#hurt/comfort!? me??? hurt/COMFORT??? never heard of before | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 2 days ago

Note

congrats on your 2k 🎉

for missing scene Monday, could we get bearded Hotch's new gf he met on his secret assignment in Pakistan?? I'll leave it to you if you want to extend it back to the US and the BAU team!!

Just begging for anything with bearded Hotch and yes this was inspired by your 2k celebration gif choices ❤️ love ya!

Let It Be [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||Main Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 8k|| AN: Thank you so much for sending this request so early for day one! I was able to get a head start on this last week, and I really love how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon-divergent, beard!hotch, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, banter, Hotch in Pakistan, non!BAU reader, kinda left tbc?

Summary: Hotch meets you on assignment in Pakistan, and you're exactly what he was looking for...someone who's just there without pushing.

The sun was relentless, bearing down on the barren expanse surrounding the base. Sweat collected under your tactical gear, but you barely noticed. It was the kind of heat that stripped away all distractions, leaving you focused on the mission ahead--or at least trying to be.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and glanced around the bustling camp. This wasn’t your first special operations assignment, but the tension in the air felt different here. Heavier.

It could have just been you dragging the weight of unresolved emotions halfway across the world, or it could have been the stakes of the mission--a dangerous operation involving an international terrorist cell that required precision, discretion, and teamwork between agencies not known for always getting along.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

The voice was deep, cutting through the camp noise. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man, his sharp features etched into a permanent state of seriousness. His gaze was steady, and his presence commanded attention without effort.

“That’s me,” you replied, clipped but polite.

He stepped closer, extending a hand. “Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU.”

The name was familiar. You had read the reports and heard the stories--his work on high-profile cases, his leadership, and his reputation for being unflinchingly methodical. You shook his hand, noting the firm grip and how it matched the intensity in his dark eyes.

“Special Agent Y/L/N, CIA Directorate of Operations,” you said, introducing yourself with the same straightforward efficiency. “Behavioral analyst and covert operations specialist.”

His brow shifted slightly, just enough for you to notice. He nodded, acknowledging your credentials with a quiet respect.

“Briefing starts in five,” he said, his tone all business. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you with the distinct impression that there was more to him than the stoic exterior he projected. You had worked with people like him before--people who carried their burdens in silence--but something about the weight in his eyes made you wonder if he had brought his own ghosts to this mission, much like you had.

….

The first few days were a blur of briefings, strategy sessions, and late nights poring over intel. You didn’t interact much with Hotch beyond the occasional exchange of information, but you caught yourself noticing him. The way he carried himself--calm and composed, but with an edge of tension that never seemed to leave him. You recognized it because you felt it, too.

As you reviewed reports in the command tent one night, he walked in, filling the space. He set a folder on the table and glanced at you.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said, not a question but an observation.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on the documents in front of you. “So have you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“So am I.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, his gaze steady.

“It’s easier to keep busy,” he said quietly as if he was sharing a truth he rarely voiced.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there--something raw and unspoken. You wanted to ask what he was running from, but you didn’t. You weren’t ready to share your own truths, so you didn’t ask for his.

….

The nights were the hardest. The quiet gave your mind too much room to wander, dredging up memories you’d rather forget. One evening, you found yourself outside, staring at the vast expanse of desert under a blanket of stars. You didn’t expect company, but the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

It was Hotch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing beside you.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

For a while, you just stood there, the silence between you feeling strangely comfortable.

“I read your file,” he said eventually, his tone careful.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you now?”

“You’ve handled some difficult assignments. Made a name for yourself.”

There was no arrogance in his words; it was just observation.

“Guess you could say I have a knack for throwing myself into the fire,” you replied. Something flashed across his face like he was going to respond with something, but he didn’t.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but his presence was steady, almost calming.

“Why are you really here?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Nobody in their right mind would have volunteered for this unless they either A) had nobody to go home to at night, or B) were trying to forget about something else. You could tell by the small photo Hotch carried around of, presumably, his son it wasn’t option A.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. “Because it’s easier than being back home.”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. Same.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What are you running from?”

You hesitated, the question hitting too close to home. “A mistake. One I don’t want to repeat.”

He didn’t press for details, and you were grateful. Instead, he said, “Sometimes running is the only way to keep moving.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if you agreed.

……

As the mission dragged on, the weight of it started to press down on both of you. You began to notice how Hotch avoided certain topics, not that personal topics frequently came up. You noticed how his eyes darkened when the name "Prentiss" came up from the communication specialist on the special ops team.

You didn’t ask--he didn’t offer--but the pieces slowly started to come together. You had to be living under a rock in this field not to have heard about the major loss the BAU took this past year.

One night, after another tense meeting, you found yourselves in the makeshift kitchen, both reaching for the last cup of coffee.

“You take it,” you said, stepping back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I insist. I’ve had worse days.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of understanding. “I doubt that.”

You smirked, the slightest crack in your guarded exterior. “Careful, Hotchner. That almost sounded like empathy.”

His lips twitched--the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. “Don’t get used to it.”

….

A sudden sandstorm sent the entire team scrambling for cover. The wind howled outside the command tent, shaking the canvas walls as you huddled with Hotch and two other agents.

“Typical,” you muttered, brushing sand off your gear. “Mission’s hard enough without Mother Nature making it worse.”

Hotch sat across from you, his expression unreadable as he tightened the straps on his vest. He was scruffier than he was when you first arrived. It wasn’t a bad look, but you brushed down that thought.

“You’ve been through worse,” he said matter-of-factly, not a question but a statement.

You let out a short laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit, Hotchner. I’m not invincible.”

“No one is,” he replied, his tone softer than you expected. “But you’re resilient. I can see that.”

The compliment, if you could call it that, caught you off guard. You didn’t reply, unsure how to. Instead, you focused on the storm outside, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

But later, when the storm passed, and you stepped out into the eerily quiet desert, you found yourself glancing at Hotch. He met your gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between you--a mutual respect, a shared understanding.

….

It was late, and the compound was finally quiet. You were seated at a makeshift table, cleaning your sidearm, when Hotch approached with two cups of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as he set one down in front of you.

“I doubt that,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s coffee,” he said with a small shrug as if that explained everything.

You glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Do you ever lighten up, Hotchner?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “On occasion.”

“Define ‘occasion.’”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the weapon in your hands. “When it’s earned,” he said finally.

It was a cryptic response, but it made you smile anyway. “Well, I’ll consider this progress.”

He sat with you in silence, but it was comfortable. The company was more needed than either of you realized.

….

The day had been relentless, the kind that left your muscles aching and your mind frayed at the edges. You had lost count of how many hours you’d been awake--thirty, maybe forty. Every bone in your body screamed for rest, but the tension from the mission had settled into your chest, making sleep impossible.

You found yourself outside the command tent, slumping onto an old crate with a half-empty water bottle in your hand. The distant hum of generators buzzed like a white noise machine, masking the desert’s eerie quiet.

Hotch appeared a few minutes later, wordlessly lowering himself onto the crate beside you. His presence, steady as always, should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in your throat harder to ignore.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You told yourself you liked the silence, but the truth was, it gave your thoughts too much room to spiral. Your chest felt tight, and despite the coolness of the night, your face burned with exhaustion-fueled frustration.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Hotch turned his head toward you, his face unreadable but his attention sharp. “Why do you say that?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring out into the endless darkness of the desert. “Because I’m running. I didn’t know what else to do.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own admission. “I thought putting space between me and...everything would help, but maybe it just makes it worse.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and you instantly regretted saying them. You felt exposed, as though admitting it aloud would make it all the more real. Your hands fidgeted with the bottle, and you kept your gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his.

You thought about the way your life had pretty much unraveled around you back at home. If it wasn’t for work, you’re not sure you’d still be standing on your two feet. Here you could be the strong, independent person you aspired to be. At home, you were heartbroken without an end in sight.

The silence stretched long enough that you thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, in that low, even voice of his, he said, “It doesn’t make it worse. It just makes it...quieter. And sometimes quiet is all you can handle.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, distant and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly, the rawness in your voice betraying how fragile you felt.

He nodded, barely perceptible, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “I thought being here might help me make sense of things. But some things…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Some things don’t have answers.”

There was something about the way he said it--not defensive, not self-pitying, just honest. It broke through the dam inside you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you might cry.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat tightening. The weight of his answer settled between you, tangible and heavy, yet somehow reassuring.

For the first time, the silence felt like a shared space rather than an empty one. You didn’t push for more. You couldn’t, not with your emotions already threatening to overflow. But as the desert night pressed in around you, you realized you didn’t need to.

Whatever walls you both had built were starting to crumble, and neither of you seemed inclined to stop it.

…..

The air in the abandoned warehouse was stifling, thick with the smell of rust and dust. You moved carefully, your weapon drawn and your eyes scanning every shadow. Hotch was just behind you, silent but steady, his presence grounding you in the tense atmosphere.

The intel had been solid: a potential threat against the local embassy was being planned here, and your team had been tasked with gathering evidence. But now, as you crept deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, something felt off. The place was too quiet.

A faint creak made you freeze. You glanced back at Hotch, and he gave a subtle nod, his dark eyes sharp with focus. He gestured for you to take the left while he veered right. You obeyed without question, trusting his instincts as much as your own.

You edged around a stack of crates, your pulse quickening. The sound came again--a faint shuffle, followed by a whisper of movement. You tightened your grip on your weapon, adrenaline flooding your system.

Then everything exploded at once.

A figure lunged from the shadows, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your weapon clattered to the floor as you struggled against the assailant, their grip bruising as they tried to pin you down.

“Agent Y/L/N!” Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You twisted, freeing one arm, and drove your elbow into the attacker’s side. They grunted, loosening their grip just enough for you to push them off. But before you could retrieve your weapon, another figure appeared, this one heading straight for Hotch.

“Behind you!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

Hotch spun just in time, deflecting the attacker’s blow and delivering a calculated strike that sent them stumbling. But the odds were quickly stacking against you--more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

“Fall back!” Hotch ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

You grabbed your weapon and fell into step beside him as the two of you retreated toward the exit. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second.

“We’re not going to make it out clean,” you said, your voice tight as you scanned for cover.

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “We don’t have to. We just need to slow them down.”

He pointed to a stack of crates near the exit, and you understood immediately. You fired a few shots, not aiming to hit but to force your pursuers to take cover. Then, together, you pushed the nearest crate, toppling it over and creating a barricade that bought you a few precious seconds.

“Go!” Hotch barked, motioning for you to move ahead.

“No way,” you snapped, falling into position beside him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

His gaze flicked to you, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t the time for arguments, so he didn’t push it.

The two of you moved as one, covering each other as you navigated the narrow corridors toward the exit. Your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn’t let it distract you. Hotch’s steady presence was all you focused on, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached the safety of the extraction point, where reinforcements were waiting.

You doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. Hotch was beside you, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, straightening up. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, a faint flicker of dry humor in his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “That’s one way to bond, I guess.”

Hotch glanced at you, and for the first time since the mission began, you saw something close to a smile on his face. It was brief, but it was real.

“Good work out there,” he said simply.

“Right back at you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, you realized just how much you trusted him--not just as a colleague, but as someone who had your back, no matter what. And from the way he looked at you, you had the feeling he felt the same.

….

The day had been unusually quiet. The base hummed with its usual activity, but the weight in the air seemed heavier that day. You had noticed it the moment you walked into the briefing room. Hotch had been there, as he always was, but there was something off.

His usual sharp focus felt dulled, his replies curt even for his standards. He spent more time staring at his tablet than actually reading it, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper somehow.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to know something was wrong.

Now, hours later, you found him alone in the makeshift command tent, the harsh glow of a desk lamp illuminating the strain on his features. He was seated, elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a map as if willing it to make sense.

“You’re still at it?” you asked gently, stepping inside.

His head lifted slightly, but he didn’t look at you. “There’s a lot to prepare for.”

“There always is,” you replied, pulling up a chair across from him. “But it’s late. You should take a break.”

“I can’t afford to.”

The edge in his voice wasn’t aimed at you, but it still made you hesitate. You considered leaving him to his work, but something kept you there.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up, his dark eyes shadowed by something heavy. For a moment, you thought he might tell you, but then his expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone measured but distant.

You didn’t believe him, not for a second. But you also knew better than to push.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re allowed to have off days, you know. Even you.”

His lips twitched, almost a humorless smile. “I don’t have the time for that.”

“You’re human,” you countered, your tone steady but not pressing. “It’s not a luxury. It’s just...life.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the table. But his hands, usually so still, were fidgeting now--his fingers twisting the edge of the map absentmindedly.

