose. Maria couldn't bear any longer. She was falling apart. In front of a complete stranger, her nipples were stiff. Ready and dripping desire, the sacred flower underneath her habit exposed itself. Muscles strained her abdomen, and the mouth-watering taste of honey dominated her tongue. Excited, her tail swished forward. Wildly like a whip, it danced in front of her eyes. Black shined with purple on her cute spade-shaped tip. Enticing it wrapped around her naked leg. With a step backward, she had to catch herself. A loud clack followed.

Maria looked down at herself. Deformed feet, more akin to ridiculous high heels, barely greeted her. A deep cleavage constructed with her heavy, full breasts constricted in a tight corset — hindered her gaze. From her bubble butt flowed a spade-tipped devil's tail. And small batwings fluttered with excitement. Confused, her hands scrambled up and touched the tiny horn buds threatening to emerge from her temple. Maria gasped; hot desire rushed straight toward her weeping folds. Wet squelches accompanied her shaking legs. This couldn't be real!

The stranger's harmonious voice rang out, banishing all confusion and replacing it with blind obedience: "Come here and fulfill your purpose."

Hungry, a sudden intense need drew her closer, away from her holy sanctuary. Instantly, she kneeled before her new mistress, not caring that wetness dripped onto the floor. "Yes," escaped her dumb whore mouth, "anything." The burning of corruption intensified. Skin and flesh merged in the shape her mistress desired. Horns, breasts, and thick thighs grew.

Excited, her demonic creator purred, "Now beg."

Trembling, Maria lowered her head. Devotion radiated off her naked, shivering body. Breathlessly, she begged. "Please use this worthless flesh, break me, crush my spirit. Let no remnants remain. Make me yours."

Impatient, the stranger undressed herself. A dick, girthy beyond anything her naive virgin eyes imagined, waved in front of her. Long, Maria salivated. Obscene, she licked her glossy red lips. Desperate, she leaned closer. Head swimming with subservience, all her useless, pious thoughts replaced with obedience. Only her mistress' needs were essential.

Suddenly, the demoness' commanding voice derailed her lust. "Rub that slutty face against my cock. Impregnate your debased features with my strong, virile stink."

Fast Maria obeyed. Before her existed a void, hollow. No dreams or ambitions remained, not even memories. Her body was nothing but a vessel of the Lady to spread her glory. Passion drove her being, a carnal hunger impossible to sate.

Devoted, Maria lavished the impressive length, coating the entire mighty rod with her drool and slime. The smell was horrible, utterly putrid. Rotten fish mingled with vinegar, a stench of the highest order. Maria inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with this musk. Burned the unforgettable reek into her weak, corrupted mind.

"Lick and suck. Taste the superiority of the demon realms. Worship the Lady through my cock."

Face distorted, Maria shivered in joy, pussy vibrating with sexual exhilaration. Lavishly she encircled her thick slutty lips with a lewd, smooth tongue. Wide-mouthed, she swallowed. Commanding fingers combed through her blonde hair. Up and down bounced her head, swallowing her misstress' member deep into her throat. Sucking hard, cheeks stretched wide, Maria's feminine oral orifice slurped desperately. Globs of spit coated her chest. Ropes of bubbling juices connected her face to her demoness' fantastic girth.

Above her, mistress rumbled in approval. Encouraged, she worshiped the majestic cock faster. Pleasure reverberated inside her transformed mind. Submerged, she surrendered to primal wants; the only thing left was a bestial wish to be used, fucked, and impaled. Struggling, she gulped. The glorious pillar filled her esophagus.

Maria cried in heart-breaking bliss when the demoness' load flew down her throat. Swirling, vicious, and viscous, the unholy cream seared through her guts. On the inside, she transformed — melting, mutilating her human qualities. A low, satisfying grumble emerged out of the demoness' stomach.

With a loud plop, her mouth disconnected from the massive erection. Glassy-eyed, she bowed down, her tits pressed upon the cold stone.

