#i tend to go with the give me coffee or give me death thing. that it’s either coffee (go to heaven) or death (excommunication and possibly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 28 days ago

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This world is only gonna break your heart

Part III in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Here is another part of the Flirty!Female reader storyline I shared last week. This story can be read solo or as a companion piece in this universe!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13k

Tags/Warnings:Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Banter, violence, blood, injury, medical procedures, torture, kidnapping, strong language, sexual tension, emotional distress, near-death experiences, guns, workplace romance, mentions of past trauma, manipulation, power dynamics, brief mentions of death, explicit descriptions of pain, psychological manipulation, Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: Having once worked closely with Aaron Hotchner on the original team, you always knew how to push Hotch’s buttons in the flirtiest way. Now, with a second chance at working together, the chemistry between you and Hotch is impossible to ignore. Though you’ve begun seeing each other in secret, nothing has been officially defined between you. As you work together on a dangerous case that threatens both your lives, the complexities of your relationship grow even more intense.

The team was gathered in the bullpen, coffee cups in hand, chatting about the usual morning routine. JJ, sitting at her desk, leaned toward Morgan and Prentiss, her voice low but playful.

“I’m telling you, something’s going on with Hotch,” JJ said, casting a quick glance toward Hotch’s office. “He’s been... different lately.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Different how? You mean he’s been even more serious than usual? Didn’t think that was possible.”

JJ shook her head. “No, that’s the thing—he’s been a little less serious. I saw him leaving the office early the other day. Early.”

Prentiss smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “So, the man takes a day off, and suddenly he’s a suspect? Come on, JJ. What are you really getting at?”

JJ leaned in, her voice dropping. “I think he’s seeing someone. He’s been more... distracted lately.”

Morgan leaned back, arms crossed. “Hotch? Seeing someone? What, is he sneaking off to a chess club or something?”

Prentiss chuckled, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “If he is seeing someone, I’ve got to meet her. Can you imagine? She’d have to have the patience of a saint to deal with him.”

Rossi, standing nearby with his cup of espresso, raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she knows how to make him crack. I’ve noticed him on his phone more often, and it’s definitely not work.”

Reid, flipping through a case file, chimed in without looking up. “Actually, studies suggest that people who are highly disciplined in their professional lives tend to form very strong, sometimes hidden, emotional attachments in their personal lives. If Hotch is in a relationship, it could explain a slight shift in his behavioral patterns.”

Morgan shook his head, laughing. “Reid, man, sometimes I think you’ve got Hotch more figured out than Hotch does.”

Just then, Penelope breezed into the bullpen, wearing her signature colorful ensemble. “Did I hear someone say Hotch and behavioral shifts? Tell me we’re talking about juicy secrets!”

Prentiss grinned. “JJ thinks Hotch is seeing someone.”

Penelope’s eyes widened dramatically. “Shut. Up. Is this for real? Do we know who the lucky lady is? Or more importantly, does she know about the constant banter between him and Y/N?”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “If Hotch’s girlfriend exists, she’d probably lose it with the way Y/N always pokes at him.”

Rossi chuckled softly, leaning against the desk. “Or maybe she doesn’t mind. Maybe she likes watching him squirm. She might enjoy it.”

Prentiss shrugged, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, whoever she is, I kind of feel for her. Y/N gives him hell.”

Penelope waved her hand in exaggerated exasperation. “I’m telling you, if I were Hotch’s secret girlfriend, I’d have a serious chat with Y/N about boundaries. Though, come to think of it, she might just be my hero for getting under his skin like that.”

Just then, the bullpen doors swung open, and in you walked, your bag slung over your shoulder. The team fell silent, eyes shifting to you as you approached your desk.

“Morning, guys,” you said casually, sitting down and pulling out your work. You’d just driven in with Hotch after spending the night—again—but no one had a clue. They all thought you were just being your usual teasing self.

Morgan leaned forward, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Y/N, you noticed anything... weird about Hotch lately?”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone light. “Weird? Hotch? Nope, he’s his usual grumpy self to me. Why?”

Prentiss smirked, glancing at the others. “We’re just trying to figure out if he’s seeing someone. Thought maybe you’d have some insider info, considering how much time you spend giving him a hard time.”

You smiled, playing along. “If he’s seeing someone, I’m sure she loves hearing how much I mess with him.”

JJ, with a knowing look, chimed in. “Honestly, if one of Will’s coworkers was flirting with him the way you do with Hotch, I’d lose it.”

You fought back a laugh, biting your lip. “Yeah... she probably does.”

Before anyone could say more, Hotch strode into the bullpen, as composed as ever. His eyes briefly flickered to you, a subtle connection passing between you that the others didn’t catch. You met his gaze with a soft, secret smile.

It wasn’t long before the team gathered in the briefing room. The morning conversation and speculation were left behind as you all were quickly thrust into another case, with Hotch walking everyone through the details of a series of murders across state lines. With little time to waste, the team packed up, ready to leave for the jet.

The case was gruesome, as always, but by now, you were used to it. Their professionalism took over, and within the hour, they were boarding the jet, ready for another round of hard work.

Once in the air, Hotch stood at the front of the jet, walking everyone through the unsub’s profile, delivering the details with his usual composed, steady tone. The weight of the case was heavy, but the team listened closely, hanging on every word.

As the jet began its descent, Hotch gave out the next set of instructions. “Y/N, when we land, I need you to coordinate with the local officers. Make sure they’re ready for us.”

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes as you replied, “And if I don’t feel like playing nice with the locals?”

Hotch looked at you, his face giving nothing away, but his tone remained cool and collected. “Just get it done.”

You smirked, leaning back with a mock sigh. “Guess I’ll behave... for now.”

The team exchanged glances, recalling their earlier conversation about Hotch possibly seeing someone. Morgan shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. Prentiss raised an eyebrow at JJ, who grinned knowingly.

Rossi leaned over to Morgan, muttering quietly, “You’d think with how much she flirts, someone would’ve put a stop to this by now.”

Morgan chuckled under his breath. “Hotch must have nerves of steel, man. Still letting her get away with murder.”

Hotch, as usual, didn’t let the playful exchange break his focus. He remained silent, his eyes briefly flicking to you with the faintest trace of amusement before returning to the case file.

The jet continued its descent, and the team’s quiet chuckles gradually subsided, the light-hearted banter easing the tension from the weight of the case. You caught Hotch’s gaze one last time, your smirk still lingering, knowing exactly how far you could push his buttons without ever crossing the line.

The team pulled into the parking lot of the local police station, the air outside thick with tension as they prepared to dive into another tough case. As the others unloaded their gear, you found yourself walking side by side with Hotch, a rare moment alone.

You shot him a sidelong glance, the playful smirk that had become second nature around him tugging at your lips. “You know, the team thinks you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at you directly. His tone was calm, as always. “Is that right?”

You chuckled softly, shrugging. “Can’t say I blame them. You’ve been...distracted lately.” The words hung in the air for a beat, heavier than they had sounded in your head. Distracted by you—but neither of you had said it out loud. Not yet.

As you walked, your mind wandered, your thoughts swirling around the unspoken. You hadn’t labeled what was happening between the two of you. There had been nights, quiet moments, but nothing concrete. You didn’t even know if you wanted to put a label on it... but the thought of someone else assuming they knew Hotch’s private life left a flicker of unease in your chest.

Hotch, on the other hand, kept his eyes forward, his thoughts mirroring your own. He hadn’t given voice to what this was—hadn’t dared to. Not because he didn’t want to, but because...what if it complicated things? What if crossing that line made everything harder? Still, every time you pushed his buttons, every time you looked at him like that, it made him wonder why he was hesitating.

He finally glanced at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And what do you think?”

You met his gaze, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. “I think they’d be shocked to know the truth.”

Neither of you said more, the weight of the unspoken hovering between you as you approached the station doors. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and you both returned to the professional roles you knew so well, but the lingering question of “what now?” remained just beneath the surface.

As the team entered the bustling police station, you were greeted by a wave of officers, all eager to assist. It didn’t take long for one of the senior officers to recognize you.

“Hold on,” the senior officer said, a grin spreading across his face. “Didn’t you teach a few lecture? I was at one of them—best training session I’ve had.”

You smiled, nodding. “Glad it was useful.”

Before you could continue, a rookie officer stepped forward, his gaze lingering a little too long. “I think I remember hearing about you... they didn’t mention how impressive you are in person though.”

You chuckled, brushing it off as harmless, barely noticing the rookie’s attempt at flirting. But Hotch did.

Standing just behind you, Hotch’s posture stiffened slightly. After a beat, he stepped forward, his voice cool and authoritative. “Officer,” he said evenly, “let’s keep things professional.”

The rookie blinked, clearly taken aback. “Yes, sir. Sorry about that, Agent Hotchner.”

You raised an eyebrow at Hotch, amused by his unusually protective tone. The rookie quickly excused himself, leaving you and Hotch with a brief moment of quiet.

You were about to make a teasing remark when Hotch, in his usual composed manner, gently placed a hand on your elbow and guided you aside.

“Agent Y/L/N, a word?” His voice was calm, but you could tell something was brewing beneath the surface.

He pulled you just far enough from the team for a private conversation. His touch was firm, not forceful—he wasn’t angry, but there was a tension there, something unspoken.

“I don’t like it when men talk to you like that,” Hotch said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You tried to hold back a laugh, finding the whole situation somewhat amusing. You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms as you gave him a playful look. “What, jealous, Hotch?”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t falter. “It’s not about jealousy,” he replied, though you both knew there was more to it. “It’s about keeping a professional environment.”

You tilted your head, clearly entertained by his response. “Uh-huh. And what exactly bothers you more? That he was out of line... or that he was talking to me?”

Hotch exhaled softly, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “Both,” he admitted. “I don’t like it when anyone crosses boundaries with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “Well, for the record, I didn’t even notice. But...” you leaned in just a little, lowering your voice, “it’s kind of hot that you did.”

Hotch paused for a moment, almost processing what you said. A flicker of amusement passed through Hotch’s eyes, though he kept his expression controlled. “Is that so?”

You grinned, taking a step closer. “Definitely. Who knew Aaron Hotchner had a jealous streak?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no denying the hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “Just focus on the case, Y/N.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, I’ll get the job done, don’t worry. But if you ever want to talk about boundaries, I’m all ears.”

Hotch shot you a brief, unreadable look before turning back toward the rest of the team. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone all business once again, but the moment between you lingered.

As you walked back to join the others, you couldn’t help but smirk, knowing that beneath his stoic exterior, you had gotten under his skin just a little. The tension between you and Hotch had always been there—an unspoken undercurrent that surfaced in moments like this, where a brief look or a playful remark lingered longer than it should.

But now, the case demanded your full attention. The unsub was escalating, and there wasn’t room for any distractions. You shifted gears, falling back into your role as a professional, your focus sharpened.

The rest of the day blurred into a whirlwind of interviews, reports, and strategy sessions. By the time the evening came, your body ached with exhaustion. The local police had set up a command post in their precinct, and you and Hotch, along with the team, spent hours pouring over the unsub's patterns, trying to pinpoint his next move.

But you never saw it coming.

One moment, you were outside, gathering more information with Hotch by your side. The next, everything went dark. The sharp sting of something pricking your neck, the world tilting, and then nothing.

Now, here you were—the cold, dimly lit room smelled of damp concrete, and a faint, flickering light barely illuminated the camera that hung from the ceiling. It was fixed on you and Hotch, silently recording every breath, every glance. You knew it was being streamed to the local police station—your team was likely glued to the screen, watching helplessly as they worked to track down your location.

Your mind raced, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. This was a trap. The unsub had planned it all out perfectly, and now you and Hotch were the bait.

The unsub had left you both in the room for what felt like hours, alone and vulnerable, but it gave you time to think—time to prepare for what was coming.