You let the silence settle between you, giving him space. After a few minutes, you stood and moved toward the coffee pot in the corner of the tent. You poured two cups, setting one down in front of him without a word before returning to your seat.

Hotch stared at the cup for a moment before picking it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, almost as if he was telling it to himself, though his tone betrayed him. “I just--” He stopped, shaking his head as if to dismiss whatever he’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly, your voice steady. “We all have those days.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “This one feels heavier.”

You didn’t know what he was carrying--something about him always felt impenetrable, as though he kept the world at arm’s length. But you didn’t need to know the specifics to recognize the weight he was under.

“You’re allowed to let it feel heavy,” you said after a moment, watching his reaction carefully.

Hotch’s hand tightened around the coffee cup, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before his walls went back up. “I shouldn’t let it distract me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Maybe letting yourself feel it for five minutes wouldn’t be a distraction. Maybe it’d just be human.”

He didn’t respond, but his jaw shifted as though he was grinding his teeth. His silence didn’t bother you--it was enough to just sit there, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not digging,” he said, finally looking at you. His gaze softened just enough to make your chest ache. “For just...being here.”

You offered a small smile, reaching across the table and resting your hand lightly over his. It wasn’t much, but the way his shoulders relaxed told you it was enough.

“I’ve got your back,” you said simply. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone.”

Hotch nodded, his grip tightening briefly on the cup before setting it down. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in the room felt lighter somehow.

The two of you sat there in silence, the night pressing in around you. And while the weight of whatever he was carrying didn’t disappear, you could tell it didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

…

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, reflecting off the shallow, winding river that cut through the barren terrain. You adjusted your gear, sweat dripping down your temple as you followed Hotch’s lead. The mission had gone sideways--nothing catastrophic, but the extraction point was now miles further than planned, and the only route was straight through the rocky riverbed.

“Watch your step,” Hotch warned as he leaped from one jagged boulder to another. His movements were precise, practiced, but you could tell the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him.

“I was planning to fall flat on my face,” you replied, the edge of sarcasm in your voice lighthearted enough to soften the tension.

His lips twitched, that almost-smile you’d grown accustomed to. “Let’s avoid that.”

The river wasn’t deep, but the current was deceptively strong. The rocks were uneven; some were slick with moss, and others were barely stable. The whole setup was a sprained ankle--or worse--waiting to happen.

You made it halfway across before your boot slipped on a loose stone, your footing completely giving out beneath you. You stumbled, and the weight of your gear made it impossible to regain your balance.

Before you could hit the water, a substantial hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. The force of it brought you chest-to-chest with Hotch, his grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Yeah,” you managed, your own breath catching as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you.

His dark eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in them--concern, maybe, or something deeper. He didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm as though he needed to make sure you were truly steady.

“I told you to watch your step,” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. His words did not match the gentleness in his tone.

“And I told you I was planning to fall,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a wry smile.

His lips twitched again, but this time, it felt closer to a real smile. His hand slipped away reluctantly, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he stepped back.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice all business again, though you caught the slight shift in his expression--something unguarded, fleeting, but unmistakably there.

…

The day’s trek had left you both bone-weary, but the setting sun brought with it a chill that seeped into your skin. The fire crackled low between you as you sat on overturned crates, the glow casting flickering shadows over the rocky outcrop that served as your makeshift camp for the night.

You had stripped down to your undershirt, your jacket drying on a nearby rock after the river crossing. Hotch sat across from you, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his neck, his usual stoicism slightly cracked by the day’s exhaustion.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” you commented, watching him massage the tension from his muscles.

“So will you,” he replied, his eyes flicking to your bruised forearm from the earlier stumble.

“I bounce back quickly,” you said lightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider a hot bath.”

His lips quirked, and he shook his head. “I’ll add that to the list of luxuries I’m missing out on.”

“Right after edible food,” you added, holding up the protein bar you’d been gnawing on. “This is basically punishment.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and the rare ease of the moment settle over you.

“You’re not always so serious, are you?” you asked, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Hotch glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Depends on the company.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and something deeper--something you couldn’t quite name but felt pulled toward.

“Well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you before he nodded slightly. “You should.”

The fire had long since burned down to embers, but neither of you had moved. The quiet was comfortable now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

“You’re different,” Hotch said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was thoughtful, not heavy, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect.

“Different how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t push,” he said simply. “Most people do. They want something, even if they don’t say it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “Maybe I just know what it’s like to need space.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze dropping to the glowing embers. “It’s rare,” he said quietly. “And...appreciated.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized with a startling clarity that you didn’t want this moment to end. The mission, the chaos, the fleeting moments of quiet connection--they’d all built to this, and you weren’t ready to let it go.

You didn’t say anything, but you shifted closer, just enough that your knee brushed against his. He didn’t move away, and the warmth of his presence felt like an anchor in the cool desert night.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But when he finally looked at you, the guarded distance in his eyes had softened, replaced by something you couldn’t name but felt deeply.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, his voice low but gentle. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”

You nodded, standing and brushing the dust from your pants. But as you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him. “Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night,” he replied, his gaze following you as you walked away.

And for the first time since this mission began, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time--something you weren’t sure you could name but couldn’t deny was there.

…..

The air in the base felt heavier than usual. The usual hum of activity buzzed in the background, but your focus was locked on the figure in front of you--Aaron Hotchner, standing by the transport vehicle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. A stark contrast to how he had shown up so long ago. Now, slimmer and with a face full of facial hair.

You hadn’t expected the mission to end like this--not with him leaving before it was over. The news had come down hours ago: he had been called back stateside. No explanation, no warning. Just orders.

“Something urgent?” you asked, keeping your tone steady even as you struggled to meet his eyes.

He nodded, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight, a tell you’d come to recognize. “I have to return to Quantico. The team needs me.”

Of course, they do, you thought. You had known from the beginning that this wasn’t his world. His world was back home, leading the BAU, carrying burdens most people couldn’t fathom. Still, the abruptness of his departure left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You stepped closer, your arms crossed, not out of defiance but to keep yourself grounded. “We’ll manage here,” you said, the words feeling both true and hollow.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, his dark eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You will,” he said, his voice low. “You’re good at this.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped you. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he replied, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. You weren’t naive. Whatever had brought him here was bigger than the mission, bigger than you. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him leave.

“Will you be back?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Hotch hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t know.”

The honesty in his answer hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and nodded. “Well, in case you don’t…you know, good luck, Hotch.”

He studied you for a moment, as if committing your face to memory. Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer. His hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. “For what?”

“For being here. For making this easier,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his eyes, the words catching in your throat. Instead of speaking, you reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on your arm, the small gesture saying more than words could.

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled back, his professional mask sliding into place once more.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Go. They need you more than we do.”

He hesitated again, his eyes flicking to yours one last time. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely audible.

And then he turned and climbed into the vehicle. You stood there, watching as it pulled away, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing second.

When the dust finally settled, and the vehicle disappeared from sight, you let out a shaky breath, the reality of his absence sinking in.

You hadn’t expected this assignment to change anything. But now, as you stood alone under the relentless desert sun, you realized just how much it had--and how much he had.

You weren’t sure how you’d get over missing him the way you felt the minute he left your side.

…

The harsh glow of the tent's fluorescent light was a poor substitute for the sun. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the dull ache that had settled behind your eyes after hours of pouring over intel. The mission dragged on, one step forward and two steps back, and you were beginning to feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

The faint crackle of the comm system startled you, drawing your attention to the communications officer stationed at the other end of the tent. His head tilted, listening intently before he turned and called out, “Y/L/N, secure line for you. Priority channel.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. Secure lines weren’t uncommon, but they were usually pre-arranged. Rising from your chair, you crossed the tent, curiosity buzzing in the back of your mind.

When you picked up the headset, the officer handed you a notepad with a string of verification codes scrawled across it. “Verify the code,” he instructed.

You input the code into the secure terminal, and after a moment, the line cleared. “This is Y/L/N,” you said cautiously.

There was a beat of silence, then a familiar voice. “It’s Hotch.”

Back in Quantico, Hotch leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the phone tighter than necessary. The bullpen below his office was dim and quiet--most of the team had left for the night, but the stillness did little to ease the weight pressing on him.

The fallout from the Ian Doyle case was still reverberating through the BAU. Emily’s return had blindsided the team, and though he had tried to justify the deception, the cracks in their trust were impossible to ignore. Strauss’s scrutiny had sharpened, and his every decision seemed to be under a magnifying glass.

He hadn’t called to talk about any of that. He couldn’t.

But the familiar tension in his chest--the suffocating combination of guilt, stress, and isolation--had driven him to dial the secure line. He wasn’t even sure you’d pick up, but when your voice filtered through the line, steady and sure, it was like a knot in his chest loosened.

You straightened instinctively, surprise rippling through you. “Hotch,” you repeated, unable to keep the astonishment from your tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not…no,” you assured him, leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough for you to sense the weight behind it. “I just wanted to check-in. See how things are going on your end.”

You frowned slightly, his words not matching the tension you could hear in his voice. “Things are...as expected. Slow, frustrating, and complicated. But manageable.”

“Good,” he said, the word clipped, almost distracted.

You weren’t a profiler, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable. He sounded like a man carrying too many burdens, with no room to set them down.

“You sound tired,” you said gently, knowing better than to pry.

He let out a soft exhale, the kind that felt heavier than it should. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he admitted, though his words felt like an understatement.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, your voice cutting through the static in his mind. He could still see the look on Morgan’s face when Emily had walked into the room, the betrayal simmering under the surface. He could hear the edge in Strauss’s tone as she grilled him about his decision to keep the team in the dark.

But here, with you, there was no judgment. No interrogation.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” you asked, keeping your tone light but genuine.

A soft scoff met your ears. “I’m trying,” he replied, the words carrying a note of dry humor.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the table. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

His silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. You knew he wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason, but you also knew he wouldn’t say more than he wanted to. And you weren’t going to push.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For picking up,” he said simply. “For not asking.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his tone. “Of course,” you replied softly. “You don’t have to explain anything, Hotch. You know that.”

For a fleeting moment, Hotch considered telling you. About Emily. About the team’s trust--or lack of it. But the words felt too heavy…too complicated to put into the space between you. He didn’t want to drag you into the mess, especially not when you had your own mission to worry about.

And yet, knowing you were there, steady and unwavering, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the faint hum of the secure line filling the silence. Despite the distance between you, the connection felt tangible--grounding.

“I should let you get back to work,” he said finally, although his voice sounded reluctant.

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you didn’t want the call to end. “But Hotch...don’t wait so long to call next time, okay?”

There was a pause, then a quiet, almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

And then the line disconnected, leaving you standing there with the headset in hand and a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Across the ocean, Hotch set the phone down, his hand lingering on the receiver. For the first time in days, the storm inside him felt a little less suffocating. And though he couldn’t explain why, he knew that calling you had been the right choice.

….

Throughout the remainder of your mission in Pakistan, Hotch’s calls came sporadically, never announced, and always brief. Each time the secure line connected, his voice carried a steadiness that seemed to ease the tension that surrounded you. The conversations were simple--updates on the mission, quiet exchanges about the weather, or mutual remarks about the relentless grind of your respective work.

Yet, beneath the surface, those calls meant more.

They weren’t about the words exchanged but the connection that had grown between you. Somehow, through the static of secure lines and the distance of continents, you felt you knew him intimately.

Not in the way of shared stories or confessions, but in the quiet understanding of someone who had seen the same kind of pain.

Hotch never spoke about what weighed on him, and you never pressed. He didn’t need to. The heaviness in his tone, the pauses that lingered too long--they told you everything you needed to know. And you, in turn, found comfort in the silence he offered, in the unspoken acknowledgment of your own burdens.

It was a strange closeness, one that felt both fragile and unbreakable. You knew so much about each other, and yet nothing at all. He never asked about what had driven you to this mission, and you never asked about the strain you could hear in his voice. Yet, you understood each other in a way that words couldn’t capture.

In those stolen moments on the phone, it didn’t matter that the world outside was relentless. It didn’t matter that neither of you could put your pain into words. What mattered was that, for a few fleeting minutes, you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

It was those moments that patched up the pain in your chest, almost making you forget about the heartbreak you left at home. The failed relationships, the loneliness…you wondered how it would continue on--or if it would continue on once you were back home. You hoped.

…..

The bullpen at the BAU was its usual hive of activity, with agents moving between desks, typing up reports, and chatting quietly between tasks. But today, there was an undercurrent of curiosity rippling through the team--one that centered on Hotch.

Seated at her desk, Garcia spun her chair toward Morgan, a playful smirk on her lips. “Alright, Derek, spill. What’s with the boss man and those secretive phone calls he’s been making?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I know anything, Baby Girl?”