"Thank you, mistress, for making this lowly woman a servant of the Lady," she spoke ecstatically, licking the white remnants splattered on the floor.

💜💜💜

Maria knelt in front of the altar, hands mauling her massive tits in prayer. Violet light illuminated her chapel, drops of sweat clearly visible on her barely covered form. Long devil's ears listened intently behind her golden curls. Behind her back flapped a long spade-tipped tail. Large horns grew near her temples, protruding up wards. Purple and red colors were mixed in intrinsic designs on her pale skin.

Nothing showed her previous existence — the pious young nun — whose chapel housed wayward travelers, servants to the greater good. Instead, a denizen of debauchery would greet the wary.

The doors creaked open. A young woman entered heavily, panting. Red hair and traveler's robes wet from rain.

Maria licked her plump, thick lips. She sauntered, swaying her wide child-bearing hips, towering her intended target. Blue slutty eyes glazed over the newcomer's weary expression.

"Welcome... traveler. Know that the Great Lady blesses you. Please participate in my morning... prayers," purred Maria.

Mindful Maria hid her actual appearance beneath an illusion.

The newcomer answered, confused and tired, her green doe-like eyes lingering on the demoness's face. "Prayer sounds nice," she whispered.

Smiling, Maria let the poor girl to the altar. Her cheeks were already red. Good, everything would go according to plan. The demoness hummed a soft tone. Gentle, her husky velvet voice coaxed the simple-minded woman into praying.

"... our actions please thee."

At the end, she waited. An innocent frown rested on her victim's freckled face.

"My mind feels blurry. Like something is missing," muttered the unsuspecting, wide-eyed visitor.

Maria watched. Every reaction was carefully cataloged.

"Sometimes the goddess obscures the unpleasant. Let the sensation wash over you."

Trembling, the woman rose, and heavier breathings reverberated from the walls. "I... I feel strange. So aroused. This is not right," whimpered the foolish human.

Harmonic, sweet giggles filled the space. Naughtily Maria caressed her naive pray, hands cupping the petite woman's cheeks, leaning the confused visage close.

"Yet it feels so wonderful, so intoxicating. An ocean of unknown pleasure waiting to be explored. Do not resist the Lady's calling," instructed Maria.

The other's eyes widened, dilating pupils until dark black replaced the emerald hue. Tears streamed freely over hot cheeks. Weak, feeble resistance collapsed. Mouth breathing, the human shuddered one last time.

"Obey," stated calmly the predatory succubus.

Instantly, the mortal stood still, stiff like a mannequin. Arms hanging limp beside her body. Emptiness stared ahead.

Maria chuckled in delight. Hands stroke the simpleton's smooth, soft face, massaging her nose and scalp. Nails digging deep into flesh molded the victim's face. Delicate facial structures came alive and broadened. Freckles vanished, cheeks rounded up, and lips swelled, stretching an innocent, pretty visage into a sexy, voluptuous model.

Humming, satisfied with the progress, Maria gripped lower. Sharp talons danced along shoulders. Furrowed fabric disappeared, falling in crumbles to the ground. Silently, Maria enjoyed her handwork, relishing how breast mounds fattened up. Fat accumulated. Each orb was heavy and pillowy, a mountain of sin.

Steady like clockwork, the succubus applied her expertise to the hips and legs. Sharp talons cut the lower body in half, and dark magic was woven. Slowly, the woman transformed. Where once stood two, now four legs existed. Hooves clacked on the stone floor. A long back with black fur ended in a tight, muscular flank. Excited, a horse's tail flicked from side to side.

Under the spell, her prey mumbled a hoarse neigh. Yet there were more subtle changes. New parts swelled between powerful equine muscles.

Shaped into an erogenous area sat the entrance to an inviting pussy. Musky flaps resting between muscular thighs.

With pride, Maria stared at the newborn centaur, a guardian for her chapel, a broodmare for her Lady. The proud animal hybrid shook herself awake. Red-brown eyes focused on its mistress, adoration glistening inside.

"How may this knight serve, lady bishop?"