Hotch sat next to you, his hands bound behind his back, just like yours. His face was impassive, focused, but you could feel the tension in the air, crackling like static between you. The silence was suffocating, and you were desperate to break it, to bring some lightness into the room despite the darkness surrounding you.

“You holding up over there?” you asked, your voice softer than usual but still carrying that teasing edge. You tilted your head, trying to catch his eye.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression still hard. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice steady, clipped. “Stay sharp.”

You smirked, refusing to let the weight of the situation break you down. “Always,” you quipped. “But when this is over, I think we deserve a serious vacation. You know, one without kidnappings, torture, or unsubs.”

Hotch’s lips twitched—barely. But it was enough to encourage you. “Focus, Y/N,” he said, though you could hear the faintest note of amusement in his voice.

The moment of near-normalcy was shattered when the door to the room creaked open, and the unsub stepped inside, a menacing grin stretching across his face. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of control that made your stomach twist. His eyes gleamed with a sick sort of excitement as he looked from you to Hotch, then back again.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Looks like you’re both holding up quite nicely. Let’s change that, shall we?”

He moved toward you first, his footsteps deliberate, almost casual, as if he had all the time in the world. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm, to show no fear. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Before you had time to react, the unsub grabbed you by the arm, yanking you roughly out of your chair and dragging you toward the center of the room. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, standing tall, refusing to show weakness. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch tense, his jaw clenching as he watched the unsub pull you away.

“You know,” the unsub mused, circling you like a predator, “it’s always the tough ones who break the hardest.”

He pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as he brought it close to your skin. The first cut was shallow—a stinging line across your arm. You hissed but bit back any further reaction. The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his grin widening.

“Let’s see how your boss likes watching this.”

Hotch’s voice was like steel, calm but deadly. “This won’t end well for you.”

The unsub chuckled, clearly unfazed by Hotch’s words. He made another cut, deeper this time, and you couldn’t suppress the sharp intake of breath that followed. Your knees buckled slightly, but you caught yourself, trying to keep your expression neutral.

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you forced out, your voice tight but controlled. “I can handle it.”

But the unsub wasn’t done. He stepped back, and before you could react, his boot slammed into your side with a sickening thud. The force of the kick sent you sprawling to the ground, gasping for air as pain radiated through your ribs. You heard Hotch shift in his seat, his breath quickening slightly.

“You touch her again, and I will kill you,” Hotch growled, his voice dark and dangerous.

The unsub laughed, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Oh, I see how it is. You care about her, don’t you?” He took a good look at you for a moment, almost examining--soaking you in. “I can see why, she’s great to look at.” He turned his back to you and strolled over to where Hotch sat, looming over him like a shadow. “Well, let’s see how you do under pressure, then.”

The next moments were a blur of violence. The unsub laid into Hotch with calculated precision, each punch, each strike designed to inflict maximum pain without killing him. Hotch took it without a sound, his body recoiling with each hit but never breaking.

You pushed yourself up to your knees, your vision swimming from the pain in your ribs, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His face was bloodied, a bruise blooming under his eye, and still, he remained stoic, silent. But you could see it—the cracks in his armor. He was hurting, badly.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice hoarse and raw. “Please, stop!”

The unsub paused, glancing back at you with a smug expression. “Oh, look. She’s finally begging.” He took a step toward you, but you shook your head, forcing yourself to your feet, wobbling slightly as you stood. “I love it when women beg.”

“Take me,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “He’s not going to break, but I will. Just... just leave him alone.”

Hotch’s head snapped toward you, blood dripping from his split lip. “No,” he rasped, his voice thick with pain. “Don’t. Don’t offer yourself up like that. I can handle it.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes despite your efforts to keep them at bay. “Not like this, Aaron. Not like this.”

The unsub watched the exchange with amusement before turning his attention back to you. “Oh, I like this,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get to you soon enough.”

He grabbed you again, pulling you toward the center of the room. Hotch struggled to rise, grunting in pain as he tried to pull himself up. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You looked back at him, trying to hold yourself together as the unsub loomed over you. “It’s fine, Hotch,” you said, your voice shaking. “It’s just pain. I can take it.”

But as the unsub raised his hand again, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

The unsub’s hand slammed across your face, a sharp sting that sent your head snapping to the side. You tasted blood on your lip, and for a brief moment, the room tilted. You blinked, trying to focus, to hold yourself together. But the pain was starting to feel like too much—your ribs ached, your arm burned, and your head throbbed with every heartbeat.

Hotch’s voice cut through the haze, low and dangerous. “Stop this. Whatever you’re after, you won’t get it this way.”

The unsub ignored him, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look into the camera that was still streaming every agonizing moment back to the police station. The team had to be watching, helplessly trying to track down where you were.

“Tell them how much pain you’re in,” the unsub hissed in your ear, his fingers biting into your skin. “Tell them how much it hurts.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him what he wanted. “I’m fine,” you spat, voice thick with defiance. “I’ve had worse.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours from across the room. His face was battered, but his gaze was unwavering. He knew you were lying, and so did you.

The unsub’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, I think you’re lying, sweetheart.” He released you suddenly, and you stumbled, barely catching yourself. He turned his back on you, walking over to Hotch with slow, deliberate steps.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched the unsub crouch down in front of Hotch, his voice dropping to a low whisper that sent chills down your spine.

“You’re the leader, right?” the unsub said, his tone mocking. “You keep things under control, make sure everyone follows orders. But what happens when you can’t protect the people closest to you? When you’re helpless?”

Hotch’s gaze stayed locked on the unsub, not giving an inch, but you could see the tension in his body—the way his hands clenched behind him, the way his jaw tightened.

The unsub suddenly grabbed Hotch by the collar and dragged him to his feet. You struggled against your restraints, your body screaming in pain, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch. You knew what was coming.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your voice hoarse and desperate.

But the unsub didn’t even look at you. He slammed Hotch against the wall, the sound of the impact reverberating through the small room. Hotch groaned in pain, and your heart clenched. The unsub turned Hotch to face the camera, one hand gripping his neck.

“Let’s see how long your leader lasts,” the unsub sneered.

You watched in horror as the unsub started to beat Hotch again, this time harder, each blow landing with sickening force. Hotch gritted his teeth, trying to remain stoic, but you could see the pain etched on his face, the way his body sagged with each hit.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up inside you. “Stop! Please!” you begged, tears spilling down your cheeks now, despite your best efforts to stay strong.

The unsub paused, his fist hovering mid-air, and he turned to look at you. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” he mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You care about him, don’t you?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The unsub stepped away from Hotch, walking back toward you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He knelt down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face in a disturbingly gentle gesture.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “How much would you sacrifice to keep him safe? Would you take the rest of the punishment yourself?”

Hotch’s voice, strained but strong, cut through the air. “Don’t. Don’t do it.”

But you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take it. Just... just leave him alone.”

The unsub grinned, standing up and looking back at Hotch. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s finally breaking.”

You closed your eyes, trying to prepare yourself for what was coming. The pain, the torment—anything to keep the unsub away from Hotch. But when the first blow didn’t come, you opened your eyes to find the unsub standing over you, savoring the moment.

“Not yet,” he said, his smile widening. “We’ll get back to you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the adrenaline making your hands shake. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in as you looked over at Hotch. He was still on his knees, breathing heavily, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Your heart ached at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

Hotch raised his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “You did what you had to.”

You swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at you. “I couldn’t just sit there and watch... I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Hotch interrupted gently. “I know. But you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.”

You shook your head, blinking back more tears. “I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Hotch’s expression softened even further, but he remained firm. “We’re getting out of this. I need you to stay focused. The team will find us. They will.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. The unsub wasn’t finished with you, and you both knew it.

As the minutes ticked by, you sat in silence, your body aching, your mind racing. The camera continued to roll, the live feed still broadcasting every second to the team. They had to be watching. They were out there, trying to find you.

But how much longer could you hold on?

The room was silent again, except for the faint hum of the camera above, recording every breath, every moment of vulnerability. You tried to focus on your breathing, to push the pain from your mind, but it clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. Hotch, still battered and bleeding, was watching you carefully, though you could see the strain in his expression.

The weight of what had just happened was suffocating. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head—Hotch being beaten, you begging the unsub to stop, offering yourself up. It gnawed at you, how easily you'd cracked. But seeing him in pain, seeing him suffer, had done something to you that you couldn’t control.

Hotch watched you through the haze of his own pain, his mind racing. He had seen that look in your eyes—the desperation, the willingness to throw yourself into harm's way just to protect him. It unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. He was used to being the one in control, the one making sacrifices. But you... you had stepped forward without hesitation, offering yourself up, willing to take the pain so he wouldn’t have to.

She can’t do this, Hotch thought, his heart pounding in his chest. She shouldn’t be willing to sacrifice herself for me. I’m supposed to protect her, not the other way around. His mind reeled at the thought of you taking on more of the torture, the way you flinched with each blow, the way you offered yourself so freely. The fear gripped him tighter than any physical pain.

She’s stronger than this, Hotch told himself, trying to steady his breathing. But the image of you crumpling under the unsub’s blows, your voice breaking as you told him you could handle it—it haunted him. He wasn’t just scared of what the unsub would do next; he was terrified that you would break yourself for him.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the wave of nausea from his own injuries. He knew he had to stay composed, had to be strong for you, but the thought of watching you suffer again—of you offering yourself up for his sake—made his blood run cold.

“Hotch,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. “I don’t know how much longer...”

“Don’t,” Hotch interrupted his tone firm despite the weariness in his eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill again. “But you—”

“We’re getting out of this,” Hotch said, his voice low but resolute. “You’re stronger than this. Stronger than him.”

You wanted to believe him; you really did. But the pain was overwhelming, and the sight of Hotch—bloodied, bruised, and barely holding on—only made it worse. You clenched your fists behind your back, trying to push through the wave of emotion. You had to stay strong. For him.

The door creaked open again, and the unsub sauntered back into the room, his eyes gleaming with that same twisted pleasure. You felt your stomach drop, knowing what was coming next.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, clapping his hands together softly as if congratulating himself on his handiwork. “Looks like you two have had a nice little heart-to-heart.”

You shot him a glare, trying to summon whatever defiance you had left. “If you’re looking for applause, you’re not getting any.”

He smirked, amused by your attempt at resistance. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

Without another word, he crossed the room and stood between you and Hotch, his presence looming like a dark cloud. He looked from you to Hotch as though deciding who to start with this time.

Hotch, ever the protector, locked eyes with the unsub. “If you’re trying to break us, you’ll have to do better than this,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain you knew he was in.

The unsub’s grin widened, and before you knew what was happening, he swung at Hotch, his fist connecting with Hotch’s already bloodied face. You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as Hotch slumped back against the wall, his head hanging forward for a moment.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “Please, just stop!”

But the unsub ignored you. He grabbed Hotch by the collar, lifting him slightly and slamming him back against the wall again. Hotch groaned, his face twisted in pain, but he still didn’t cry out. He refused to give the unsub the satisfaction.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your throat raw from the strain. “Take me! I’m the one who—”

The unsub dropped Hotch and turned to you, his eyes gleaming with that sick pleasure again. “I’ll get to you in a minute,” he sneered, “As much as I love hearing those pretty lips of yours beg.”

He stepped toward you, and for the first time, real fear crept into your chest. You had been hurt before, but this time felt different. The way he looked at you—like you were nothing more than prey—it sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to fight back, to stay strong, but your body was weak, your mind exhausted from the pain and the fear.

But as the unsub reached for you, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t let him win. Not like this.

“You think you’re in control?” you spat, glaring at him despite the terror clawing at your insides. “You’re nothing. Just a sad little man who gets off on hurting people because that’s the only way you feel powerful.”

The unsub froze, his hand hovering in the air for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a twisted smile.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice dripping with malice, “you’ve got some fire in you, don’t you? I like that.”

He grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet with a force that made your head spin. The pain from your ribs flared up again, and you gasped, but you refused to cry out. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

Hotch stirred, his voice hoarse but determined. “Don’t touch her,” he growled, his eyes blazing with fury.

The unsub laughed, a low, chilling sound. “What are you going to do, hero? You can’t even stand.”

He dragged you closer to the camera, forcing your face toward the lens. “Tell your friends how much pain you’re in,” he hissed in your ear. “Let them see how helpless you are.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak, but the pain in your body was overwhelming. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

The unsub turned to Hotch, his smile widening. “Let’s see how much longer she lasts.”

He reached for you again, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the next wave of pain. But then, something shifted in the room—something subtle but palpable. The unsub’s attention flicked toward the door as a faint sound echoed through the hall outside.

It was distant, barely audible, but it was there: the unmistakable click of footsteps.

The unsub’s expression darkened. He glanced back at the camera, then at the door, his confidence wavering for the first time. You could feel it—the team was close. They were coming for you.

For a brief moment, hope flickered in your chest.

The unsub grabbed you by the hair, pulling you roughly to your feet once more. “Looks like time’s running out,” he snarled, his voice filled with anger. He dragged you toward the wall, pressing you against it, his knife flashing in the dim light. “It’s a shame we’re out of time. I was planning to have some real fun with you later. Would’ve been a waste to keep a body like yours all to myself, though.”

Your stomach lurched in disgust, and you could feel Hotch’s eyes burning into the unsub, his rage palpable in the air. The unsub’s words were laced with a crude, vile intent, his objectification of you stoking a fire in Hotch that was barely contained.

Hotch’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grinding together. His breath came faster, shallow, his muscles tensing despite the pain coursing through him. The sight of the unsub touching you, treating you like something to be played with—it ignited a rage in him that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t you touch her,” Hotch growled, his voice low, lethal, but the unsub just laughed.

“Or what?” the unsub taunted, his knife pressing closer to your skin. “You’re not in control here. But don’t worry... maybe I’ll let you watch when it gets really interesting. Unless this is something you’ve already seen?” The unsub lifted the hem of your top with the tip of the blade.

Hotch’s vision blurred with fury. The pain in his body was forgotten, overtaken by the single, blinding need to stop this man—this monster—from doing any more harm to you. Every fiber of his being screamed to break free, to put himself between you and the unsub, but he was bound, helpless to intervene.

The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, reveling in the power he held over you both.

But then, the sound of footsteps outside grew louder—closer. The unsub stiffened, his smirk faltering for the first time. He looked back toward the door, his confidence slipping as the realization hit.

The team was coming. They were almost here.

Hotch struggled, trying to rise to his feet, but his body betrayed him, slumping back against the floor in agony. His voice, broken and strained, called out to you. “Y/N...”

You turned your head slightly, meeting Hotch’s gaze. His eyes were filled with pain—both physical and emotional—but beneath it all, you could see the same thing that you felt: hope.

“They’re coming,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’re coming for us.”

The unsub pressed the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “Let’s see if they get here in time.”

The unsub’s knife pressed harder against your throat, the cold steel biting into your skin. You could hear his heavy breathing, and feel his rage as the sound of footsteps outside the door grew louder. Your heart raced, hope and terror battling for control in your chest.

“They’re coming,” you whispered again, your voice hoarse, but the unsub didn’t waver.

“They won’t make it in time,” he hissed, his grip tightening. And then, with a sickening twist, he drove the knife into your side.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your body, and you gasped, eyes wide, your knees buckling as your strength left you. The world blurred around the edges, the sound of the door crashing open barely registering over the ringing in your ears.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Morgan’s voice boomed through the room, and you heard more shouting—Prentiss, Rossi—all of them rushing in at once.

The unsub was yanked away from you, the knife slipping from his grip as the team tackled him to the ground. There was chaos, shouting, and the sound of handcuffs clinking, but it all faded into the background as you crumpled to the floor, clutching your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Medic! We need a medic!” JJ’s voice rang out, panic clear as she ran to your side.

Hotch, battered and beaten, was still tied up, his eyes wide with horror as he watched you fall. His body screamed in pain, but he fought against the restraints with renewed desperation.

“Get these off!” he shouted, his voice raw, barely recognizable. Rossi hurried over, fumbling with the ropes that bound Hotch’s wrists, finally freeing him.

The moment Hotch’s hands were free, he pushed himself up—his body protesting every movement, but he didn’t care. Stumbling forward, he rushed to your side, collapsing next to you, his hands hovering just above your body as if afraid to touch you.

“Y/N,” Hotch rasped, his voice thick with fear, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the wound in your side. Blood soaked through your shirt, and you tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though the pain was excruciating, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “I... I’ll be fine.”

Hotch shook his head, his face a mask of anguish. “No, no, you stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me.”

His voice was fierce, but beneath it, there was desperation. Hotch never panicked, never faltered, but the thought of losing you like this, after everything, was more than he could bear. He could see it in your eyes—you were slipping, and it was breaking him apart.

You swallowed, tasting copper, the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could feel yourself weakening, the strength draining from your limbs, but you couldn’t let him see. He’s already been through too much. If I let go now, he’ll blame himself.

The thought tightened your chest more than the injury ever could. You blinked, trying to focus on Hotch’s face, trying to reassure him, even though you could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

The rest of the team was moving in a blur around you—Prentiss restraining the unsub, Morgan barking orders for backup, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His eyes, usually so composed and controlled, were wide with fear and panic etched into every line of his face.

You reached up, your hand trembling as you placed it on his arm. “Hotch... I’m okay,” you tried again, your voice fading, but you saw the tears gathering in his eyes, his composure crumbling.

“Don’t you dare,” Hotch whispered fiercely, his voice barely holding together. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The medics rushed in then, pushing Hotch aside as they worked to assess the damage. He refused to leave your side, kneeling next to you, his hand gripping yours tightly as if his sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him.

You tried to speak, but the world was growing darker, slipping away despite your best efforts to hold on. The last thing you felt was the pressure of Hotch’s hand in yours, the sound of his voice fading as you drifted into unconsciousness.

The doors to the ambulance swung open, and Hotch immediately followed the medics as they loaded you in. His eyes never left your still form, pale and lifeless on the stretcher. He climbed in without a second thought, his heart pounding in his chest, the fear gnawing at him like never before. The doors slammed shut behind him as the sirens blared to life, the ambulance speeding away from the scene.

Rossi and Emily stood back, watching as the vehicle disappeared down the street, lights flashing in the distance. The adrenaline was still coursing through them, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

Rossi glanced at Emily, a knowing look in his eyes. “Well,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “I think we know who Hotch’s girlfriend is.”

Emily blinked, her eyes still fixed on the ambulance. “How did I not see that?” she asked, more to herself than to Rossi. She shook her head, disbelief washing over her. “I mean, I knew they were close, but I had no idea…”

Rossi chuckled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think either of them have any idea how deep they’re in, to be honest.”

Emily nodded, still processing everything. “They’ve been so... professional, even when they flirt. I just thought it was part of the banter, part of their dynamic.”

Rossi’s smile faded, and he glanced back down the road where the ambulance had disappeared. “Sometimes it takes a situation like this to realize what’s really going on. I’m not sure Hotch has come to terms with it, though. And her?” He sighed. “She’s strong, but she’ll need him more than she realizes.”

Emily looked back at Rossi, a concerned frown on her face. “You think they’ll be okay?”

Rossi nodded slowly, his eyes still focused on the distant sirens. “If they can survive this, I think they’ll be just fine. But it’s going to take them both a while to get there.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both knowing that nothing would be the same for Hotch—or you—after this. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, and as the sirens grew fainter, they both turned back to finish the job they’d started, a new understanding between them.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway buzzed quietly as the doors to the emergency room swung open. The paramedics rushed you in on the stretcher, doctors and nurses immediately converging on you, assessing the severity of your injuries. Hotch was right behind them, his breath shallow and his body screaming in pain, but he didn’t care. His focus was entirely on you.

The team arrived moments later, filing into the waiting area with wide eyes and worried expressions. Prentiss and JJ exchanged tense glances; Reid and Penelope seemed at a loss for words, while Rossi and Morgan hung back, trying to remain calm, though the gravity of the situation was weighing on all of them.

Hotch, standing just outside the trauma room, watched as they wheeled you through the doors, taking you straight to surgery. His fists clenched, jaw tight as he turned to one of the doctors in a white coat who approached him.

“Sir, we need to check you out,” the doctor said, glancing at the cuts and bruises covering Hotch’s face. “You’ve clearly been injured. We need to—”

“I’m fine,” Hotch snapped, his voice sharp and irritable. He didn’t have time for this. “I need to know what’s happening with her.”

The doctor blinked, surprised by the intensity in Hotch’s voice. “She’s being taken into surgery, but we need to—”

“Is Dr. Stevens performing the surgery?” Hotch cut in, his tone brusque. “She’s gets nauseous from certain anesthetics--Has that been noted? Do they know her medical history? She had a shoulder injury years ago—it could complicate the procedure if they don’t know—”

The doctor raised his hands, trying to calm Hotch down. “We have her records, but we need you to sit down so we can—”

“She’s had issues with her blood pressure before,” Hotch continued, not listening. “Do they know that? Do they know she’s—”

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor said firmly, cutting him off. “We will take care of her. But we need to take care of you first. You’re bleeding, and you could have internal injuries.”

Hotch’s face hardened, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t care about me. Just tell me what’s happening with her.”

The doctor sighed, clearly exasperated. “Sir, I understand you’re concerned, but you’re not helping by refusing treatment.”

Before Hotch could retort, Derek Morgan stepped up, placing a firm hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “You need to take a step back.”

Hotch shook his head, his eyes still locked on the trauma room doors. “I can’t just stand here—”

“You’re not any good to her like this,” Derek said, stepping in front of him, forcing Hotch to meet his gaze. “You’re bleeding from your face, probably have a couple broken ribs. You need to let the doctors do their job.” Hotch opened his mouth to argue again, but Derek tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Look, I get it. You want to make sure she’s okay. But you’re no good to her—or anyone—if you don’t let them help you. You need to sit down.”

Hotch’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands still clenched into fists, but the fire in his eyes dimmed slightly as Derek’s words sank in. He knew Derek was right—knew that his stubbornness wasn’t going to help you. But the thought of sitting in the waiting room, powerless, while you were in surgery was unbearable.

Reluctantly, Hotch nodded, the fight draining from his body. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I need to know as soon as she’s out of surgery.”

Derek gave him a firm nod. “You will. But right now, you need to let them patch you up. She’s in good hands.”

Hotch cast one last glance at the trauma room doors before turning toward the doctors, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Hotch sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his body tense as the nurse carefully cleaned the cuts on his face and arms. The antiseptic stung, but he barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere—back in that dark room, watching as the unsub’s knife sank into your side.

The pain in his own body was nothing compared to the images flashing in his mind. He knew that pain—the searing, sharp agony of a knife tearing through flesh. He had felt it before, when Foyet had plunged the blade into him, over and over. The memory was vivid, the way the air had left his lungs, the way his body had screamed in agony. He didn’t wish that pain on anyone, least of all you.

As the nurse worked, Hotch’s mind drifted to Haley. The sight of her lifeless body, the blood... the feeling of being too late, of having failed her. It haunted him, even now. The parallels to this moment were too close for comfort, and he couldn’t shake the fear that he was about to lose someone else he cared about. The thought of walking into another hospital room to find a body—your body—was unbearable.

His hands clenched into fists, the sense of helplessness gnawing at him. I should have protected her. I should have done more. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating.

Hotch had never been one to care much about labels. It wasn’t about being your “boyfriend”—he felt far too old for that, and it had never seemed important before. But as he sat there in the hospital room, the lack of definition, the absence of a clear place in your life gnawed at him. It wasn’t about a title; it was about the undeniable connection he felt, a place he knew he held but had never acknowledged, not even to himself.