Garcia raised a skeptical brow, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch’s office. “Because every time he steps in there and picks up that phone, he looks...different. Like, not his usual stressed-out-because-the-world-is-burning look. It’s something else.”

JJ, passing by with a file, paused to join the conversation. “You’re not wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I noticed it, too. He’s been...quieter lately. More introspective. Not that Hotch is ever exactly chatty, but it’s different.”

Rossi appeared from behind them, holding his ever-present coffee mug. “And you’re all assuming that a few phone calls mean he’s seeing someone?” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “The man deserves a little happiness. Maybe he finally found someone who gets him.”

Reid, seated nearby with his tablet, looked up. “It could be related to the fallout from the Doyle case. He might be reaching out to someone for professional advice or support.”

Garcia shook her head dramatically. “Oh, boy-wonder, that’s far too clinical. This is Hotch we’re talking about. If he’s calling someone regularly, it’s personal.”

JJ frowned slightly, leaning against her desk. “Whoever it is, I just hope they’re good for him. After everything with Haley, and now the strain with the team...he needs someone who can be there for him.”

Rossi took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Hotch’s closed office door. “Maybe it’s not about what they say. Sometimes, it’s just about having someone who listens. God knows that man doesn’t let anyone in easily.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence, their gazes drifting toward the office where Hotch was currently on a call. Inside, his expression was characteristically composed, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed something softer.

Morgan broke the silence first, smirking. “Well, whoever this mystery caller is, they’ve got our fearless leader smiling. I say we let him have this one.”

Garcia gasped dramatically, clasping her hands together. “Smiling? You saw him smile? Oh, this is bigger than I thought.”

JJ and Rossi exchanged amused glances, and even Reid couldn’t suppress a small smile at Garcia’s theatrics. But beneath the playful banter, the team shared a collective hope--that whoever was on the other end of those calls was helping their stoic leader carry at least some of the weight on his shoulders.

….

Hotch sat in his office, the low hum of activity in the bullpen barely reaching his ears. His personal phone buzzed on the desk beside him, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. He frowned, picking it up cautiously. It wasn’t often he got calls from unlisted numbers on this line.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, his tone brisk.

“Well, that’s formal. Do you always answer like you’re being interrogated?”

His breath caught, the familiar voice pulling a genuine, if fleeting, smile to his face. “Agent Y/L/N. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased. “Just because I’m not in Pakistan doesn’t mean I’ve vanished. I still exist, contrary to popular belief.”

“Good to know,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I heard you finished the mission. Back stateside?”

“For now,” you said, your tone carrying the same measured ease he remembered. “It’s just a pit stop, though. The CIA doesn’t let its covert operatives sit idle for too long.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” you admitted. “Like I’m not entirely here, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

He did. More than he cared to admit.

“I do,” he said simply, his voice low.

“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “How’s the BAU treating you?”

He hesitated, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on his chest. The fallout from the Doyle case, Emily’s return, the team’s shaken trust--it all simmered just beneath the surface. But he wasn’t ready to unpack that. Not now.

“Still busy,” he said instead, his voice even. “But you know how it is. Work doesn’t stop.”

“I do,” you replied, a knowing edge to your tone. “Sounds like you’re carrying more than just case files, though.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

“You always say that,” you said, a note of fond exasperation in your voice. “I’m starting to think it’s your catchphrase.”

“I don’t have catchphrases,” he replied, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.

“Sure you don’t,” you shot back. “Next, you’ll tell me you don’t ever crack a smile.”

“That’s a rare occurrence,” he said, his tone lighter.

“Well, I must be one of the lucky few then because I swear I’ve seen it.”

The warmth in your voice caught him off guard, but he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. “You’re in a unique position.”

“Unique, huh?” you teased. “You make it sound so exclusive.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Not many people see past the job.”

Your tone matched his now, the playfulness giving way to something more sincere. “That’s because the job is easier to focus on. It’s harder to look past it.”

He let out a quiet sigh, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re not wrong.”

The call buzzed with a quiet warmth neither of you acknowledged outright, but both felt. Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a breath. He stared at the phone in his hand, debating whether to say what had been sitting in the back of his mind.

"So, this call," he said, his voice measured but holding a thread of something lighter. "Official business, or are you just checking up on me?"

"Can't it be both?" you asked, your teasing tone doing exactly what you intended--it made him relax, even if just a little.

He let out a soft laugh, surprising himself. "I suppose it can."

"I don’t know," you said, your voice playful. "Can it?"

He hesitated just a moment before admitting, “I actually thought about calling you too; I wanted to see how you were doing. And…I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The silence between you settled softly, comfortable, and filled with an understanding neither of you needed to articulate.

“Well, I’m doing okay,” you said finally, your tone calm. “Work’s the same. Chaos, classified details, long hours. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he replied, the weight of shared experience clear in his voice. “Too familiar.”

“And you?” you asked gently, your tone softening. “How are you, Hotch? Really?”

He hesitated again, the instinct to protect himself battling against the trust he felt when speaking to you. “I’m…I’m managing,” he said at last, quieter than before. “But it’s...been a lot.”

You didn’t push. You never did. That was one of the things he appreciated most.

“Well,” you said, the warmth returning to your voice, “if you ever feel like you need to step away from saving the world, give me a call. I’ve got plenty of experience in chaos management.”

He let out another rare, quiet laugh. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” you said lightly. “Don’t be a stranger, Hotch.”

He let the words settle, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but before the conversation could end, he spoke again.

“Actually,” he started, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that even he couldn’t suppress, “have you ever thought about meeting up?” The question lingered, and he immediately wondered if he had overstepped. “I mean, if your schedule allows it,” he added, his tone faltering slightly. “I know how demanding your work is.”

You paused, clearly caught off guard. “Meeting up?” you repeated, a smile audible in your tone. “You mean in person?”

“Yes,” he said quickly before he could second-guess himself. “I just thought…you’ve been a consistent voice through everything, and…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it without giving too much away. “It would be nice to catch up.”

“I think that sounds...great,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “Though I should warn you, Hotchner, I’m still terrible at small talk.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” you teased, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Flattered,” he said, surprising himself again with the sincerity in his tone.

The brief pause that followed carried an unspoken weight, a quiet understanding of the connection that had been building between you since the mission in Pakistan. Neither of you said it outright, but it was there, tangible in the way you lingered on the call longer than necessary.

“I’ll check my schedule,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “But don’t think I won’t hold you to this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his voice steadier now.

When the call ended, Hotch sat back, his thoughts circling the conversation. He realized that while he still didn’t know the full scope of your personal life or if there was someone waiting for you back home, he felt compelled to try--to find out, to see where this connection might lead. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself the thought of something beyond the weight he carried every day.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

173 notes · View notes

thewitchblue · 2 days ago

Text

"Stop stealing my shit."

Jason said as he yanks his favourite hoodie from Dick's hands. Everybody comes by his apartment and steals something for the road. He had assumed this sibling habit would stop when he moved out, but apparently, that is not the case.

Dick, undeterred, continued to riffle through his closet. The apartment looked too lively in the past couple of months. It looked like people actually live here and not Jason's usual barren home. Dick held up one of your plushies and examined it. Jason said aggressively,

"That's not even mine! Put it back!"

Dick huffed. Jason used to have a stuffed animal that he dragged everywhere back in his early Robin days, so Dick could totally believe Jason having a plushie collection in secret.

"I knew my little birdie is still in there."

Dick smiled as he held the plushie. It was a fluffy polar bear that looked like it was used regularly. The image of Jason holding a small bear to fall asleep with was too cute for Dick not to feel the familiar joy little Jason used to bring him. His baby brother is still his baby brother! Underneath all that rage, Jason is still the 12 year old kid who wants love.

"Honey, I'm hooooome!"

Dick heard a voice call out dramatically like a 1950s sitcom. You were putting away your coat and humming softly when Tim casually climbed into your house through your living room window. He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to proceed after climbing through the window and spotting you. This is an awkward way to meet his brother's significant other. You screeched when you noticed him and smashed a lamp on his head. He cursed his silent footsteps as he stumbled back. Five seconds ago, you were humming Singing in The Rain, and now you have an injured vigilante on your doorstep.

"You alright, munchkin?"

Jason called out as he managed to finally take the bear from Dick's grubby little hands. The white fur wasn't covered in Gotham's dirt, thankfully, but now he was angry.

You were quiet for a suspicious amount of time, so he couldn't fight Dick the way he wanted to. He went to the living room to find you cleaning up shards of glass while Tim awkwardly plucked out shards from his hair. His head hurt, but he didn't complain, and you didn't apologise.

Neither brother knew what to do around you. Dick wants answers. He will get to the bottom of this.

"How long have you been together?

Dick asked when he got over the initial shock. He needed to know everything. Tim is the one to answer,

"Four years, yes, they know about Red Hood, they've lived together for a few months now and recently got engaged."

You nodded to confirm everything while throwing away the glass. It was weird that Tim knew everything about your relationship, but you didn't really care in the moment. You sighed and lay on the couch after putting away the broom and dustpan. You need a nap, not guests.

Dick was hung up on the word engaged. It's one thing to keep a secret partner, but a secret fiancée hurts his big brother ego. Was Jason going to get married before he ever met you? Dick was frustrated. He asked,

"What was the plan? To never show us your partner?"

You lazily took Jason's hand in yours. You remained in your comfortable position on the couch, but you wanted to show your silent support. You were willing to do whatever makes Jason comfortable.

Jason lightly squeezed your hand in gratitude. He knew they would adore you and steal your attention at every possible chance. Why would he tell them about you? They would all be insufferable. He said flatly,

"It wasn't a secret. Replacement found out about it."

Dick was still mad, but now he turned to Tim with a look of betrayal. He just remembered that Tim was the one to answer his earlier question. He asked Tim,

"You never thought to tell me?"

Tim shrugged and replied,

"It was good blackmail in the beginning."

You laughed despite the tension growing in the room. Tim found out within the third week of your relationship. Master detective indeed.

He knew something was different. Jason wasn't as aggressive nor as self-destructive. He started to pull his punches in their spars, and he stopped bullying everybody. He either had six months left to live and wanted to make amends, or there was something or someone in his life fixing him.

Dick didn't like that excuse, but it made sense to Tim. Why wouldn't he blackmail Jason? He has dirt on everyone, even Bruce. Jason was livid at the time, but Tim held him back by threatening to leak the relationship to the press.

Jason sat on the armrest of the couch you were lying on and kissed the back of your hand gently. He wouldn't care if people knew now, but he admittedly wanted to selfishly keep you to himself. Jason asked,

"Why does it matter?"

Dick was malfunctioning. Why does it matter? How does it not matter? These are huge steps in life, and he missed them? He was going to miss his little brother's wedding! What's next? Adopting kids from Crime Alley? Dick was speechless.

Jason just wants them out of his house. He always hates when they show up randomly, but it's even worse now that he has someone waiting for him at home. You had clashing schedules up until now, so it wasn't a huge problem with their random visits because he could always physically shove them out the door before you arrived home. Now that you switched shifts, you can spend a lot more quality time with him, but at the cost of his family popping in and snooping like they are right now.

You and Tim were watching from the sidelines with intrigue. If there was popcorn, you both would have a bowl. Normally, this is around the time Jason punched Dick and started a fight, but this time, Jason simply dragged Dick and the previously forgotten Tim by their shirts and stuffed them out of the window. He quickly locked the window and closed the curtains while giving them the middle finger.

You walked over to him when you noticed his irritation not leaving and wrapped him in a hug. He needs something to de-stress, and you often use sensory stimulus to keep him in the presence. You murmured softly,

"Sugar bear, it's okay."

Jason nodded. He wanted your gentle touch, but he needed to search the apartment for any stolen property. What if Dick stole your favourite plushie or Tim stole his combat knife? They are stealthy in what they steal, which is why he kept everything barren in the first place. If they can get away with it, they will do it.

Your hands run along his arms. Jason relaxed into your touch. How do you do that? What magic do you have that can calm him so efficiently? You make his loud mind silent.

"If he stole one of your plushies, I'm going to kill them both."

He said gruffly. You laughed and gently ran your fingers through his hair. You shouldn't be surprised by the clear irritation, but it really highlights the effects his family still has on him. The way he tensed when he saw Tim and you, the way he squeezed your hand a tad tighter than normal, and the way his breathing changed to calm a raising panic attack just like you taught him. You lightly kissed his shoulder before saying,

"He probably stole my Nightwing plush. I have the whole family set, you know."

Jason knows for a fact Dick would steal a Nightwing plushie if he found one in Jason's home. He can already see it in Dick's apartment. It would probably be next to his bed as a trophy, teasing Jason and daring him to try to reclaim it.

He casually reached for one of his guns and loaded it. You lightly hit his arm and scolded,

"I can always buy a new plushie. You can't buy a new brother."

Jason raised an eyebrow. He definitely could buy a new brother. He could bring Bruce an orphan and his baby fever would take over. What's Bruce going to do if Jason shows up with a baby who was recently orphaned? Adopt them, of course.

"You underestimate Bruce's baby fever. He would adopt the whole orphanage if he could fit them all in the manor."

You shook your head with amusement in your eyes. You pointed out,

"You would become the eldest if he was killed. All your brothers would go to you for advice on life experiences."

Jason sighed and put the gun away. Fine. You win this round. He doesn't want to deal with his family any more than he has to anyway. He pulled you into a calming kiss. It soothed his aggression instantaneously. He practically melts into your arms. He is excited to spend his life with you.

Your beautiful boyfriend may be rough around the edges, but you love the chips and scratches.

#gn reader #jason todd x reader #x reader #batfam x reader

306 notes · View notes

cyberhughes · 3 days ago

Note

Could I please get a rum & coke? #17 with Connor Bedard

cyberhughes 200 follower special ⋆ .˚

rum & coke coming up!!

prompt #17: "i can't get you out of my head."

warnings: breakups, angst angst angst

fuck sorry this one kinda hurt i think im projecting w this one guys LOL (god help me.)

prompt list

connor bedard was the love of your life.

was.

officially, you had been with him for two years, but you knew him longer than that. the two of you sharing a bond stronger than anything throughout your childhood.

it had been one year since the end of said relationship, one year since he had left you crying in front of your apartment as he walked away with your heart, and one year since you had lost your best friend and lover in one fell swoop, your twin flame.

you grieved like never before. it was almost worse than grieving someone who was dead, because he was still out there, keeping your heart captive.

you couldn't even remember what the first few weeks after the breakup were like. you had locked yourself away in your apartment, letting your entire being be consumed by sorrow.

it truly came out of nowhere, the two of you were happy. or at least, you thought you were.

"connor, what are you talking about?" your smile faltered as he stood in front of you, hands in his pockets while he stared at you with that emotionless expression he always had. "it's just not working." his words rang in your ears and you could feel the reality settle in.

your lips moved to speak but shut just as quickly. you didn't know what to say, how could you? the two of you just worked, he was your soulmate and you were his. he had seen every part of you, felt every part of you, taken every part of you. you gave him your everything,

so what the hell wasn't working?

that's the question that you had destroyed yourself over for the past year. when connor left you, he had taken a piece of your soul with him, and you weren't sure if you'd ever get it back. and so, you'd spend the rest of your life yearning for that piece, yearning for him.

while you were together he was always on your mind of course, but now it felt as if he had taken over you, your thoughts consumed by nothing more than him. you could only think of the sound of his comforting voice, which was now starting to fade away. you could only think of the way his smile could make your heart melt in an instant. you could only think of the way his lips molded to yours as he kissed you. it was like he had left a poison in you when he left, ensuring that he would be the only one you'd ever love.

it wasn't healthy, is what your friends told you. it wasn't healthy to still be hung up on your ex boyfriend after a whole year. but he was more than that, he was your partner, in every sense of the word. you had gone through everything with him, been there for him when no one else was.

now the only thing you were going through was his instagram, scrolling the feed that had already been graced by that little red heart. he was doing good, better than good. maybe you were holding him back, not allowing him to shine as bright as he could. that's all you ever wanted for him, so why couldn't you accept this?

you found yourself going through old photos and texts, not having deleted his number even after a year. soon you found your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts, your mind daring you to call him.

and so you did.

it rang once.

then it rang twice.

and just as it was about to ring that third time, as you were about to hang up knowing he'd never respond, you heard his voice.

"hello?" he spoke softly and you felt your whole body tense as you heard the voice that you once sought out for comfort. sure, you had put yourself in this situation, but you didn't think he would actually pick up.

your breath was shaky as you spoke, "i can't..." your voice cracked, and you were glad he couldn't see you in this pathetic state.

"y/n?"

"i can't get you out of my head." your voice was barely above a whisper, yet he caught every single word.

"it's been a year." he spoke sternly, as if you didn't recognize that, and suddenly it felt like you were being transported right back to that night where he had first broken your heart.

your eyes welled with tears as you heard him sigh over the phone, did he not miss you the way you missed him?

"why did you end it?" you asked, feeling your heartrate increase, you shouldn't have called him like this.

"y/n why are you-"

"tell me." you pleaded as the tears fell down onto your cheeks. a lifetime ago he would've been the one to wipe them away, telling you he'd never let anything hurt you, but he ended up being the one to.

the other end went silent for a moment before he spoke, "i didn't love you anymore."

you felt your heart drop deeper than it ever had, never expecting him to answer in such a way. "why? did i do something wrong?" you didn't know why you bothered asking, he didn't give you a reason then, and he probably wouldn't now.

"i had more important things to focus on." he rubbed salt in the wound, as if you were never important to him. as if you weren't the first name he'd call for whenever something happened to him, as if you weren't the one to carry his weight when he felt like he couldn't continue, as if you weren't the one who kept the flame of his soul alight. he didn't care as much as you did, he never did.

and so you hung up.

call ended.

connor looked down at his phone, "fuck." his lip quivered as he tried to hold it together.

you were always the most important thing to him, and that's why he had to let you go. he didn't want to tie you down, a ball and chain keeping you from pursuing your own dreams as you followed him around the nhl.

he knew you'd be alright eventually, and he knew that you’d find someone who could give you all their love in ways he couldn’t. after all he knew you better than you knew yourself.

and that's why he selfishly kept a piece of your heart, because he never truly wanted to let you go.

#˗ˏˋ 200 special ˎˊ˗#connor bedard #connor bedard fic #connor bedard x reader #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard angst #chicago blackhawks #cb98 #bedsy

86 notes · View notes

myjjongie · 19 hours ago

Text

☾ BETWEEN SCARS AND KISSES ── p. jongseong

IN WHICH: the vampire you found one night always crashes at your place when he feels like it. only this time he's severely hurt.

PAIRING: vampire!jay x human!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, slight angst (not sure if its slightly or a lot LOL), minor fluff, skinship, mentions of blood/wounds. scars WORD COUNT: 2.2k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: i intended for this to be cuter but then remembered its vampire jay and i needed to make you all miserable :3 i love being evil. also sorry for making this late, really wanted to post this one right away.

the soft clicking of your keyboard echoed within your quiet bedroom. you paused for a moment as you began to think about something or perhaps someone.

it had been months since you last saw jay. your brows furrowed as worry settled in. you couldn’t help but count as the number of days turned into weeks then months. negative thoughts began to plague your mind as you continued to think about him. the worst part? you had no way of reaching him. he always turned up on his own terms and you could do nothing but wait.

waiting for jay to show up on his own was always frustrating. but what made it more difficult, what made jay different. was the fact he was a vampire.

your thoughts drifted to the first night you met jay. the memory so vivid as if it all happened yesterday. you were exhausted, tired legs dragging you home. the only thing on your mind being the comfort of your bed. but when taking that shortcut to your apartment did you see him.

at the time jay looked like a regular human who got beat up. left there all alone in the alleyway you couldn’t help but worry. feeling bad for him your meek body dragged his heavier set body back to your apartment. once there you treated all his wounds, which at the time were only surface level.

once satisfied with your not so perfect patchwork. you sat on the floor beside your bed. exhaustion soon taking over you. unbeknownst to you the mysterious man would wake up a couple hours later.

your body awoke at the ominous feeling of someone hovering over you. once your eyelashes fluttered open did you meet unfamiliar burgundy red eyes. your body was now shocked awake. before you could say anything was when you realized the band-aids that scatter his face were gone. it was as if he never had any wounds to begin with. there was no way that was possible, you remembered the red bruising so vividly.

before any words could be exchanged between yourself and him he left. you sat there for months trying to figure out if what happened was real or a dream. that was until one night he came knocking on your balcony window. you finally found out then what his name was and who he was.

blinking back to reality you stared at the bright screen. pushing away from your desk you lightly stretched before getting up from your chair. after doing so a loud sound was heard from outside your balcony window. the sound made your body jump causing your heart to race in your chest. slowly making your way over to the window your shaking hands peeled back the curtain.

relief washed over you as your eyes recognized the figure outside. sliding the glass door open you let out a shaky laugh.

“you know the whole disappearing act then showing up whenever you please, isn’t good for my heart. you scared me half to death.” you waited for his signature smirk, a teasing remark, anything. but jay stood there silent.

“jay?” you weakly called out to him. there was still no reply from him. that’s when you saw it. the blood. his body swayed slightly, almost as if he was barely holding himself together.

before jay could collapse your smaller frame caught him into your arms. you stumbled back a bit, your back pressed against the glass. panic surged through you, adrenaline dulling the strain of your struggle as you carried jay’s limp body to the bathroom.

you caught your breath after leaning him against the bathtub. once you were done did you notice his eyes flutter open. jay took note of your worried face. his own face twisted in pain as he tried to stand up, in the end jay was still seated on the floor.

“yn. i’m fine. it’s not that big of a deal.” his voice was hoarse and weak as he urged you to stop.

“what do you mean not that big of a deal! you’re at my window bleeding how can you say that!” tears started to burn into your eyes. you would be lying if you denied feeling at least something for jay. to see him this hurt and wounded in front of you made you feel anxious.

“yn..” his hand found its way to yours that was desperately clutched to his leather jacket. he could feel the way your body trembled.

jay knew it wasn’t out of fear but with concern. huffing out a weakened sigh he sat himself up a bit to undress himself from the jacket and shirt. letting him take his time you got up to find your first aid kit. once coming back to him, you finally saw his bare body for the first time. you weren’t prepared to see how many scars adorned his chest.

your eyes immediately noticed the gash on his abdomen. due to jay’s healing factor the deep cut was closing. even though it was healing it was at a slow rate. the piercing red blood that drenched his body slowly faded into a deep red.

settling down in-between his legs on the floor, you immediately got to work. you wrapped bandages across his body to stop the flow of the blood oozing out from the wound.

the tears in your eyes trickled as you continued on with your work. so worried about helping jay you didn’t notice his hand come up to tuck away the hair that was in your face. the moment you realized his gentle comfort was the moment he wiped away a stray tear.

you looked up at him your watery eyes studying his face. his eyebrows were knitted into a frown as he continued to stare at you.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you sniffled out still busy with the task at hand.

“i don’t like it when you cry.” jay softly said as his finger gently caressed your cheek.

“who’s fault is that hmm?”

jay hummed back in response as his hand still lingered on your face. you couldn’t help but notice the way jay softly rubbed his thumb on your lower cheek. not saying anything about it you finished up bandaging him. before saying something, jay cut you off.

“i didn’t realize you had a beauty mark here.” his words were soft as he continuously stared.

at the mention of the beauty mark on your face your eyes couldn’t help but look at the birth mark on his neck. it was quite fascinating how the mark was faintly shaped like a heart. next to his birth mark displayed fang marks, you always knew those marks were from a vampire but never dwelled much on it to ask him. you could tell he never truly wanted to speak on it. shaking your head from your thoughts your focus went back to the kit.

“you’d be surprised i have a lot all over honestly.” you let out a gentle laugh as you began to pack everything away.

once the first aid kit was closed was when you finally took the moment to examine jay’s chest. you never noticed how many scars truly littered his body. there were faint ones that were barely recognizable to the eye. accompanied with those were a couple big ones that looked as if it took many months to heal. without realizing it your fingers were gently running across the scar that occupied the middle of his chest. jay let out a ragged breath at your gentle touch.

it looked as if he took a slash from a sword or something even sharper and bigger than that. you took note of how the skin stretched together to fix itself. as your fingers traced along the healed wound you felt the way it was slightly raised yet rough.

“did this one hurt?” you asked softly, fingers tracing the distinctive mark. the silence in the bathroom made your voice sound small.

“in the moment it did. but once my body let it heal it wasn’t so bad after.”

“i see.” your voice trailed off as you noticed a scar that looked as if he got pierced by something.

the jagged edges resembled that of a spiderweb. the placement of this scar was on the upper left of his chest. all you could think about was how close the wound was to his heart. this one would have, no it could have killed him. your eyes began to water again at the thought of jay facing death on multiple occasions. the tears that brimmed at the edge of your eyes fell onto his chest. jay looked down at you studying the way your body trembled as you cried.