From the officers at the local PD to his own team subtly questioning his personal life, there was nothing tangible that tied the two of you together in a world where nothing felt certain anymore. And that absence—of control, of clarity—bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

The nurse wrapped a bandage around his ribs, and Hotch exhaled sharply, the pain in his side flaring up. His ribs had probably cracked under the unsub’s blows, but it felt insignificant compared to the storm raging inside him. He had been through this before—too many times. He knew what loss felt like, and the fear that it could happen again gripped him harder than any physical injury.

Just as the thoughts threatened to spiral out of control, the door to the examination room opened, and the doctor walked in, pulling Hotch from the whirlwind of his mind.

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor began, glancing at the chart in his hands. “I wanted to give you an update on her condition.”

Hotch’s heart pounded in his chest, his body going still as he waited for the words.

“The surgery went well,” the doctor continued. “It was very quick, and we were able to stop the bleeding without any complications. She has two broken ribs from the impact, but we’ve stitched the stab wound, and she’s stable.”

Hotch exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. But the doctor wasn’t finished.

“She also has stitches on her face from the cuts and bruising across her body, but physically, she’s going to be okay.”

Hotch nodded, the weight of the news sinking in. Physically, you would heal. But the mental scars—he knew all too well—might linger much longer.

“Can I see her?” Hotch asked, his voice rough, barely holding back the urgency.

The doctor nodded. “She’s being moved to recovery now. You can see her soon. Right now, it is only immediate family.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words cutting through him like a blade. Immediate family. The phrase echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he froze. But then, without hesitation, he straightened, meeting the doctor’s gaze with unwavering resolve.

“We’re her family,” Hotch said, his voice steady but firm. “All of us—me, the team. And I’m her...” He paused for just a beat, his eyes hardening with determination as he found the words. “I’m her significant other.”

The doctor studied him for a moment, as if weighing the weight of his words, then nodded in understanding. “Alright. I’ll let the staff know. You can see her when she’s settled.”

Hotch gave a slight nod in return, the tension in his chest easing just a little. It wasn’t about the label—it never had been—but in that moment, it gave him a sense of control, a way to protect you, to stay by your side.

Hotch returned to the waiting room, his steps slow but deliberate, the weight of the past few hours pressing heavily on his shoulders. The team looked up as he approached, their eyes filled with anticipation and concern.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to find the right words. “She’s out of surgery,” Hotch began, his voice low but steady. “It went well. They were able to stop the bleeding, and she’s stable. She has two broken ribs and stitches, but physically... she’s going to be okay.”

A collective sigh of relief washed over the room, and the tension that had gripped the team loosened ever so slightly. Prentiss exchanged a relieved glance with JJ, and Morgan leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

Before Hotch could say anything more, a nurse stepped into the room, interrupting the moment. “Excuse me,” she said, glancing at the group. “Only one person can visit at a time for now. If her boyfriend would like to join her, we can take you back.”

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air.

The team collectively froze, exchanging looks of surprise and confusion. Prentiss raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking toward Hotch, while Morgan’s eyes widened just a fraction, caught off guard. Penelope’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out at Hotch. JJ and Reid blinked, clearly processing the revelation, and Rossi, ever the observer, simply gave a knowing smile.

Hotch, for his part, didn’t flinch. He nodded to the nurse, his expression calm and composed, even as the team’s unspoken questions swirled around him. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ll go in.”

The nurse gestured for him to follow, and as he turned to leave, he could feel the eyes of his team on him, the weight of their surprise lingering in the room behind him.

As Hotch followed the nurse down the hall, the team watched him disappear around the corner. The moment he was out of earshot, they exchanged looks, the silence quickly breaking into hushed whispers.

Penelope, sitting on the edge of her seat, was the first to speak. “Did anyone else hear that? Boyfriend? Boyfriend?!” Her eyes were wide, and she looked from one teammate to the next, waiting for someone to confirm she wasn’t imagining things.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, glancing at the others. “Oh, I heard it too.”

Prentiss leaned back in her chair, still processing. “I mean, I knew there was something between them, but... boyfriend?”

JJ smiled softly, though she still looked surprised. “I knew they were close, but wow.”

Rossi sat quietly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later.”

Reid, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe Hotch just said that so he could get in to see her. You know, bypass the whole ‘immediate family’ rule.”

Morgan shook his head, smirking. “Reid, you really think Hotch would lie about something like that just to get in the room? No chance. There’s more going on there.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Morgan’s right. That was not just an excuse.”

Prentiss crossed her arms, still mulling over the revelation. “They’ve been like this for a while. It’s always been there.”

Rossi, always the observer, leaned back and added, “I don’t think either of them realizes how deep they’re in. But they’re definitely in it.”

The group fell into a brief silence, each of them now piecing together the subtle interactions they’d seen between you and Hotch over the months. The signs had always been there, but now it all seemed to make sense.

You blinked groggily as the haze of anesthesia began to wear off, the bright lights of the hospital room slowly coming into focus. Everything felt heavy, your body aching, but the familiar presence beside you—Hotch standing near your bed—brought a wave of relief.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

He stood close, his eyes full of concern but also unmistakable relief. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. Even in your state, you couldn’t help yourself. “I guess I’m still alive... which means you didn’t mess up too badly.”

Hotch blinked, clearly caught off guard by your comment. A faint smile flickered on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who just got out of surgery here?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, immediately wincing as the pain in your ribs flared up. “Yeah, yeah... I know,” you said, your voice still playful. “But someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

Hotch’s expression softened, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “You should be resting,” he said, though there was a faint trace of humor in his voice. “Not trying to be a smartass.”

You smiled, though it was more of a pained grin. “Can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.”

For a moment, the two of you shared a look, your usual teasing and banter making the heavy weight of everything feel just a little bit lighter. Hotch, despite everything, couldn’t help but feel relieved—you were still you.

“Yeah,” Hotch replied, allowing himself a small smile. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You let out a small chuckle, though the pain in your ribs quickly reminded you not to push it. You winced, shifting slightly on the bed. Hotch immediately stepped closer, his concern flickering back into his expression.

“Easy,” he said softly, his hand hovering near yours but hesitating, as if unsure whether to offer comfort or give you space. “You’re still healing.”

You smirked, wincing again as you tried to adjust. “Guess I’m going to have to take it easy for a while, huh? Don’t worry... I’ll let you wait on me hand and foot.”

Hotch shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think you’re going to need much help with that,” he replied dryly, his voice laced with amusement. “You seem to be managing just fine.”

You grinned, even through the discomfort, enjoying the back-and-forth. “Hey, you owe me. I took a knife for you.”

Hotch’s expression faltered for just a second, the weight of your words pulling him back to the reality of what had happened. His gaze flicked to your bandaged side, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said quietly, the lightness in his tone replaced with something more serious.

You sighed, the teasing fading for a moment as you met his gaze. “I would do it again,” you said softly, your voice more sincere. “For you? Every time.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his eyes searching yours. The intensity of your words hung between you, and for the first time since the surgery, you could see the depth of emotion in his eyes—the worry, the guilt, the relief. It was all there, unspoken but palpable.

He finally nodded, swallowing thickly. “And I’ll make sure you never have to again.”

You smiled at him, the moment heavy but comforting in its own way. “Good,” you said, breaking the tension with a hint of playfulness. “Because next time, you’re buying dinner first.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound soft and low, but it was enough to bring a warmth to the room that hadn’t been there before. “Deal,” he said, his voice lighter once again. “Now, get some rest. We’ll talk about your ‘waiting hand and foot’ plan later.”

You had been in the hospital for a couple of days now, resting and recovering. The team had stopped by to check in on you, offering support and making sure you were comfortable, but no one brought up the “boyfriend” comment. It seemed like they were all content to brush past it, letting you heal in peace without probing into whatever was happening between you and Hotch.

Now, it was just you, Penelope, and Hotch in the room. Penelope was sitting next to your bed, keeping the conversation light, as always, while Hotch stood nearby, his usual quiet presence comforting but still charged with that underlying tension you hadn’t fully addressed.

The nurse entered with a clipboard and a warm smile. “Good news,” she said, glancing between the three of you. “You’re being discharged today.”

You smiled back weakly, the exhaustion from your recovery still weighing on you. “Finally,” you murmured.

The nurse glanced at her paperwork. “We just need to arrange for your ride home. Will your boyfriend be taking you?” she asked, her tone casual.

Without thinking, you immediately blurted out, “I don’t have a—” But you paused, suddenly realizing who she might have meant. Your eyes flicked toward Hotch, the gears turning in your head as the weight of the comment settled. Did she mean Hotch?

Before you could find the words to clarify, Penelope looked at you, surprised. “What do you mean? I thought Hotch was your boyfriend?”

The air felt heavy all of a sudden, the words hanging between you. You opened your mouth to respond, the confusion and unease already bubbling up inside you, but Hotch cut in smoothly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ll be taking her home.”

You blinked, the moment spinning out of your control before you even had time to process it. Penelope beamed at his confirmation, seemingly oblivious to the internal storm that was starting to brew in your chest. She began helping you gather your things, chatting away as if everything was perfectly normal.

But it wasn’t. Not for you.

As the nurse continued explaining your discharge instructions, Hotch was listening intently, nodding as she described how you’d need help with bandage changes, rest, and general care over the next few days. But you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your thoughts were spinning, crashing into each other in a swirl of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Panic. This was unexpected. Did Hotch mean what he said, or was he just saying it to smooth over the situation? There had been no conversation, no agreement between the two of you. The suddenness of it, this label, felt like it had been thrust upon you without your consent. The weight of the moment pressed down, tightening your chest.

Anger. He should have spoken to you first. If he had made this declaration in front of the team—or worse, if he genuinely believed this was something you had agreed to—it wasn’t fair. It felt like a line had been crossed without warning, a decision made without your input. You hadn’t even had the chance to figure things out for yourself, let alone with him.

Fear. This changes everything. A label like “boyfriend” brings expectations, complications, and shifts in dynamics you weren’t sure you were prepared for. You hadn’t even begun to navigate your feelings about Jack, about what it meant to be a part of Hotch’s life outside of the team. What if this label, this step, was too much too soon?

Confusion. What are we, really? There were too many unanswered questions, and too many parts of this relationship that were undefined. It wasn’t just about you and Hotch anymore; his son, his responsibilities, and his life outside the job added layers you hadn’t fully explored. Could you really handle all of that?

Frustration. Hotch had always been measured and thoughtful in his actions, but this felt rushed, impulsive. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration at his decision to jump into something so big without a conversation. It felt blindsiding like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning. And the scariest part? You couldn’t shake the thought: What if this ruins everything?

You were yanked from your spiraling thoughts when the nurse handed Hotch a few papers. “Here’s the aftercare sheet,” she said. “It explains how to change her bandages and monitor her pain levels. She’ll need rest, of course, but with your help, she should recover well.”

Hotch nodded, his focus completely on the nurse’s instructions, but you were still caught in the whirlwind of emotions, your mind racing.

The discharge process had gone by in a blur. The nurse’s instructions, Penelope’s cheerful goodbyes—it all felt distant, like you were moving through the motions but not really present. Soon enough, you found yourself outside, the cool air brushing against your skin as Hotch opened the car door for you. You settled into the passenger seat, your body still sore from the ordeal, but it was the silence that weighed on you more than the pain.

The car ride back was quiet. Too quiet. Hotch drove steadily, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, but neither of you spoke. Normally, you’d have something witty or sarcastic to say to fill the space, but today... you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur by, the tension between you and Hotch palpable but unspoken. The questions, the confusion, the frustration—it was all there, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to address it.

After a while, Hotch finally broke the silence. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice calm but cautious. “That’s never a good sign.”

You didn’t respond immediately, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Hotch, sensing your hesitation, continued, his tone softer now.

“I know we need to talk... about the label.” He paused for a moment, the weight of the word hanging in the air. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to rush into anything. But I know we need to figure this out.”

His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. Even he seemed apprehensive, uncertain about what came next.

“I can see something’s on your mind,” Hotch added, glancing over at you again. “You never stay quiet for long. You always have something to say.”

You exhaled, your mind still racing with everything you’d been trying to process. He was right—you did always have something to say. But this? This was different. You weren’t sure where to even begin.

The tension in the car hung thick between you, and after Hotch’s gentle prodding, you felt the pressure to finally respond. You were still sorting through the whirlwind of emotions, but instead of diving into them head-on, you did what you always did—deflected with a sharp edge.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, eyes still fixed on the window, “guess I’m not in the mood for small talk right now. Sorry to disappoint.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “I didn’t expect small talk.”

You crossed your arms, your voice taking on a sarcastic bite. “Oh, right. You want to talk about... the label. Great.” You scoffed, finally turning your head to glance at him. “Well, since you’ve already declared yourself my boyfriend, I guess the conversation’s already been had, right?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his tone measured. “I didn’t mean to make that decision for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. The brattiness in your voice masked the confusion and frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but it wasn’t hard to tell there was more you weren’t saying. “What, you couldn’t wait for me to be conscious for that part of the conversation?”

Hotch exhaled, his gaze steady on the road ahead. “I get why you’re upset,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But this isn’t something I take lightly.”

You rolled your eyes, still not ready to back down. “Right. Well, maybe next time you can include me in the ‘significant other’ discussion before you start telling people I’m your girlfriend.”

Hotch didn’t say anything at first, but the slight shift in his expression told you all you needed to know. He was hurt. The sharp edge of your words had cut deeper than you’d intended. His jaw tightened, and for the first time in the conversation, he seemed genuinely taken aback.

He glanced at you briefly before speaking again, his voice quieter, more measured. “I didn’t realize... that’s how you felt about it. The label.”

You could hear the tension in his tone—the disappointment, the hurt—but it was masked under his usual calm demeanor. He was trying to hold it together, even now.

“I just...” Hotch paused, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he collected his thoughts. “I need to know where this is going. I can’t...” He hesitated, then continued, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. “I can’t be with someone if it’s not permanent.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. Permanent. The weight of it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“This whole situation—being in that hospital, hearing them say I wasn’t ‘family’—it clarified a lot for me. I can’t do something halfway. I have Jack to think about. You’re with me more often than not these days when I’m not working or with him, and I need to know how to balance that.”

The hospital had been a reminder of the importance of clarity. He couldn’t afford uncertainty, not with Jack in the picture. Relationships, especially one like this, needed structure—boundaries. His role as a father demanded it, and so did his position at the BAU. Blurring those lines without understanding what they were to each other was a risk, one he wasn’t willing to take without her being fully on board.

You stayed silent, but the biting sarcasm from before was still at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to lash out, to brush it off as another heavy conversation you weren’t ready for. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something real. Something that made you pause, if only for a moment.

Hotch sighed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “If this isn’t something you want... if the label is a deal breaker for you, I need to know.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a fresh wave of frustration rising up inside you. Deal breaker? You hadn’t even had time to process everything, let alone decide if you wanted something “permanent.” You felt cornered, like the decision had been made for you, and now you were just being asked to confirm it.

“So now you’re asking me if this is a deal breaker?” you shot back, your tone sharp. “You don’t think I’m overwhelmed? You don’t think I need time to figure this out?” You exhaled harshly, shaking your head. “I went into that case thinking we were... I don’t know, figuring things out along the way. Then I wake up to find out I’m halfway married or something?”

Hotch’s face remained calm, but the hurt was still there, just beneath the surface. You could tell he was trying to stay composed, but the weight of your words was sinking in.

“I never meant for you to feel that way,” Hotch said quietly. “I just—”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it feels,” you interrupted, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and sarcasm. “And I don’t even know how to handle all of this right now. My career, the team... it’s all a lot to process. And now you’re asking me about ‘permanent’? You didn’t even give me a chance to figure out if I wanted the label in the first place.”

The car was silent for a few moments, the air thick with unspoken tension. You were both hurt, both grappling with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

By the time you reached your apartment, the frustration had settled into a dull ache. Hotch parked the car, and despite your stubborn urge to insist you could handle yourself, you knew better. As much as you wanted to protest, the soreness in your body was a constant reminder that you needed help. Quietly, you let Hotch guide you inside, though you couldn’t help but pout a little, feeling more like a sulking child than an FBI agent.

Hotch, ever patient, didn’t comment on your mood as he helped you settle onto the couch, adjusting the pillows behind you to make sure you were comfortable. You shot him a look, but said nothing, biting back the urge to make a snarky remark. You knew you were acting childish, but the weight of everything was still sitting heavy on your chest.

Once you were settled, Hotch sat down next to you, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’m ready to talk now,” you said finally, your voice still carrying a hint of attitude, but the sharp edge had softened. You weren’t quite ready to drop the sarcasm completely, but you knew this conversation was necessary.

Hotch simply nodded, his gaze steady on you, silently giving you the space to start.

Taking a breath, you glanced at him. “If I’m going to be... permanent in your life, with you and Jack, there are things we need to get straight.” Your tone was still tinged with a bit of defiance, but there was no denying the seriousness in your voice.

Hotch listened intently, his expression calm, but you knew him well enough to see that he was taking every word to heart.

“I want to get to know Jack more,” you continued. “I need to feel like I’m part of his life, not just someone who shows up occasionally.” You paused for a moment, then added, “And there need to be clear boundaries at work. I won’t be just ‘Agent Hotchner’s girlfriend.’ I worked too hard to get where I am to be reduced to that.”

Hotch gave a slight nod, his silence encouraging you to keep going.

“I still need my space,” you said, a bit of sarcasm creeping into your tone again. “My life. I’m not just going to revolve around you and your schedule.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth, but he stayed quiet, letting you lay it all out.

“I’m serious,” you added, your eyes narrowing. “I’ve worked too hard for my career. I won’t just be your... partner. I need to be seen as my own person.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. He already knew all of this. Deep down, you could tell he respected you too much to think otherwise, but saying it aloud gave you some sense of control over a situation that had spiraled.

You sighed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. “I was wrong, though. We’ve been in a relationship this whole time, haven’t we?”

Hotch’s expression softened. “Maybe a little old-fashioned of me to not ask you to ‘go steady’ first,” he teased, the rare humor catching you off guard.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, you kind of missed the mark there, old man.”

Hotch chuckled, then his tone shifted to something more serious. “I took all of this into account long before now,” he said quietly, his voice full of certainty. “The moment we crossed that line... when the banter stopped being just banter, I knew what it meant. I knew what I was risking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh, so you were playing with fire and didn’t even flinch?”

Hotch leaned in just slightly, his eyes locking with yours. “I knew it was worth the risk.”

You held his gaze, the tension between you shifting from uncertain to something far more solid. You could feel the weight of his words, the promise in them, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Well,” you said, your tone bold and flirty, “just don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hotchner.”

Hotch’s smile deepened, a rare glimpse of amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch #hotchner #aaronhotchner #wicked game #kiwriteswords #hotch x y/n #cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction

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frvnkcastles · 4 months ago

Text

A MAN WITH A BLACK HEART OF GOLD ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When there’s a death in the neighborhood, you call Frank for comfort and protection.

Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety, fluff mostly!

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: Taking a quick break from requests for this little thing I whipped up after experiencing this very thing myself. A dead body was found in my neighborhood and it freaked me out, but thankfully it was updated on the news that a crime wasn’t involved. Still, I wouldn’t mind if I had Frank next to me tonight!

The last thing you expected coming home from getting the groceries for next week was a bunch of police cars and an ambulance on your street. The sight instantly made you nervous, your grip on the bag of food tightening as you walked through the crowd to get to your door. The police were swarmed by the building across the street, giving you access to your own home, but before you made your way inside, your neighbor caught your eye.

”What’s going on?” you queried with both curiosity and dread. You knew there was plenty of crime in the city — if not through reading the news, then through knowing Frank. You had befriended the Punisher himself a few weeks back, and he had already taught you a lot about staying safe and protected, but even with everything he had shared with you, you felt uneasy that something had happened so close to your doorstep. You were used to hearing about what went down at night from him, but right now, it was barely evening and whatever had happened, it was right across the street from you.

”Apparently they found a dead body in one of the apartments”, your neighbor whispered, and with shock punching you in the gut, you swallowed. ”They won’t say what happened, though. Maybe it was natural causes”, she continued, and weakly, you nodded. Maybe she was right. But you had heard enough from Frank to know that there was some seriously fucked up stuff happening in your city, and it made you sick to think something like that had happened in your neighborhood.

You headed inside, working completely on autopilot as you got in your apartment and started unloading the groceries. You enjoyed every second you spent with Frank, in fact, you had gotten quite attached to him, but right now, you regretted ever listening to his haunting tales of criminals and crooks. All it did was make you overthink, your brain going in evil loops as you wondered if there was a murderer on the loose — maybe a serial killer, even? Maybe he was targeting people in your area. Maybe you were next.

You spent the evening refreshing the website of the local news, waiting for something to pop up. When it finally did, all the article said was that a corpse had been discovered and the police was still investigating whether or not it had been a crime. You gnawed on your nails anxiously. How hard could it be to tell if someone had murdered them? Even you knew there would have to be signs of a break-in or a struggle or something. Or maybe you had just watched too much TV.

Either way, it was driving you mad. And you knew what could make you feel better — calling Frank. You just didn’t know if you were in the stage of your relationship where it would be okay to do. Your encounters tended to be initiated by him, as he would either show up on your doorstep or behind your window unannounced, or you’d run into him at a coffee shop or a diner in a way that you suspected wasn’t random. You knew he was a busy man, and the last thing you wanted was to scare him off by being clingy, or worst case scenario, to endanger his life by calling him at the wrong time.

But it was Frank. Frank, who was always so good to you, Frank, who was way more talented at giving support and comfort than he gave himself credit for, Frank, who never judged or laughed at you if it wasn’t meant to be laughed at. God, it was no wonder you were already falling for him, when he was such a perfect gentleman every time you saw him.

A little embarrassed but hopeful that he’d be understanding, you decided to call him. You paced back and forth in your apartment while the phone rang, your nail between your teeth and your feet shuffling anxiously. It felt kind of awkward, too trivial to actually be worth Frank’s time, but the fear of what had happened beat the shame in you. You were growing more terrified by the minute, and you knew it was something only he could alleviate.

”Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Frank’s voice hit you through the phone, and gulping at the thickness of his voice, you shook yourself out of the daze you had fallen into while waiting for him to pick up.

”Hi, Frank. This is kinda embarrassing, but, uh… if you have the time—I understand if you don’t, would you maybe mind visiting? And… maybe even spending the night? The police found a dead body across the street and I’m just a little freaked out”, you rambled, your nerves getting the best of you, but Frank listened patiently instead of interrupting you.

For a beat, he was silent, and it was enough time for you to start wondering if you had made a mistake calling him. But finally, he spoke up. ”Yeah, darlin’, I’ll be there. Hang on f’me, yeah?” he answered, and with a weight rolling off of your chest, you sighed.

”Thank you, Frank.” You hung up the phone and threw yourself onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as you groaned. This was very much not what you had expected from your night, but maybe, it was a blessing in disguise. After all, you were officially signed up for some more time in Frank’s company, and the mere thought got you to smile to yourself. He had stolen your heart so effortlessly, it was ridiculous.

You didn’t know when to expect him, as you obviously couldn’t make him drop everything just for you, but when it started to get dark, you grew anxious again. He was taking his sweet time and being alone in the apartment made you uncomfortable, with every sound from outside your little bubble making you alert.