“why are you crying again?” his voice was a soothing coo as he began to wipe your tears away for a second time.

“thinking about how much you suffered makes me sad. i’m sorry.” your voice cracked as more tears left your eyes.

“don’t be sorry. i’m okay now yn isn’t that all that should matter?”

“yes but.” a sigh left your lips at the loss of words you had. it was true jay was here now so why were you crying about things that happened in his past. you couldn’t deny that the wounds you saw before you made you feel sorrow.

once your tears dried up a second time jay spoke.

“you were right yn. i am surprised at how many beauty marks you have.”

“where did that come from?” you let out a soft laugh. your body softly trembled at the cold touch of jay’s fingers trail along your neck.

his fingers gently tapped across any mark he noticed. the feeling sending a shiver down your back.

“you know. i heard a saying. every beauty mark or mole someone has was where their lover kissed them in their past life.” jay’s voice came out in a low tone as he eyed the dots that were scattered along your chest and face.

“then i guess my lover loved me deeply in my past life.” you smiled at the concept of what beauty marks and moles could represent. your smile immediately faltered as you felt the warmth of something press against your skin.

looking down you saw jay’s face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. he laid butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck. the feeling was ticklish yet it felt right. a light whimper left your lips as you felt his sharp teeth nibble into your skin.

“jay…” your voice was a gentle hush. your fingers tangled into his hair for support.

despite knowing jay for a year, not once did he ever try to take your blood. if he was gonna do it now you were prepared for the impending pain. your eyes closed shut as you waited for his fangs to pierce into you. yet his fangs never broke into your skin. you hesitantly blinked open your eyes to see that familiar color of burgundy. as well as the faint mole under his left eye you’ve adored the moment you noticed it.

jay’s eyes held a hunger you recognized all too well. a desire he never truly allowed himself to indulge on. a desire to sink his fangs into you and taste your blood. you could always see it whenever he lingered close to you.

yet feeling this way he never gave in to it. he knew deep down if he did he might hurt you or worse lose you. his firm hands gripped your shoulder as he pushed your body away from his. he quickly stood up from the ground as he gathered up his shirt and jacket. he walked past you leaving the bathroom.

matching his pace you hurried yourself up from the floor following behind him.

“where are you going you’re still hurt?!” you couldn’t help but scream out to him watching as he made his way to the balcony.

his movements stopped, back faced to you unwilling to turn around. your eyes took in the scars that cascaded along his back. it dawned on you that everywhere on his body were full of wounds. wounds that he would never truly open up about. not now, not any time soon.

“i’ll see you later yn. okay?” as jay stood there he quickly put on the shirt covered in his blood. one hand opening the window ready to leave as the other tightly held his leather jacket.

“jay please…” your voice wavered reaching out to him. but he wouldn’t turn around to meet you. watching him walk away from you, you could feel your heart break apart. you should be mad at him. but all you could think about was whether jay would be okay. his body still battered with wounds.

your fingers twitched at your side. aching to reach for his hand hoping to stop him. but before you could even think of moving jay’s voice stopped you.

“i’m sorry yn. i’ll be back…” jay faintly turned his body to take one more quick glance at you. satisfied at seeing your face one last time, he vanished into the night.

you rushed to the balcony in hopes of getting one last glimpse of him, but he was already gone. only the faint glow of the street lamps illuminating the dark street remained.

perm taglist ( open! send a ask to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

104 notes · View notes

meinii · 18 hours ago

Text

“just a few more minutes”

summary: Dawnbreaker Zayne gets to spend a day with you, but only a day

content: angst, fluff, ♡Dawnbreaker Zayne♡

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

Dawnbreaker Zayne thought he was dreaming when his eyes fluttered open, met with the soft glow of morning light filtering through pastel curtains. the scent of something faintly floral lingered in the air, a comforting contrast to the acrid stench of smoke and blood he was used to. but what truly made him question his reality was the warmth in his arms—the warmth of you.

you were curled against him, your breathing soft and even, as if you belonged there. his heartbeat stuttered. his hand, rough from years of survival, hesitantly brushed against your back, feeling the solid, steady rise and fall of your breathing.

this wasn’t right.

his world wasn’t made of plushies, soft blankets, and pink decor

it was fire and ruin, desperation and loss. but here, in this unfamiliar softness, he felt something he had long forgotten—peace

he didn’t want to move.

he wanted to lie here forever, absorbing every detail of you, committing it to memory so he could carry it back into the darkness when this illusion inevitably shattered

a small hum slipped from your lips as you stirred, and when your eyes met his, they gleamed with warmth

“morning, Zayne” you murmured, stretching lazily before nuzzling into his shoulder

he swallowed down the tightness in his throat. you didn’t know. of course, you didn’t

to you, this was just another morning

“morning” he echoed, his voice lower than usual, heavier. you didn’t seem to notice

“you okay?” you tilted your head at him, but before he could answer, you were already sitting up, stretching your arms. “come on, let’s make breakfast. I’m starving”

just like that, you pulled him into motion, never questioning why he seemed a little slower, a little quieter

in the kitchen, the two of you moved in sync. he watched as you flipped pancakes, completely at ease. at one point, you got a little too excited about adding chocolate chips and ended up flicking flour onto your nose

“you’re a mess” he murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to wipe it off. you only grinned

“and yet, you still love me.”

his hands stilled. his breath hitched.

he couldn’t say it.

couldn’t let the words leave his lips because they would make this too real. and real things never lasted for him

so instead, he just nodded, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before stepping away.

the day stretched out in a perfect haze. He let himself enjoy it, knowing—knowing—it would end.

at the local café, you tried new pastries together, laughing when he got powdered sugar on his cheek. you held up a small keychain shaped like a tiny snowman and insisted he get the matching one—a little snowflake. he had no reason to refuse you

later, you dragged him to a store, playfully demanding that you buy matching pajamas. “come on, just this once! no one else has to know”

as if anyone from his world would be around to see

he let you pick out a set. soft fabric, warm colors—so different from the heavy coats he usually wore

and when night fell, you curled up beside him again, completely unaware of the weight pressing down on him.

he should have told you. should have warned you.

but he couldn’t.

he couldn’t bear to see the hurt in your eyes, the way your smile would fade into something fragile and breaking

so instead, he stayed silent, letting you rest against his chest as your breathing slowed. his fingers traced absent patterns against your back, memorizing the way you felt in his arms.

his eyelids felt heavy, but he fought to stay awake.

not yet.

he wanted just a few more minutes.

just a few more moments to hold you in this warmth before the cold claimed him again.

your breathing evened out, you were asleep

his lips pressed softly against your forehead

“thank you” he whispered, the words never meant to be heard

then, he let his eyes close

and when morning came, he was gone.

85 notes · View notes

asterafroditis · 1 day ago

Text

𐔌 . ⋮ not too late to run .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 1005 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, light angst, hurt/comfort

part 1 was originally supposed to be like this but I already reached my desired word count and got lazy. But then again I thought it'd be a waste to just let go of my original idea kwhah

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul didn’t move when the door shut behind you.

Didn’t exhale, didn’t let his shoulders slump, didn’t let his carefully crafted mask crack even as he sat there, staring blankly at the empty space you had just occupied.

He had always been good at self-control.

But this time—this time, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it together.

Because you were gone.

Because you were going to confess to someone else.

Because he had just let you.

His hands clenched the edge of his desk, white-knuckled, as the weight of it finally settled in his chest. This was his fault. He had waited too long, let fear keep him silent, convinced himself that as long as he never heard the words I don’t feel the same, then there was still a chance.

But there never was, was there?

You had come to him. You had trusted him.

And he had smiled and given you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t breaking apart inside.

Azul swallowed hard, forcing himself to think. He could let this be the end of it. He could let you go, let you confess, let you be happy with someone else. He could accept the consequences of his cowardice and never speak of it again.

He could.

But he wouldn’t.

Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose.

But he had already lost you.

So for the first time in his life, he took the gamble.

And he ran.

You had made it halfway down the hallway when you heard it.

Your name—called in a voice you had never once heard Azul use before.

Desperate.

Out of breath.

Afraid.

You turned, shocked, just in time to see him skid to a stop in front of you, hands braced on his knees as he panted. His glasses were slightly askew, his usually pristine uniform wrinkled as if he had barely taken the time to fix himself before sprinting after you.

You had never seen him like this before.

“…Azul?”

He straightened up, his breathing still uneven, and opened his mouth—then hesitated.

You frowned.

"What are you—"

"Don't." His voice came out sharp, firmer than you had ever heard it. "Don't do it."

You blinked. "Do what?"

Azul swallowed, looking at you with something raw in his expression, something unguarded. "Don't confess to them."

Silence.

Your breath caught.

He took a step closer, his eyes dark and serious in a way that made your heart pound. "I—I know I have no right to say this," he admitted, voice wavering. "And if—if you truly care for them, if this is what you want, then I will step aside."

He took a shaky breath, his hands clenched at his sides. "But if there's even a part of you that—that isn't sure—" He swallowed hard. "Then please. Please, don't say it."

Your fingers curled around the hem of your uniform.

"You idiot," you whispered.

Azul flinched.

"You absolute idiot," you repeated, louder this time, and before he could react, you reached forward and grabbed the front of his uniform, yanking him toward you.

He tensed, startled, but didn’t pull away.

"You think I actually liked them?" Your voice shook. "You think I would’ve gone to you of all people if I did?"

Azul’s lips parted slightly, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. "You were scared of losing me?" Your grip on his uniform tightened. "I was testing you."

Azul froze.

"What?"

"You never acted, Azul. Not once. I thought— I thought you didn’t care. That if you really wanted me, you would’ve done something. But you just— you just sat there."

His throat bobbed, something breaking in his expression. "I—"

"You let me go," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Azul was silent.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

"I was afraid," he admitted. "Of losing you. Of ruining everything. Of hearing you tell me that I wasn’t good enough."

Your breath hitched.

"But nothing," Azul whispered, eyes dark and desperate, "nothing was more terrifying than watching you walk away."

Your fingers clenched tighter in his uniform.

"Then don’t let me."

Azul stared at you, unblinking, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

But then—slowly, hesitantly—his hands came up to grasp your wrists, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you might disappear.

"I wouldn’t dare," he whispered.

And then, as if something in him finally broke, he pulled you close.

You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around you, tentative at first, then firm, as if grounding himself in your presence. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath shaky against your neck.

"You were never supposed to be just another risk," he murmured, voice barely audible. "You were the only thing I was ever too afraid to lose."

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet vulnerability in them.

Azul Ashengrotto—the cunning businessman, the sharp-tongued strategist, the ever-calculating perfectionist—was holding onto you like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers if he so much as blinked.

And you had spent so long waiting for this.

Carefully, you lifted a hand to cup his cheek, guiding his face toward yours. He sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers brushed over his skin, but he didn’t pull away.

For the first time since this whole mess started, he didn’t retreat.

"You should’ve told me sooner," you whispered.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

So you decided to take the risk for him.

Leaning in, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his cheek. Azul inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around your wrists. You could feel his heartbeat against your own, rapid and unsteady.

"You won’t lose me," you murmured against his skin. "Not if you don’t let go."

Azul’s breath hitched—then, in the faintest voice, barely more than a whisper—

"Never."

And as he finally, finally pulled you closer, you knew neither of you would ever wait again.

61 notes · View notes

bettys-redwinesupernova · 2 hours ago

Text

FEAR OF WATER

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after an abusive past, y/n struggles with toxic communication in her relationship with rafe. when fear pushes her away, love teaches her to stay.

based on this ask !! this was a really angsty and emotional one to write and i LOVED it anon, so thank you, and apologies it’s taken a while <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: angst w/ a comforting ending, slightly toxic!reader (unintentional), emotional abuse (by readers ex), trauma responses, arguing, crying, cursing, soft!rafe, fear of letting people in, flinching, detailed descriptions of emotional abuse & manipulation. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

THIRD PERSON +

The slam of the front door rattled the picture frames on the walls, the weight of Y/N’s footsteps heavy against the wooden floor as she stormed into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking—she hated that they always did when she was this upset. It made her feel weak, even when the anger inside her burned so hot she thought it might consume her entirely.

Rafe followed behind, slower, guarded. He had that look in his eyes again—the one that made her stomach twist with guilt before she could even process why. The look of someone who was tired, not from the fight itself, but from the exhaustion of never knowing how the next argument would go.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this,” she spat, her voice sharper than she intended. “You know exactly what you did.”

Rafe exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Y/N, I don’t—what did I do? Just tell me.”

His calmness made her angrier. It made her feel unheard, like he wasn’t taking this seriously. Her brain was wired to expect resistance, to expect gaslighting, to prepare for the fight that had always followed in her past relationship.

“You said you’d call, and you didn’t. You do this all the time, Rafe. You make promises, and then you break them, like it doesn’t even matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he said carefully. “I got caught up at work. I should’ve called, I’m sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. There’s always an excuse.”

He frowned, stepping closer, but she took a step back, arms folding over her chest like she was shielding herself from an attack that wasn’t coming. He sighed, something pained flickering across his face.

“Do you hear how you’re talking to me right now?” His voice was quiet, not angry, not defensive—just… tired.

And that was when it hit her.

She wasn’t even really arguing with him. Not Rafe. Not the boy who held her when she had nightmares, who traced circles on her back when she was overwhelmed, who had never once raised his voice at her even when she threw words like daggers. She was arguing with the ghost of the man who had hurt her before, who had made her feel like she had to fight to be heard, to be understood.

Her chest tightened, shame creeping up her spine.

She was training him.

She was teaching Rafe—patient, loving Rafe—that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be good enough for her. That he’d always be walking on eggshells, waiting for the next time he slipped up and she lashed out.

She was turning him into someone who feared her.

The realisation knocked the air from her lungs, and before she could stop herself, her feet were already moving, carrying her toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Rafe called, but she couldn’t—she couldn’t.

If she let him say something kind, if she let him look at her with that soft, exhausted sadness in his eyes, she’d break down right in front of him.

She barely registered getting into her car, barely noticed the shaking of her hands as she fumbled with the keys.

And then she was driving.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she blinked them away furiously, but they just kept coming, spilling down her cheeks in hot, silent streams.

She had pushed him too far this time.

She knew it—knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that there was only so much someone could take.

She wanted to be better. She needed to be better. But how could she, when she didn’t even know what that looked like? When she had spent so long being told that love was a battlefield, that the only way to be heard was to yell louder, fight harder?

She should’ve let Rafe in. She should’ve told him why she reacted the way she did, why she felt like she had to accuse before she could be accused, hurt before she could be hurt.

But it was too late.

She had to leave before he could do it to her.

Because that’s what she had been taught—that love never stayed, that sooner or later, they always left.

And she’d rather be the one walking away than the one being abandoned.

The thought shattered something inside her, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself sob.

—

Rafe had never felt this kind of exhaustion before.

It wasn’t the kind that came after a long day working in the heat or the kind that settled in his bones after a sleepless night. No, this was different. It was the weight of not knowing—the crushing uncertainty of whether or not he had just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He hadn’t stopped calling since the moment Y/N ran out of his house. The first few went straight to voicemail. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a text finally came through.

I’m safe. I just need some space.

The relief had been instant—so strong that his knees nearly buckled. But it didn’t last long. Because the truth was, she might be safe, but she wasn’t okay.

And the worst part? He didn’t know how to fix it.

Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, phone still clutched in his hands, staring at the screen like it might give him the answers he needed. But there were no answers—just the hollow ache in his chest and the endless loop of their fight playing over and over again in his head.

It wasn’t the argument itself that unsettled him. Couples fought—it was normal. He and Y/N had had disagreements before, sure, but never like this.

The way she’d looked at him tonight wasn’t how someone looked at the person they loved. It was how someone looked at a threat.

And that… that was what haunted him the most.

Rafe never wanted to be something Y/N had to defend herself against.

His thoughts raced, trying to piece together why she had reacted the way she did. It wasn’t like he’d done anything that bad—he’d forgotten to call. That was all. It wasn’t like he lied, or cheated, or intentionally hurt her. And yet, the second he tried to explain, she had shut down, turned on him, twisted it into something it wasn’t.

It was almost like… she expected him to hurt her.

The realisation hit him hard.

Y/N had mentioned her ex before, offhandedly. Just a couple of times. She never said much, just that he was shitty, that he messed her up.

But this… this was more than just the baggage of a bad breakup. This was damage.

And if there was anyone who might have more answers, it was Sarah.

—

Sarah wasn’t surprised when she opened the door to find Rafe standing there, disheveled and tense, like he’d been pacing for hours.

She sighed, leaning against the frame. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Did she tell you?”

Sarah nodded her head. “She sent me a short text. It was reallt vague, but I gathered it wasn’t good.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I just… I don’t understand. She got so defensive. It was like—like she thought I was trying to hurt her. And when I tried to calm things down, it just made her angrier.”

Sarah’s expression softened. “Rafe…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You know her last relationship wasn’t good, right?”

“She said it was shitty, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realise how bad.”

Sarah sighed, crossing her arms. “Her ex was emotionally abusive. Manipulative. The kind of guy who’d twist things until she thought she was the problem. He made her question everything. Gaslit her, isolated her. It took her forever to get out.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted.

Y/N had never told him any of that.

Sarah continued, her voice quieter now. “She’s not like this because she wants to be, Rafe. It’s a trauma response. She learned to survive by being defensive. By fighting back first before she could be blamed. And now, even when she’s with someone who actually loves her, it’s hard to unlearn that.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his jaw tight. He could see it now, see how it all fit together.

How the moment something felt like it could go wrong, Y/N would push him away. How she always needed control over the situation, how she sometimes twisted his words—not because she wanted to hurt him, but because that’s how she had survived before.

She wasn’t fighting him. She was fighting the past.

Sarah sighed. “I don’t want to say more—it’s not my story to tell. But if you really care about her, you’ll be patient. She needs to learn how to trust that you’re not him.”

Rafe nodded, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I do care,” he muttered. “More than I probably should.”

Sarah gave him a small, sad smile. “Then don’t give up on her yet.”

—

Rafe sat in his truck, staring at the dark road ahead, his mind still reeling from everything Sarah had told him.

It all made sense now.

It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t love him. It wasn’t even that she wanted to hurt him. It was that she didn’t know any different.

And that broke his fucking heart.

He thought about the way she looked at him when they weren’t fighting—when she was curled up in his arms, or when she laughed at something stupid he said, or when she kissed him like he was the only thing keeping her steady.

That was her.

Not the girl who lashed out. Not the girl who pushed and twisted things in an attempt to stay in control.

He couldn’t let this be the thing that ended them.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that Y/N deserved to be loved the right way. She deserved someone who wouldn’t run just because loving her required patience.

She deserved someone who would stay.

And if that meant showing up even when she didn’t know how to ask him to—if that meant proving to her that he wasn’t like the man who hurt her—then he’d do it.

He threw the truck into drive, determination settling in his chest.

He needed to see her.

He needed to talk to her.

So Rafe headed towards his place to grab his phone before heading to Y/N’s to fix things.

He had barely stepped into his house when the knock echoed through the quiet space.

He frowned, glancing toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and after the night he’d had, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for surprises. But when he pulled it open, his breath caught in his throat.

Y/N stood there, her frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands as she twisted the fabric between trembling fingers. Her eyes—blood-shot and swollen from crying—met his with a hesitance that made his chest ache.

She looked afraid.

Not of him.

But of what came next.

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been crying for hours. Maybe she had. The weight of everything unsaid hung between them, thick and suffocating. Rafe wanted to say something, anything, but she beat him to it.

And when she spoke, the words tumbled out in a frantic, shaky rush.

“I—God, I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, sniffing as she swiped a sleeve under her nose. “I just—I need to say this before I lose my nerve.”

Rafe nodded slowly, heart pounding. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath, and then, like a dam breaking, everything spilled out.

“My ex—he wasn’t just shitty, Rafe. He was toxic. He—he manipulated me, controlled me, made me think I was losing my mind. Every time we fought, he’d twist my words until I couldn’t even tell what was real anymore. And when I got upset, that became the problem. I was the problem. He convinced me I was crazy. That I was too much, too sensitive, too difficult to love.”

Her voice cracked, and Rafe’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He had felt it before—the anger, the quiet rage that settled deep in his bones whenever he thought about the way Y/N’s past had left its mark on her. But now, hearing her say it aloud, it burned white-hot in his veins.

“I spent so much time walking on eggshells, just waiting for the next thing he’d use against me,” she continued, voice thick with emotion. “So eventually, I just… I learned to fight back first. Before he could get the upper hand. Before he could make me feel small again.”

Rafe swallowed hard, feeling something inside him break at the way she spoke—like she still carried the weight of it all, like she still believed she was the problem.

“Y/N,” he started, but she shook her head.

“I need to finish,” she whispered. “Please.”

He nodded, his throat tight.

She exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean to treat you like him. I swear I didn’t. But I don’t know how else to be. Every time we fight, I feel like I have to defend myself before you can hurt me. But you never do. You’re nothing like him, Rafe. You’ve never made me feel small, never made me question myself. You’re the only person I’m actually terrified of losing, so tonight—” Her voice wavered. “Tonight, I left before you could.”

Rafe felt his heart shatter.

She had run because she thought he’d leave her. That he’d get tired of her, of the way she struggled to let go of the past.

She didn’t realise he never would.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she barely seemed to notice, too lost in her own confession.

“I don’t want to be like this,” she whispered, voice raw with desperation. “I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to hurt you just because I don’t know what healthy love is supposed to look like.”

“Y/N…” Rafe’s voice broke, and suddenly, he was moving—closing the space between them, cupping her face in his hands with a gentleness that made her shudder.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, she just leaned into his touch, like she was memorising the feeling of him still being there.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rafe. I know I’ve been difficult, I know I’ve been hard to love, but please—please don’t go anywhere.”

He felt his own tears spill over at that—at the sheer, heartbreaking fear in her voice.

She thought he was going to leave.

She truly believed that he’d wake up one day and decide she wasn’t worth it.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his grip tightening like he was afraid she might slip away again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Ever.”

Her breath hitched, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, like she was trying to anchor herself to him.

“I promise,” he continued, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You are not too much. You are not difficult to love. I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe that, I’m not going anywhere.”

A sob wracked through her body, but this time, it wasn’t just pain—it was relief.

And then, in the quietest voice, she whispered, “I’ll get help.”

Rafe pulled back slightly, searching her eyes.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I want to get better. I want to be better. For us.”

She let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and determination.

“Now I’m not afraid of the water,” she whispered. “I’ll dive right in. And I can be brave, so I’m gonna give it a try.” Her lip trembled. “Because I know you’ll be on the other side.”

Rafe’s heart clenched.

Because for the first time since she had come into his life, Y/N wasn’t running.

She was staying.

And so was he.

Rafe cradled her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, his own tears still slipping down his cheeks.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “I’ll always be right here.”

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she let herself fall into his embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, Rafe knew—this was what love was supposed to be.

Messy. Imperfect. But real.

And this time, neither of them were afraid of stepping into unknown waters.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

thank you so much for this request anon, i love me some angst !! pls keep requesting everyone, i am working my way through them and i have like four in my drafts rn to be edited so stay tuned !!

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

79 notes · View notes

unknvhx · 3 days ago

Text

bound by you

the knocking was relentless.

you sat on the floor, back against the door, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling in your lap. your phone buzzed beside you, but you didn’t need to check the screen.

you knew who it was.

you knew what he wanted.

“baby,” his voice came from the other side, muffled but urgent. “open the door.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as if he could see you. “go away, matt.”

“i can’t,” he said, voice low and strained. “you know I can’t.”

tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. not for him. not after what you’d seen, the image was still burned into your mind, that photo of him, tangled up in someone else, and that you weren’t even suprised that he’d done this again. the excuses, the lies, the desperate words that it wasn’t what it looked like. you had heard it all before.

“please, just listen to me,” he begged, pressing his forehead against the door. “i need to explain.”

“you don’t need to explain anything, matt, i saw it. i saw you. again.” your voice broke on the last word, and you hated yourself for it.

silence.

“you know you can’t leave me.”

your breath hitched.

“you love me, baby. you know you do.” his voice was warm, coaxing, wrapping around you like a lullaby. “and you wanna open this door.”

you shook your head, but your hand twitched against the doorknob.

no. no, you weren’t going to do this. Not again.

matt knocked once, twice, then let out a shaky breath. “I swear on everything, it’s not what you think. I would never—”

“stop,” you whispered, gripping your head. “stop lying to me.”

“i’m not lying,” he said immediately, voice breaking. “i swear, baby, i—fuck. i love you. i love you so much. you can’t leave me.”

his desperation cracked something inside you. Because despite everything, you knew he meant it. he loved you. In the most twisted, chaotic way, Matt loved you.

you sniffled, as your heart beat at your chest negging to be let go.

more knocking.

“baby, please,” he whispered. “i need you.”

you hated how much those words affected you. you hated how, even now, your body ached to be near him. how your heart craved the warmth of his arms, the safety of his presence, even though he was the one who had shattered you.

you fingers curled around the doorknob.