Finally, though, there was a knock on your door, and you jumped with your hand on your chest. You tiptoed to the front door and stole a glimpse through the peephole just to be safe, feeling calmer when you saw Frank standing there with his head hung low and his hands folded in front of him. You opened the door, and despite the worry inside your soul, the sight of him brought a smile on your face. He looked too good to be true, his sleeves rolled up and his dark hair covered in rain droplets.

”Sorry it took me a while. I made a pitstop”, he announced, gesturing at the bag in his hands. He walked inside, gently kicking the door shut behind him, and leaning down to briefly kiss your cheek before making his way to the kitchen. The casual gesture made your face hot and your heart skip a beat, but you followed him to the kitchen without commenting on it.

”What’s all this?” you asked as he began taking things out of the bag — chips, food containers, a bottle of beer for him and your favorite soda for you.

”Figured you ain’t gonna be able to sleep, anyway. We might as well make a night out of it. Watch a movie or somethin’, whatever you want”, he shrugged like it was the most normal thing ever for him to show up with everything thought of. You felt giddy, unable to believe he would do all this for you, and you did the only thing you could think of and stepped in to hug him.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, looking down at your face, painted with all kinds of heavy emotions. ”You must have been real scared, huh?” he muttered, and shyly, you nodded. ”It’s aight. ’M here now and I’mma make sure you’re safe”, Frank reassured you, just his words enough to console you. All it took was his presence to make you feel protected, and you appreciated it deeply.

”If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t heard of anythin’ goin’ down over here and I’m always on top of these things. I’m sure it was just a one-time thing”, he went on, and nodding, you pulled back from him and grabbed the soda can from the counter.

”I hope so. I kind of just wanna think about something else, so… how about that movie?” you suggested, drawing a sip from your drink.

Frank agreed quickly, and you two huddled up on your couch with the food and the snacks. Time passed in a blink of an eye, with midnight rolling around by the time you were finished with the first movie, but as Frank had suspected, you weren’t exactly eager to go to sleep. Sleeping made you vulnerable, and it scared you — so, you watched another movie.

You ended up migrating from your end of the couch to Frank’s arms. Totally platonic, you told yourself. He was sweet with you, surprisingly affectionate too, but you weren’t sure he felt the same way that you did. At least, you didn’t think he was ready to. He hadn’t told you everything, but you had read the news enough to know what he had gone through and what he had lost, so you doubted he was looking for a relationship. It stung, you had to admit that much, but you found a small consolation in the fact that it wasn’t anything personal.

A yawn slipped from you, and Frank noticed, perceptive as always. ”You should get some rest, sweetheart”, he pointed out, and begrudgingly, you supposed he was right.

”I don’t mean to push but… will you stay in the bed with me?” you asked carefully, hoping you weren’t crossing a boundary, but he didn’t seem to have any hesitation regarding the matter.

”Sure thing.”

With that, he helped you up from the couch, and you went ahead with your nightly routine of washing your face, brushing your teeth and changing into your PJs. When you stepped into the bedroom, Frank was already lying on your bed, his arms behind his head as he waited for you. Seeing him like that, it made your chest tighten and your stomach do a backflip. You had imagined this exact situation countless times, though you suspected your daydreams ended very differently than what reality had in store for you.

You settled under the covers, sighing deeply as you rubbed your tired eyes and felt the stress of the day weigh you down. Frank observed you closely, a small smile on his lips, and it made you chuckle nervously.

”What?” you questioned, earning a shrug from him.

”You just look real pretty, ’s all”, he revealed, and with your eyes widening, you stared at him, trying to find any hint of joke on his face. There was none.

”Thanks, Frankie”, you replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear. ”And thanks for the food and for staying with me. I really appreciate it”, you added, and with a soft nod, he dropped his hands to his lap and shifted deeper into the mattress.

”I know it ain’t a permanent solution, but I want ya to know I’mma keep an eye on this place. I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you”, he promised, and surprised, you lifted yourself up to rest on your elbow, your gaze meeting his.

”You’d do that?” you spoke in disbelief, and with a completely serious look, he nodded once again.

”Course, I would, sweetheart. I never wanna see you in harm’s way. I know this is still pretty new, but I, uh, I like you”, he confessed, his voice almost nervous. You couldn’t imagine him ever being nervous, but as you both sat in his admission, the air growing hot between you, that was exactly how he felt.

Feeling impulsive, you closed the space between you and kissed him. He melted into it immediately, his big hand reaching up to cradle your face, his lips moving against yours in a way that was thrilling and enchanting. He took your breath away, kissing you with passion but sweetness, and it was even better than you had imagined.

Breathless, you broke the kiss, and he dropped his forehead to yours. ”I like you, too”, you returned the favor, and breaking into a grin, Frank kissed you again, shorter this time but equally delicious.

In hindsight, you were beyond glad you had called him, and he felt the same way. And for you, he was going to get to the bottom of what had happened.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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wangxianficfinder · 9 months ago

Text

In the mood for...

Feb 26th

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1. hi, would like to ask if you know of any fic about the sunshot campaign after a failed golden core transfer. thank you :)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending) IDK about failed transfer, but this is a Time Travel AU where WQ travels back to when she was performing the transfer & refuses to go through with it

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2. Hello! I have been reading a fic where the elder Lan Wangji Hanguang Jun time travels into the past time in Cloud Recess during the time when his Younger self and Wwx were studying

And then wwx is all over the older Hanguang Jun fawning and fussing .

Fic like Vinegar Jug by Dandelion Sun .

Or something similar coded. @lostsoul234

💖 Hanguang-jun’s Husband by lilacevergarden (alittlemorecreative) (T, 6k, wangxian, time travel, bullying ur younger versions, jealous wwx)

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, first love, love confessions, fluff & humor, denial, pining, happy ending)

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3. Tysm Mods for all you do to accommodate and keep up with these asks and recs. As well as all your efforts in keeping up this site. We all appreciate it very much.❤️❤️🥰

But, here’s the ittmf ask. I’m looking for longer fics, (30k+ words) for modern cultivation aus. I’m looking for something like the societies portrayed in Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! byKizuKatana or All Old Things are New Again byThe Feels Whale (miscellea) would be great, but just give me what you’ve got. I’m hungry for more, does anyone have any good ones? @omgnectarina

I feel like I win when I lose by so_shhy (T, 25k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Sports AU, Getting Together, some semblance of a plot, gently implied 3zun, obsessively observing someone from a distance is super romantic, LWJ pls use your words, really WWX cannot be blamed for obliviousness in this one, WC causing trouble, WN is precious, Fluff, Podfic Available)

Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, wangxian, modern cultivation, music, kid fic, action/adventure, canon typical JGY behavior, slow burn, fluff & angst, happy ending)

🔒 close the door behind me, i'm leaving by thelastdboy (M, 3k, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, Madam Lan & LWJ, Modern Cultivation, Canon Divergence, POV LWJ, Character Study, Coming of Age, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Neurodiversity, Autism Spectrum, Situational Mutism, Hurt No Comfort)

💙 this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending) Idk how close these are to what OP wants, but I've been reading a lot of Modern Cultivation fics recently, so here's my fave so far

something wicked by isabilightwood (T, 13k, wangxian, modern with magic, coffee shop AU, Animal Transformation Curse, Bunji, LWJ is a Talking Bunji, True Love’s Kiss, Specifically the Same Type of Love, Miscommunication, Pining, Jealous WWX, WWX attempts to set LWJ up on dates, LWJ is not having it, WWX is an empath but he’s bad at telling how people feel about him, Friends to Lovers, Moms and WCZ Live, blink and you’ll miss it implied 3zun, Werewolf Baker WN, extremely mild angst, Fluff, minor background WQ/JYL/JZX, Halloween)

The Curse Breaker by NebulusCharlie (Not rated, 34k, wangxian, Curses, soft and fluffy WangXian, past mistakes, school of Cultivation, modern with magic, Definitely a happy ending, not much angst)

Extracts from the diaries of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, relating to the case of Lan Zetian (Nov. 4 to Nov. 27) by Accidental_Child (T, 6k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Case Fic, Epistolaryish, Diary/Journal, WWX-centric, LWJ-centric, Slow Burn, (academic), Enemies to Lovers, academic rivals to Lovers, Mentions of Murder, mentions of abuse, mentions of assult)

And you must keep your soul/ Like a secret in your throat by athena_crikey (E, 48k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Vampire WWX, Cultivator LWJ, Case Fic, hur/comfort, Angst, Falling In Love, First Time, Reference to Torture)

那些年错过的大雨 (Nàxiē nián cuòguò de dàyǔ | The heavy rain we missed in those years) by PorcupineGirl (E, 29k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, Modern Cultiovation, Secret Identity, Wangxian Reunion, Dual Cultivation, Sorta kinda soulmates, but not a soulmate au, Consensual Non-Consent, Explicit Consent, Dom/sub, dom LWJ, sub WWX, Wangxian Have a Non-Con/Rape Kink, No Golden Core Transfer, discussion of mental health issues, WWX & LSZ reunion, Scheming NHS, NHS is Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic (except for how his fingerprints are all over it), Content Warnings in Chapter Notes, no lube we die like WWX's asshole)

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4. I've read a few fics with this lovely concept, but may I have more recs with talisman-genius wwx? getting rich/admired as a result of that is a welcome bonus! thank you💚

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 762k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) The ultimate Talisman Genius WWX Gets Recognition fic

🧡 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post)

💙🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, LWJ/WWX Get a Happy Ending)

🔒 The Second Hand Unwinds by trulywicked (E, 46k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Time Travel Fix-It, JC Bashing, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect Bashing Jiāng Family Bashing, YZY Bashing, Time Travelling LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Wooing, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, frankencanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Gūsū Lán Sect, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Protection Squad)

A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX not adopted by Jiangs, developing friendships, miscommunication, misunderstangings, nightmares, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, WWX’s fear of dogs, slow burn, cultivation world bureaucracy)

~*~

5. this is for itmf! (no wips)

A. bottomji fics please

B. fics w lots of cuddling, soft fics (post- canon preferably, but anything is good!!)

5A)

do with me what spring does with cherry trees by jalpari (E, 34k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, No War AU, Bottom LWJ, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Idiots in Love, Touch-Starved LWJ)

this bed of love by YaYa (Terabyte_my_ass) (E, 4k, wangxian, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Tender Sex, super sensitive LWJ, Blink and you miss it humiliation kink, and a little bit of praise kink, First Time Bottoming, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Coming Untouched)

Respectable, Decent, and Quiet by Theotrix (E, 5k, wangxian, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, repressed LWJ, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Loud Sex, Emotional release, How about instead of more rules you get your disciples some therapy)

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

To Know, To Be Known by cqlorphan (E, 38k, wangxian, PWP, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Cock Warming, Multiple Orgasms, Marathon Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, let lwj get railed agenda, LWJ Learns Some Things about himself, sex tears, gratuitous use of names, Begging, Kink Discovery, Post-Canon, Top LWJ, Bottom WWX, Switching, Light Bondage, Blow Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Let wwx get tied up but also let lwj railed, Repressed LWJ, Inventor WWX, Cock Rings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, begging, talking about feelings, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Dildos, Rimming, Edging) link in #15

~*~

6. my first time sending an ask! this is for the i’m in a mood for thing, i wanted fics where xue yang ends up in the burial mounds and/or becoming wwx’s protégé, like canon divergence where he isn’t like a full spawn of evil

no one ever said the single-plank bridge had to be walked alone by rosemu (T, 124k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect au, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Fluff, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Slow Burn, LWJ and WWX get to be Dads together, the healing power of homoerotic flute/guqin duets, Happy Ending) XY is sent to the Burial Mounds to spy for JGY, becomes WWX's student & switches sides, is still snarky without being evil

~*~

7. Hi! I’m in the mood for fics where WWX comes back in MXYs body but it’s absolute canon divergence from there. Thanks for all your help! @empress-of-elsewhere

Home isn't Where the Heart is. by Hauntcats (Not rated, 7k, wangxian) Technically already an AU before WWX came back, since LWJ noped out of the Lans while he was dead, but might still count for the request

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

~*~

8. heyyy, do yall have a cross dressing comp.?? if not can u rec some (or put this in itmf?)

My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels)

we’ll get him falling for a stranger (or a catfish) by sweetlolixo (T, 38k, WangXian, Modern AU, College AU, Catfish AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Crossdressing WWX, Rich heir LWJ gets catfished by pretty WWX online that’s it that’s the fic, Pining LWJ, Fluff, Humor, lwj is a grade A+ SIMP, Identity Porn)

~*~

9. I've read a few fics with side plots of the lans learning about the culture of yunmeng and seeing all of the cultural differences, and was wondering if there were anymore fics like that? It could be any sect tbh I'm just super interested in the cultural differences between the sects. @reyoffuckingsunshine

~*~

10. do u have some outsider pov mdzs fics (especially if it's like from any of the juniors or lan xichen )

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, LSZ & WWX, JYL & JL & JZX, LJY & LSZ, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Angst, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor) Juniors pov time travel fic

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) LXC POV

The Story of El-ahrairah and the Rabbits of Cloud Recesses by zylaa (G, 1k, wangxian, Crack, Fluff, literal fluff, it's all about the rabbits) Definitely outsider pov as it's from characters from outside MDZS canon

There's a Baby Loose in the Burial Mounds! by ScarlettStorm (G, 3k, LSZ is the best boy, even the ghosts think so, OCs, But they're all dead, What is a family?, the burial mounds, sentient burial mounds, don't worry wangxian are together and in love, that's just not relevant to anything that happens in this fic, radish truther agenda) POV various ghosts

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation, Mojo’s bookmark) LJY POC

pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, BAMF WWX, Kidnapping, Violence, YLLZ WWX, not exactly but the vibes are there, Post-Canon) POV random idiots

💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) LQR POV

Oh, my precious didi! by PrinceInuYasha (G, 7k, wangxian, High School AU, LXC's pov, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Some angst, Protective WWX, overprotective LXC, Rumors, Established Relationship, bad boy WWX, but not really) link in #11

~*~

11. Do u have some lan xichen or jin ling pov fics esp ones that are already not quite so popular on ao3

climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, JL & LSZ, JL & WWX, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, mentions of past JC/WQ, Fairy is a good dog, Podfic by RevolutionaryJo)

a symbol to remind you that there's more to see by paperminds (T, 9k, JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, canon-compliant, post-canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mild/Moderate Angst with happy ending, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Twin Idiots, Reconciliation, JL has too many uncles, JL deserves a hug, JL will save us all, excessive verbosity by yours truly)

To Love What Is Mortal by treemaidengeek (T, 22k, XiSong, Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Healing, past 3Zun, past SongXiao, background WangXian, background SL & WN, & LSZ, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, [Podfic] To Love What Is Mortal by flamingwell)

Gentle Exile by rynleaf (E, 9k, XiSong, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Epistolary, Post-Canon, Exploration, [PODFIC] Gentle Exile by flamingwell, semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

🔒hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (G, 15k, WangXian, CQL canon, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, domestic fluff and angst, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, BAMF WWX)

~*~

12. I’m ITMF a fic where it’s a AITA au / where the characters are in a AITA scenario @zerokogane

Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole? by moonwaif (M, 41k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Oblivious LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Jealous WWX, Misunderstandings, No actual Wei Ying x Others, A "What If Wei Wuxian Figured Out His Own Feelings First?" AU, Hanguang-jun unlearns compulsory heteronormativity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, give LWJ friends agenda)

~*~

13. hi! for itmf i wanted to ask, are there any fics where cssr's infidelity accusation gets addressed definitively? it's mentioned sometimes but there aren't ever consequences for yzy or the other gossipers, or wwx doesn't get to honor and take pride in his parents (I'll also take any angsty options where the the jfm-bastard assumption gets wwx in trouble) thank you!!

~*~

14. hey admins! i'm in the mood for any fics where wwx is depressed and sad, but people help him? i'm in an angsty mood, thanks!

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 53k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

🔒 tuck me in by belovedmuerto (T, 4k, WangXian, bed sharing, Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, Pre-Slash, Getting Together, Nightmares, expressions of care)

~*~

15. hi! if you dont mind me asking, what is the mdzs/the untamed fic with the best smut you ever read? any kind of fic is fair game

Make me by anaphoricae (E, 180k, wangxian, Modern, Dom/sub, Dominant WWX, Submissive LWJ, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Co-workers, Praise Kink, Touch-Starved LWJ, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Nipple Play, Mutual Masturbation, Overstimulation, POV WWX, In which I trick you into reading about Wangxian falling in love by making you think it's all just a smut fic, Brief Mentions of WWX/Others and LWJ/Others, Bondage, Blindfolds, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Flogging, Chair Bondage, Aftercare, Edging, Jealous LWJ, Facials, Come as Lube, and also lube as lube, Cock & Ball Torture, But it's mild, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Face Slapping, Choking, Subspace, Couch Sex, LWJ sitting on WWXs lap agenda, Biting, Spanking, LWJ having his cheeks pinched as a treat, So much RESPECT and TRUST this is actually way softer than the tags make it seem, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Rope Bondage, Office Sex, Rope Bunny LWJ, Spit As Lube, LWJ's canonical habit of keeping (stealing) Wei Wuxian's things, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Blow Jobs, Snowballing, Service Submission, Lingerie, LWJ's brain going BRRRRR, Jealous WWX, Cock Rings, Cock Warming, Collars, Power Play, Orgasm Control, LWJ and WWX's inability to pretend they're not actually madly in love with each other, slight degradation [Affectionate], Miscommunication, Impact Play, Rigger WWX, BDSM fetish party, Public Blow Jobs, Rope Suspension, Cuddlefucking, Fluff, LWJ and WWX being boyfriends without realizing they're boyfriends, Porn with Feelings, Body Worship) lots of bdsm and stuff so u might wanna check out the tags

🔒sleep in your bed by copperwings (E, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Attempt at Humor, Boys Kissing, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex)

Fentao-laoshi’s Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends with benefits, first time, cloud recesses study arc, practice kissing, sharing a bed, jealousy, getting together, confessions, happy ending)

~*~

16. Hi! This is for ITMF ✨

I'm looking for two kind of fics:

A) Cloud Recesses Arc where WWX and LWJ are together soon, Happy ending pls. I like longer fics, but shorts ones are OK. 🤗💕

B) Travel time fics where WWX (I prefer WWX but if it's LWJ it's ok too) travel in time to fix everything and save everyone. I love this kind of fics. Please give me all you have. Happy endings, pls. 💕😉

Thanks for everything!! Ily 🤟😊 @wangxiansgirl

16A)

❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, wangxian, canon divergence, political marriage, dysfunctional family, implied/referenced self-harm, hurt/comfort, fix-it, implied/referenced suicide, BAMF WWX, eventual happy ending, not YZY friendly, not LQR friendly (kind of), Mojo’s bookmark)

16B)

the cycle of regret by KouriArashi (T, 14k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Fix-It, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Canon) LWJ stuck in a time loop

Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, wangxian, miscommunication, misundersandings, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort) Both LWJ & WWX time travel

Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, No war AU, Not YZY Friendly, Somebody Lives/Not everyone dies, Established Relationship) WWX time travels

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) WWX time travels

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, slow burn, getting together, first time, pining, pining while fucking, burial mounds settlement days, angst w happy ending) LWJ time travels

🔒 Hope series by RoseThorne (M, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death, Resentment, Anger, Explosions, Yīn Iron, Grief/Mourning, POV WWX)

Wish Me Luck by Starlight1395 (Not rated, 164k, wangxian, time travel, fix it, PTSD) It's the perfect angsty/cute combo time travel fix-it fix! Also fits #16A

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

~*~

17. Hola! Nice to meet you ☺️

I want to ask for some fics in ITMF. Lately I'm reading a lot of Wangxian fics where they kiss or confess in Xuanwu cave or Gusu cave. I like when they have their happy ending, long fics better. (I'm happy with mpreg and omegaverse too).

Thx!!

💙🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, modern w/ cultivation, getting back together, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, case fic, pining)

hope dangling by a string by KouriArashi (M, 70k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Alternate Canon, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Psychic Bond, Telepathy, Communication, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, jiang family feels, Lan Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, improper use of sacred forehead ribbons, gratuitous hair washing)

Quartet series by WithBroomBefore (T, 69k wangxian, JZX & JC & WWX & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, WWX's canonical comfort with the prospect of his own death, Hurt/Comfort, JZX makes friends, Eventual Happy Ending, some unhappiness along the way, Canon-Typical Violence, JC keeps his golden core, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, Minor Character Death, Kissing, WWX Lives, no golden core transfer, JZX Lives, Fix-It, WN Lives, Weeping, temporary major character death, Murder Road Trip, Implied Sexual Content, Sunshot Campaign, Nonbinary NHS, Telepathy, platonic group soulbonding, Family, Found Family, POV WWX, Podfic Available, Siblings Sworn Brothers, aroace JZX, Happy Ending, all the Wen remnants live, POV JZX, JGY is less murdery, Asexual Character, Aromantic Character, JZX's social awkwardness, Poison) the first part starts with the Xuanwu cave and confessions/realisations.

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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symbiotic-slime · 5 months ago

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My Venom/Malevolent Crossover Ramblings

there’s like 15 of you guys who liked that post so i figured i would share my idea! also shout out to @bat-luun and @french-toast-enjoyer for letting me ramble about this in ur dms while I was trying to solidify the idea :D

It revolves around how similar Arthur and Eddie’s careers are. Arthur was a private investigator and now gets sent around investigating various cults and Eddie is an investigative journalist. so if I could get them to the same time, it would be pretty easy to have them meet.

So my idea is that Kayne uses his time fuckery magic to send Arthur and John to San Fran in the the 21st Century to find some random mcguffin he wants. Arthur starts investigating this cult, which from the other cults in Malevolent tend to be like the higher ups of society.

Eddie would be investigating the cult for completely different reasons. maybe there’s like money laundering, maybe people have disappeared and it seems to be tied to this group idk. One day while on the job he runs into Arthur, and they decide to be partners while working on this case.

Cue a bunch of shenanigans where they are both trying to act completely normal and like they aren’t sharing a body with another entity. They both keep noticing how weird the other one is acting but never speak up about it lest they be discovered for also doing weird things. Both John and Venom are suspicious of the other person, but neither of them want to make the first move.

Eventually, Eddie and Arthur are caught by the cultists. They’re surrounded. Eddie gives up on protecting their identity and transforms into Venom to save their lives. Afterwards Eddie tries to explain what happened to Arthur, expecting him to be freaked out and terrified, but Arthur is just like “Wait. You’re like me?” and tells Eddie about John.

Arthur also gets his moment to use his powers, just not in combat because let’s be honest John and Arthur aren’t very formidable in like any combat scenario. Their lead turns up dead. Eddie’s frantic, trying to figure out what happened and how to continue their investigation. Arthur touches the person, learning how they died and helping them continue to unravel what happened and who did it.

While this is all going on, both Eddie + Venom and John + Arthur learn things about each other and their relationships through the other. Is this fic idea also an excuse for me to write John and Arthur learning how to fucking communicate for once because they see Venom and Eddie acting as a team? Yes, yes it is.

Eddie gives Arthur advice on bodysharing and successfully navigating a romantic relationship like that, completely unaware that they’re not officially dating each other. Insert a Rosa Diaz “you two just need to bone” moment.

Eddie and Arthur get coffee together after the cult bullshit is said and done. John and Arthur are getting along a lot better. When Eddie tries to ask if they took his advice, Arthur blushes furiously and tells him that this is not an appropriate conversation to be having. Eddie smiles smugly for the rest of their time together.