“i hate you,” you murmured.

“no, you don’t,” he said instantly, his voice so sure, so certain.

and you hated that he was right.

with shaking hands, you turned the lock.

the door swung open, and before you could react, matt was there. warm, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. you collapsed into him, sobbing, your fists gripping his hoodie.

“there you go, baby,” he murmured, holding you tighter. “let it out.”

your body shook against him, heartache pouring out in messy, broken sobs. and he held you like he hadn’t just been the cause of your pain. like he wasn’t the reason you felt like you were falling apart.

“i hate you,” you choked out again, weaker this time.

matt pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “no, you don’t.”

you let out a hollow laugh, burying your face in his chest. he smelled the same, like cologne and warmth and something uniquely him. and it made you want to scream because how could something so comforting belong to someone who hurt you?

you felt his hand in your hair, his touch gentle. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “i swear, baby, it’s not what you think. i wasn’t, i couldn’t…” He exhaled shakily. “i only want you.”

you wanted to believe him. you really, really did.

“you hurt me,” you whispered.

his grip on you tightened. “i know.”

silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

you pulled back just enough to look up at him. his eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion you couldn’t decipher. his thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you murmured.

his lips twitched into the smallest, saddest smile. “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.”

you inhaled sharply, feeling yourself break all over again.

and then, despite everything, you let him hold you.

because no matter how much he hurt you, no matter how badly you wanted to walk away, you couldn’t.

because he was right, you couldn’t leave him and he knew it.

you didn’t know how long you stood there, wrapped in his arms, but the ache in your chest never faded. it only dulled, just enough for you to breathe again.

matt held you like you were something fragile, something that could shatter completely if he let go because you would, maybe you already had.

you felt his lips brush against your temple, the softest, most careful touch, like he knew he was walking on the thinnest ice. his hand traced slow circles on your back, grounding you, pulling you back from the storm inside your head

buy you knew it wasn’t over, it never really was with him.

your fingers curled against the fabric of his hoodie, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “why do you do this to me?” your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and exhausted.

matt sighed, his arms tightening around you. “i don’t mean to.”

“but you do,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “over and over again, matt.”

he flinched, his jaw tightening. he knew you were right. and yet, here he was, here you were, trapped in this endless cycle that neither of you seemed willing to break.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up. “i don’t want to lose you.”

you let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. “then stop keep giving me reasons to leave”

his eyes darkened, filled with something desperate, something terrifyingly close yours,he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “i don’t know how to be without you.”

your stomach twisted, because that was the problem. matt needed you too. not in a way that was healthy, not in a way that was fair. he needed you in a way that consumed you both, in a way that left you empty and exhausted and still coming back for more.

“you say that now,” you murmured. “but what about tomorrow? What about next week, next month?”

his hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “it wont happen again i promise.”

you swallowed hard, staring up at him, trying to find the truth in his words. but there was none.

and maybe that was the worst part.

because you wanted to believe him.

even after everything.

you closed your eyes, inhaling sharply. “i don’t know if i can keep doing this matt.’’

matt stood in front of you, his eyes filled with something close to fear—like if he blinked, you’d disappear. like he knew you had every reason to walk away.

maybe this was the moment where you finally chose yourself, where you didn’t fall back into his arms, where you didn’t let his apologies and broken promises tether you to him all over again.

his eyes searched yours, something dark and knowing settling in them. he saw it. the way you wanted to leave, the way your lips parted like you were about to tell him to go. but you didn’t.

a slow, almost sad smile tugged at his lips. “you won’t leave me.” his voice wasn’t a question. it wasn’t a plea. it was a quiet, devastating fact.

your chest tightened, your throat burning. “you don’t know that,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, and matt heard it.

his grip on you tightened, pulling you closer, his forehead pressed against yours. “i do,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “because if you really wanted to leave, you would have already.”

tears burned your eyes because he was right. he had been right this whole time. you could tell yourself you hated him, that you were done, that you wanted to walk away, but your hands were still clutching his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. your body was still pressed against his, seeking warmth, seeking comfort.

seeking him.

matt exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “it’s okay, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips down to your cheek, soft and careful. “i’ve got you.”

you shuddered, fists clenching, nails digging into the fabric.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: what happens after these texts. im not sure if i like this but i love writing angst, im also probably going to introduce them soon!

if you want to be tagged in any future posts related to this pairing, matt pieces, or any work in general, comment on my taglist post or dm me <3

credits ↴

orange dividers: @rookthornesartistry

©unknvhx

tags: @useruntold @matt-sturnioloo @chrivsblond @sl4ttformattsturniolo @m1-na @deadpoolissohot @sweetxcheeryx @mattsplaything @itsokaylove @sturnsburna @mxnsonn @annsx03 @sturnboos @emely9274 @sturniologirlzz @strnlslvr @leviosatothestars @malsmind @firexovni

58 notes · View notes

mj-iza-writer · 2 days ago

Text

Caretaker turned Whumper

Whumpee tearfully watched as the guards pulled Caretaker up from cuddling with them on the floor.

"We can cuddle more when I'm back", Caretaker promised as they were led to the door, "everything is alright."

Whumpee nodded and faked a smile.

The door closed behind Caretaker and the guards. Whumpee was alone again.

They huddled into the corner of the room still wrapped in the blanket Caretaker had comforted them with earlier.

"They promised not to hurt you as long as I did what was asked of me. I'm going to do it because I-I need to keep you safe", Caretaker had profusely promised multiple times, "as long as you are safe, t-that is all that matters. Just behave and don't get yourself into trouble while I'm away."

Whumpee was never told what Caretaker had to do to ensure their safety. They didn't dare ask either.

Whumpee jumped when the door opened.

Another guard came in with a tray of food and set it on the metal table.

"Eat."

The guard turned, and started for the door.

"Th-thankyou", Whumpee cautiously spoke.

The guard turned back to them and huffed.

Whumpee cowarded into the corner as much as they could.

The guard reached for the door after hearing Whumpee's whimpered apology.

Caretaker stood in the viewing room.

Someone was being stripped and tied to Caretaker's work bench.

Caretaker watched through the one-way mirror to make sure the setup was correct.

Whumper came in and stood next to Caretaker.

"How's Whumpee doing this afternoon?", Whumper asked curiously.

Caretaker side glanced Whumper before turning to them.

"What?", Whumper shrugged, "I can't ask how one of my prisoners is doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out if you are being serious or if this is one of your sick games", Caretaker frowned.

"I'm being serious. They looked cold yesterday, that's how they got the extra blanket", Whumper talked nonchalantly, "I asked one of the guards to warm up the room. I don't know if you noticed."

"You were in the room?", Caretaker glared, "with Whumpee?"

"Only to give them a blanket and a head pat. They are so brave", Whumper grinned, "trusting you and all."

Caretaker stepped daringly toward Whumper... fist ready to fight.

"Uh-uh", Whumper warned as they pulled out a remote, "I'd hate to ruin their lunch", Whumper pointed at a screen that had video feed of the room Whumpee and Caretaker were kept in.

Caretaker turned quickly to look, "don't", they warned.

Caretaker saw Whumper press the warning button.

"No", Whumpee's whimpers could be heard on the monitor. They quickly reached and felt the shock collar that was locked around their neck, "please, mercy. I didn't do anything", Whumpee pleaded.

"Please don't", Caretaker turned to Whumper, "I-I'm sorry."

"That's more like it", Whumper smirked, "sorry Whumpee, my finger hit the wrong button", Whumper spoke into a mic that connected to the room.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee shakingly shrunk to the floor, abandoning the tray of food they were just about to eat.

"Please tell them to eat", Caretaker pleaded.

The screen turned off, and Caretaker blinked away tears.

"What? Is the big bad Caretaker crying... for some prisoner", Whumper mocked, "is it from the guilt you feel from what you've done to them that drives you to protect them now? Is it some sort of attempt to repent?"

"No, th-they were the only one who forgave me for what I did", Caretaker admitted. They thought back to that night, "they don't see me as the monster you've made me."

A while ago, Caretaker had acted out against Whumper. As punishment, Caretaker had been locked in a full room. Everyone they had tortured for Whumper was also locked in that room with them. Caretaker had taken refuge against the wall and had buried their head into their lap to hide from the hateful but well-deserved torment they were receiving. They were as much a prisoner as everyone else was, but no one understood that. They were just as evil as Whumper.

"That dirt and blood covered hand reached for your hand", Whumper spoke out loud, "such a touching story. Whumpee sat with you all night, even though you had just tortured them earlier."

Caretaker fought back tears.

"How dangerous for yourself to have something weighing you down like that. You are really stuck. Whatever you do could impact that one", Whumper chuckled, "you've always been good at getting answers for me. That's why I let you keep Whumpee with you as a little pet. I figured that it would keep you in line. Plus, I really didn't have any plans for Whumpee. They would have probably died had you not taken them."

Caretaker frowned, "they're not a pet."

"Whatever you say", Whumper laughed, "good luck with this one by the way", Whumper looked into the interrogation room again, "they're a real piece of work. I'll feed the questions in to them like normal."

"Please let me see Whumpee one more time", Caretaker pleaded, "I'll do what I must as per our agreement. Just please."

Whumper nodded at the person in charge of the screens.

A full image of Whumpee came up again.

Caretaker sniffled.

"Whumpee, Caretaker would like you to eat your meal", Whumper talked into the mic.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee jumped at the sound Whumper's voice.

"I hit the button accidentally. You are not going to be shocked right now", Whumper smiled as Whumpee nervously nodded.

"Now go make me proud", Whumper chuckled.

Caretaker rubbing water on fresh wip markings, which caused the prisoner to writh and gasp on the table. Caretaker dug their fingers into the person's abdomen to signify it was completed.

"It seems you think you've finished?", Whumper questioned over the radio, "you finish when I say."

"Th-they answered your questions", Caretaker looked at the glass, "they can't take anymore. They'll die if we continue."

"Someone will be getting electrocuted", Whumper chuckled, "I'm done with that prisoner. They can die now. You either turn the level up to max on the probes attached to them or I'll shock Whumpee. Do you understand."

Whumper pointed at the person, who then turned on a screen in the room Caretaker was in.

"No Whumpee, please don't make me... I can't take a life... I can't do what you are asking me to do."

"Such a shame", Whumper sighed.

Whumpee grabbed the collar and screamed.

"Whumpee", Caretaker yelled, "please stop."

"This will keep happening. Do what you're told", Whumper ordered, "protect your pet."

"I-I'm sorry", Caretaker hurried to the machine.

"No, no, no", the person pleaded.

Caretaker paused before hitting the button.

Whumpee screamed, "Caretaker help!"

Caretaker to panicked and hit the button.

They shielded themself as the prisoner sparked. The screams matched Whumpee's until both quieted.

"How far did you turn that up?", Whumper laughed, "I think you roasted them."

"I-I don't know, you said turn it up. I can't think straight when someone I love is being electrocuted", Caretaker frowned, "Whumpee?"

"A little shaken up... they're fine", Whumper laughed, "good work today. Someone will be in to get you momentarily."

Caretaker cautiously walked around the table. They couldn't look at the smoking body. They only stared at the monitor.

Whumpee had collapsed on the floor and was gasping for breath.

"Please no more" Whumpee mumbled repeatedly between gasp, "please?"

Caretaker hurried into the room and dropped to the floor by Whumpee.

Whumpee whimpered when they saw Caretaker, then tears started to fall.

"I am so sorry", Caretaker pulled them close, "I wasn't fast enough, and you got hurt. I am so sorry."

Whumpee sobbed into Caretaker's chest.

"I-it hurts", Whumpee cried.

"I know, I'm sorry", Caretaker pulled them even closer and sighed, "I'm sorry for everything."

Whumpee calmed a little now that they were in Caretaker's arms.

"I'm so sorry", Caretaker whispered continually, "I'm so sorry". It was the only thing they could say.

Whumpee jumped when the door opened.

Whumper sauntered in.

Whumpee whimpered and hid their face into Caretaker's chest.

"Aw", Whumper circled them both, "if only they knew."

Caretaker glared up at Whumper.

"I'm a bad Whumpee. Please have mercy", Whumpee pleaded.

Caretaker rubbed their back, "no Whumpee. That was my fault. I-I'll...", Caretaker bit their lip, their glare deepened, "I-I'll make sure it doesn't happen again", Caretaker blinked away tears.

They were both very stuck. Caretaker had a weakness, and Whumper was going to use it. There was nothing that could be done to stop it, either. The only way to protect Whumpee was to play Whumper's game.

"I'm glad to hear that", Whumper gleefully turned to the door when they heard someone opening it, "oh look, dinner. I'll leave you both to it then."

Caretaker sighed when they watched the guard come in with two trays.

"I need you to eat Whumpee... come along", Caretaker stood and helped the shaking Whumpee up, "I'll help you eat. I'm so sorry."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whump scenario #whumper #caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #whumpee #torture whump #interrogation #tw. murder #tw. torture #shock collar #caretaking #oc

51 notes · View notes

baestruly · 22 hours ago

Text

the difference between calls ━━ peter sutherland

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ) peter sutherland x fem!reader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IN WHICH there’s an obvious comparison between peter’s first call from you and a call he receives when you are together. when it comes to your safety, peter doesn't play.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - hurt/comfort, panic attacks, kidnapping, reader is rose's sister

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 ━━━━━━━━

Peter sat at his desk, the pen tapping rhythmically against the worn wood. A mountain of paperwork loomed over him ━━ shit, he was behind on that, he never got much sleep, figuring it could wait as he stared blankly at the moving pen.

The sharp sound of ringing made his heart skip a beat. There was no covering the fact peter strived and wished he had a little more than just a desk job ━━ answering calls, more specifically ━━ he lived for the thrill. It was evident from his heart thundering in his chest. answering the night agent's phone was a step up from being a 911 operator, at least.

Until━━

“Go ahead.” He said smoothly, his pen turning in the same hand as he rested his elbow on the desk.

“Um━━uh, night action! night action━━”

The frantic voice on the other end made Peter stiff. The pen stopped twirling between his fingers.

“Yes, hello. Code, please.” He replied, like countless times before. Peter grabbed his binder out from under the desk on the shelf and opened it in front of him, flipping through the pages with his one free hand.

“Please, you have to help up━━oh my god, my sister━━me━━they’re coming after us!” If even possible, the voice was more frantic, gasps heaving in and out from what Peter recognized as a panic attack or something along the lines.

This didn’t seem like his usual business toned atmosphere once he answered. It sounded like they had got the wrong number, he never dealt with situations like this, especially from people who didn’t seem like they knew what to do with the number and him across the line.

“Ma'am, if you don’t have a code━━it seems like you have the wrong number━━”

“No! I have ur flippi━━I have the code gimme a second.” The girl spat. Peter bites his cheek as he hears whispering on the phone━━likely the woman’s sister. “Okay! It’s table, clock, water, fire. You got it, did you━━”

“Yes, I got it.” Peter interrupted, eyes flying through pages in a matter of seconds. Settling on the 80th page, he looks at the code that was given to him. “Is this Benwire or Ramese?”

“What? What even is that?” A pause followed, filled with nervous energy. “They just told us to tell you the code; I don’t know who these people are?”

More whispering ━━ frantically. Peter’s chest tightened as he heard sobbing in the background. This sounded like something 911 would have to deal with.

“What street did your friend Morsese live on?”

The question just seemed to make the hyperventilating worse.

“Maam, are you okay? I can dispatch you to 911 if you’re in any dang ━━ ”

“No, they told us to call you ━━ this number, they made sure of it! God knows they’re probably fucking dead.”

“Whose they?” Peter sat up straighter, urgency sharpening his instincts as he abandoned the paperwork

“Our aunt and uncle, Emma and Henry. Campbell. Emma and Henry Campbell.”

Peter bit his cheek more, holding the phone in a wave of silence. It was clear this girl was probably on the brink of passing out; she wasn’t breathing right. But she wasn’t the only one clueless, Peter had no idea who she was talking about either.

Peter always had his protective instinct towards others in danger ━━ it came in hand with him working in the FBI. If this girl's aunt and uncle told her to call the line it could have some relevance in later reports━━but he wasn’t going to hang up on her yet.

“Hello━━?”

“I’m here. Run me through what’s happening, who’s after you?” Peter asked, his tone less harsh, preparing to do what he thinks he’s always done best ━━ just like on the metro ━━ save people.

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 ━━━━━━━━━

There was something Peter should be used to ━━ but now, with you in his life ━━ he never could be. It was the constant stress he was under, with you being associated with him and not knowing the minute something could blow up and ruin everything.

Ruin your life.

It’s why Peter has such a hard time leaving you in your guy’s apartment every day so he can go to work. In that shitty basement when he would much rather be spending every growing second by your side, ready to jump at anything that could put you in harm's way.

Everything in the white house was total shit ━━ no one could trust anyone. But it’s been a few months since the attack at Camp David. Peter was offered a job as a night agent to serve in the field ━━ but decided to keep it safe, taking smaller jobs in the white house assigned by the president after what seemed like an ongoing thank you ever since he helped save her from the bombs.

But he had no complaints ━━ and neither did you. He’s looked happier than he ever has, coming home and wrapping his big arms around you was his favourite part of the day, inhaling the soft vanilla scents of your (y/h/c) hair, bringing him to the present and the reality of it all, how the world brought him to you ━━ even in the worst circumstances.

Peter had no idea that these circumstances would repeat themselves.

After kissing you goodnight, he headed out, waiting the usual time he did outside the office door as the clock hit midnight.

Peter nodded to his coworker in a firm greeting before entering and closing the door. He wasn’t sure how much time passed once he sat in that seat ━━ but the calls were quiet as they had been for the past few days. He didn’t work as much time on the phone as how Diane assigned him ━━ he got to get out a bit and work on other things, too.

Then, after not hearing the old ━━ but familiar ring for a while, Peter’s head snaps towards it as it shakes once. He grabbed it quickly, unable to stop himself from imagining he could be on the other end.

“Hello━━”

“Peter Sutherland.”

Peter’s brows snap together in alert and confusion, blinking a few times before shifting and resting his elbow on the table.

“Code, please.” He’s said it many times before.

“This is going to go very differently.” But he’s never heard that.

There’s a muffled scream.

Or that. Was it━━

Fuck, he was not doing this, not today. Immediately, he jumped up, his chair flying back and almost hitting the back grey wall.

“Who the fuck are you ━━ if you do anything to her ━━”

“Yes, yes, I've heard that line many times before, during your whole night agent spiel a few months ago…you guys are really cute, the perfect partners in crime.” He laughed, it sounded awful, painful even. Peter’s head was racing, which seemed to match his heart. “Even recognized your scream right away, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

That was it. Peter pushed the chair out of his way as he paced around the room, fists balling together. He could hear your cries in the background, and his mind brought him back ━━ when you had been so scared, being prone to panic attacks under stress.

And he couldn’t do a single fucking thing right now because he wasn’t already there.

“Just tell me what you know about what happened with your dad, and then━━”

“Fuck you.” Peter spat, hands angrily raking through his hair ━━ he hated how the caller knew how to get under his skin but he wasn’t going to let his guard down when it came to you, he needed to think ━━ he had to.

“Ooh! we’ve got a bite. That’s not what the lovely lady wants to hear as her last words, I'm sure.”

There's more shuffling.

“Peter━━Peter,” your voice cracks, twisting into a desperate whisper, raw and fractured. “Please come back.”

Peter’s heart stops hearing your voice in such a state, eyes widening with stress and concern. He can’t even picture you right now or he might have to sit down. He knew he could stall the caller to buy them some time so they could get to you without alerting him.

“Hey ━━ hey, baby, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, and I'm going to be there, you gotta hold on for me, I know you can.” Peter abandons his usual name for you after that sick man used it as a taunt towards you, he couldn’t cloud your vision and get his voice mixed up with the callers in your already jumbled brain. He knew how terrified you were because he’s seen it through the countless sleepless nights and panic attacks. But it was all coming true, and Peter wanted to curse himself for letting this even happen, your worst nightmares that he promised so deeply to protect you from.

A sniffle escapes from your end, the silence hanging heavy, a chilling agreement that doubles as a ticking clock. Peter thinks before hearing an even quieter whisper, barely heard.

“He’s got a gun━━took down both guards, but I think he’s planning on jumping out the big window, his buddy is coming in his truck.”

Your voice is extremely shaky, but Your words shake him to his core. Peter steadies himself, whispering, “Okay.” Stopping his frantic pacing, he speaks as clearly as his racing heart allows. “(y/n), we’re coming for you. The FBI will surround the house, but I need to hang up and alert everyone. Just nod like you’re still on the phone with me until he takes it, alright, baby?”

Your voice quivered in return with a sniff, yes. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and slammed the phone down without a second thought, running to the conference room to get someone to immediately track the call in case he kept the phone on him if they got to the truck ━━ shit ━━ before they could. If anything, they could trace the calls or texts he’s made to his buddy.

He was running like a madman ━━ alerting the night agent team members. It was all a blur once he grabbed his gun and vest and drove out of there, police sirens going off everywhere and other agents' SUVS speeding close behind him.

Peter jumps out of the car, barely having time to slam his car door closed as he’s already looking at the fifth-floor windows ━━ wondering what the fuck you meant by jumping out the fucking window into his buddy's truck? Because if you had anything to do with being entangled in that escape, this man would never see the end of it. He would hunt him down ━━ but he wouldn’t kill him. He’d make him live with horrible bruises and broken bones, and once he goes to the hospital, he’s taken to jail for not only assault but for interfering with private information and everything that happened with his father.

This man would never see the fucking light because of how many times Peter would knock him flat out.

Raising his gun, he carefully follows behind many other agents dressed in all black, whipping his gun in all open doors as he runs down the hallway and up the flights upstairs ━━ orders being yelled in the background.

His legs were outrunning his brain, screaming at him to stop running because of how exhausted he was ━━ but finally, he reached the door. “FBI, OPEN THIS DOOR━━”

“Peter!” Your panicked scream breaks through the noise, the sound driving him to force the door open, gun at the ready, prepared to confront whatever horror lay inside.

But then he sees you.

In an instant, his gun drops to his side as he looks down at you, arms tied around the banister in the middle of the kitchen and living room. You know you must have looked like total shit as he abandons any proper FBI protocol and falls beside you, concerned eyes locking with yours as if they’re holding onto you for the only source of comfort while his hands untie yours quickly.

Your glossy eyes, stinging with tears and probably drugs from how drowsy you were feeling for the past hour, started pooling with tears. It definitely wasn’t because of the drugs.

You choked out a sob, one that's been buried in your chest for what feels like forever, as you startled into a coughing fit once Peter immediately wrapped his arms around you, staying kneeled on the ground because you had no energy to even attempt to stand, you were too shaky and would probably collapse the moment you put any weight on your legs.

“You’re here; you made it back.” You whisper into his shoulder, already soaked with tears, breath hitching as your body trembles against his.

You could feel Peter’s relieved smile. “I know, I’m here. I’m so sorry this happened sweeth━━”

He paused as if something shocked him.

“Peter, it’s okay━━”

“No ━━ no, it’s not.” He was still knelt, now facing you once you pulled away, hand rubbing his temples. “You’ve been traumatized enough, and me not taking the night agent job ━━ I could’ve been here, protecting you. But I left you, now he’s messed with your head, I can tell.”

You shut your eyes tight, a quiet sigh escaping you, and that sigh only serves to unleash a fresh wave of tears, cascading down your cheeks. Despite Peter’s stressed state, he softly wiped them away.

“You’re perfect. Your head, how you think ━━ everything about you, (y/n), and when somebody messes with that, it messes me up because I cannot physically allow myself to let that happen to you.” He takes your hands in his gently, turning them first and looking around your body for any signs of harm. You hated how he beat himself up for not being able to protect you. But he did help, he found you, and his idea about staying on the phone bought the other agents some time to track him down.

You wince to yourself upon noticing he’s looking at the ━━ what are probably now ━━ agonizing bruises on your jaw and throat. You’ve taken punches before. It wasn’t anything new, they hurt like a bitch, though.

Peter’s thumb glides against the tender, purple skin as his other fingers come to the back of your head in your hair, just behind your ear, and you lean into his comforting touch. “I’m sorry.” He wretched, keeping his hand in your hair and bringing your head to his chest.

The two of you sit just like that, grounding yourselves through each other's mangled breaths.

The right people can cloud right judgement is what Peter’s father always said. It makes your job harder when you have someone to lose. Peter made a promise to himself that night as you both lay under the covers, his thumb running circles over your knuckles.

He promised himself he wouldn’t work behind that shitty desk again.

Then, he would visit that sick man behind bars.

masterlist peter sutherland masterlist

ty for reading!

#imagine #peter sutherland #peter sutherland x reader #peter sutherland x you #peter sutherland x y/n #peter sutherland imagine #peter sutherland oneshot #peter sutherland imagines #the night agent #the night agent imagines #the night agent fanfic #fanfic #oneshots #writing #hurt/comfort

25 notes · View notes