Also Kayne dies because I hate him (sorry to all the Kayne lovers out there I understand why u like him he just pisses me off). It would be incredibly funny if it was treated as unseriously as Cletus’ death in Venom Let There Be Carnage where Venom just says “fuck this guy” and bites his head off.

tagging the people who said they wanted to hear my ramblings: @izzythedemigod @larsons-shattered-eyeballs @izel-reblogs :D

#do you guys see the vision #eddie brock #venom symbiote #symbrock #venom #arthur lester #john doe #john doe malevolent #private eyes #jarthur #malevolent

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songmingisthighs · 4 days ago

Text

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. xxii - peter

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

tw : jokes about illegal substances (cannabis), jongho being sentimental, talks about natural death

wc : 2 k

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

Never in a million years would you have imagined to be in this spot. Seeing your boss, the same guy who not four weeks ago had blatantly told you to keep your personal and professional apart just because you were texting your grand uncle about his stiff joints, in your house with takeout. Well, your grand uncle's house, but still, it was your quarters and he was acting so casual with you. This was not the only casual thing, as he showed up in a big, fluffy hoodie and dark sweatpants, completely taking you off guard. It wasn't like you were expecting him to be wearing suits or business-casual outfits so late, it was just that you had never seen him so comfortable.

"I hope you don't mind Chinese food. I've been craving it, especially noodles for some reason," Jongho said as he slowly pulled containers of food out of the plastic bag. The smell was mouth-watering but it didn't deter you enough to skip over the main issue. "How long have you been craving Chinese food, Jongho? 200 years?" your eyes dart along the five side dish containers on top of the two noodle containers before you.

Sheepishly, Jongho chuckled as he scratched the back of his head, "Well, I didn't know what you like so..." "You got a whole page of the menu?" you finished for him, still looking incredulous. Jongho simply shrugged, "If we don't finish this, we can split the remaining food and keep them as leftovers. Easy." Though he made a point, you still couldn't believe that he had bought so much on his first time stepping into your house. "Even the leftovers would be too much," you grumbled despite looking over the food and thinking about which one to pick first. "If you can't finish this, you can always share with your uncle," Jongho suggested as he dropped himself on the other end of the couch with his noodles, his feet tucked under his thighs as he sat cris-crossed. You settled into a mirroring position, also with your own noodles before you pressed play on your paused movie, Captain America: The First Avenger. "First of all, it's grand uncle, and no I can't share with him because he's old and the doctor is limiting his sodium intake severely so I'm just gonna put this in my fridge," you explained.

Although you lived with your grand uncle, he was nice enough to realize that once you became an adult, you wanted your own space and due to his mobility issue, he decided to give the whole second floor to yourself while he stayed on the first floor. He had assured that you had your own little apartment on the second floor what with your own bedroom, your own kitchen, your own living room and your own bathroom. He had allowed you to transform his entire second floor and all he asked of you was to just not bother him because he needed his rest. So you usually see him maybe four times a week because your schedules tend to make you very occupied outside, but with the help of the caretaker, you were able to be sure that he was doing just fine. When he wasn't cranky.

"I think I saw him earlier while we were going up. It sucks he can't eat this but that just means there's more for you," Jongho said between bites, "Let me tell you, once MSG was introduced, it was just like what happened with cannabis." The way he said the word cocaine so casually made you almost choke your food, but you managed to only cough twice before swallowing and talking, "What the hell do you mean cannabis??" you asked, both scandalized and surprised. "Well," Jongho paused to swallow a mouthful of tangsuyuk he had dipped in sauce, "We used to cook with cannabis leaves because back then we didn't know it was narcotics because there weren't any classifications back then, we just considered it edible weed so we make dishes out of them and where I'm from, cannabis leaves were everywhere." You were still amazed at the newfound revelation when Jongho suddenly chuckled to himself, grinning fondly, "I remember when I was... twelve or something, my younger brother and I just came back from school, we were hungry and he was particularly emotional because he had gotten in trouble from fighting with some kid. We got back home and our mom made these amazing steamed cabbage rolls with ground beef and what I later found out was cannabis leaves. It was one of the fondest memories I had of home. Just being a kid, trying to be a policeman. I usually make that dish from time to time out of homesickness but then it all stopped after 1976 because cannabis was made illegal so I haven't had it in quite some time."

There was an aura shrouding Jongho, something that felt more like nostalgia and longing with a hint of hurt. But you didn't dare to point that out as you were afraid of poking him on a sore spot. So you decided to go another direction, "So is that what you want, cheech? You want to smoke some MJ?" you teased. Jongho immediately turned to look at you with an exasperated look before sighing, "Of course not, I'm being sentimental here! Besides, the drug use now was nothing compared to how it was back then. There were no prohibition or anything so it was somewhat fine as long as it was controlled, but when I first got my police training, I did see some cases of people tripping in restaurants or getting into fights due to hallucinations in the street, they were a handful," he snickered, remembering a particular memory of a guy who was tripping and he was thinking that a witch poisoned his tea when in fact his wife had spiked it to get him to confess to adultery.

"Do you miss your life before? Your... original life, I mean," you couldn't help but ask after seeing Jongho being so... Enthused from talking about his life. Jongho paused mid-bite, surprised that you would ask that. To be honest, Jongho never thought about that particular question before. Sure, he thought about his past life rather often but it was never about if he missed his old life or not. He reminisced because he had been through a lot for quite some time, but he wasn't sure if he particularly missed it.

"Well... I miss my mom... And my dad... And my little brother... I don't miss the way people usually die after forty or fifty or from the common cold and I don't miss the way we have to walk for two weeks to get to a whole different city because we had to walk everywhere," Jongho stated, giving you a bit of an understanding. Then you pursed your lips, "I've never asked you this... But what did your parents do? How was your little brother like?" "My parents had an apothecary. My dad had connection to China where he import special herbs and medicine so he was able to get under the king's radar and so it simplified my application to the police academy. My little brother, that little copycat, seeing me working decided that he wanted to become a policeman too. He thought, and I quote, 'if you out of all stubborn people could do it, I can do it better,' which is absolutely infuriating," he chuckled.

As his chuckle died, you saw his face relax and his smile faltered as his gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of you, "I never got to see him graduating from the academy. Last I heard, he was given a prestigious honour and my parents were so proud that they held a celebration for him. The same way they did when I also graduated and got a recognition honour from the palace itself," he said, this time with a tone that conveyed his sadness.

Truly, at that moment all you wanted was to reach over and pull him into your arms, comforting him. But you knew you couldn't, you knew you shouldn't because you weren't sure how he was going to react. So instead, you straightened up and scooted closer to him to the point that your knees were touching. Realizing your attempt to comfort him, Jongho cracked a grin and shook his head in slight embarrassment, "Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood sour. I just... I never got to talk about this to anyone who might understand, you know?" You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, "Don't you talk to your friends about this?" to which he scoffed, "The fabled creatures? Sure. They don't grow up, they were created to be that way. Even the guardians, were once human but upon their tragic and unfair death, they were given the choice to become guardians and when they agreed their memories and feelings over their mortal lives were wiped out. Sure, Seonghwa hyung allows them to read their Book, but since their feelings were wiped, they don't really feel attachment. So when I talk about my past life, when I talk about how I miss certain things, they're all up on me talking about how I should be glad that I get to feel the modern age, they try to push me to focus on the silver lining which is more beneficial, yes, but-" "Sometimes you need to weep and wallow," you finished, surprising Jongho.

Now, there was a sad smile on your face as you nodded in understanding. "I know, I get it," you simply said, reaching forward to pat him on the knee. You wanted to tell him how sometimes you also just hole yourself up in your room and cry about your parents. You tried talking to Mingi about this but he couldn't understand, he kept telling you about how knowing your parents wasn't always a good thing since he barely knew his dad. So you tried talking to Liz and Wonyoung but of course, coming from a functional family, they can't understand your need to cry yourself out sometimes and instead, they kept telling you to be happy. Taehyun and Hyunjin... Well, they were simply out of the question. But This, knowing that someone you least expected was sharing your perspective, was surprising but also comforting. You couldn't help but see Jongho in a different light and no, it wasn't just because your lightbulb gave Jongho this soft, almost boyish glow with his glimmering eyes filled with contentment and cheeks a rosy hue from baring his feelings.

As to not turn the moment depressing, you cleared your throat and nodded towards the TV. "Not gonna lie, it's kind of intriguing that both you and I can open a grief support group with Captain America there," you pointed out. Jongho raised an eyebrow, unsure as to what you meant, "The guy in spandex holding a trash lid? How so?" You gasped loudly and smacked your thigh, "Trash lid?? That's his shield! That thing is made out of vibranium and he's just so super strong- Okay, no, we need to get to the bottom of this, oh my God, I will not shut up until you completely understand," you positioned yourself so you were sitting facing Jongho as he groaned and dropped his head back, "Do I want to know what a vibranium is?" "Yes, of course!" you exclaimed excitedly while Jongho pretended to sob.

You two ended up watching The Avengers after that while you gave your commentary and explained things so Jongho would understand. Jongho, despite not really wanting to know, found himself rather intrigued with the band of superheroes and even asking questions, engaging actively whilst paying attention, even commenting how Hawkeye should've been dead at least 20 times because a real arrow and a real archer would not have been able to do a repeat shooting and in exchange, he explained how archery works to you.

It was a dramatic shift in conversation but that night, you two got to know each other and after a long time, Jongho finally let a new person into his life, genuinely in and not just because he had something he needed. And he couldn't be more glad to have his stoic stance proven wrong by you out of all people.

network :

@cultofdionysus @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@dinossaurz @redzie02 @stayatinykatsy @tinyelfperson @allisonleannn @yukichan67 @phenomenalgirl9 @dawn-iscozy @aestheticsluut @krustycangrejo @teenyfinds @kirbrary @thedistractedwriter @gxlden-bxbyy @huachengsbestie01 @charreddonuts @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict @velvetskize @do-you-remember-summer-127 @borahae-reads @domfikeluva @hwalighters @akunoeyebrows

@roronoas-wife

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bludrogue · 8 months ago

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Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

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just-wrting · 1 year ago

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Undercover

Title: Undercover

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Working on a case, leads to you and Hotch pretending to be a couple to lure out an unsub. While you're aware of the impact it has on your crush, you're unaware of the impact it has on Hotch.

Word Count: 4892

Master List

A/N: This has been my longest sitting Hotch draft so I sat down today and wrote this! It only took me a few hours cause I couldn't stop watching Criminal Minds while writing this. This is also so that people who aren't enjoying the Babysitter series a break. This was also gonna have smut but I want sleep more than that.

You had lots of feelings about Hotch. As your boss, he was good at his job. He was usually level-headed, calm, and direct. He did well in a leadership role and was able to command the team well. On top of that, his voice was smooth and his hands warm. He took good care of everyone, even you. That led to your biggest issue with your job at the BAU, you had started to develop a crush on your boss.

The gentle sound of papers rustling is what makes you realize that you’re not alone. You’ve managed to zone out while on the plane. Thankfully it’s in the last part of the trip, the part where you all mostly read the files on your own and tried to piece things together.

Emily slides back into her seat next to you and pushes a cup toward you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you have a single thing to drink on this flight.”

You take a sip from the cup and gave her a small smile. “Yeah, I tend to be a little squished into the seat by the window and don’t want to interrupt someone’s thoughts. I know no one’s going to be mad, but I’d rather not risk something that could be important.”

“Dehydration will just make it harder for you to focus, (Y/N). Granted the effects take much longer to set in, but the average adult doesn’t drink nearly enough water.”

You look over the table at Reid. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind before I choose my coffee.”

“You sure it’s a cup of coffee you’ll be choosing? I’ve seen you with more soda in your hand than coffee.”

You shake your head at Morgan before looking back at the files in your hand. Morgan had been right. Maybe not about the soda but about the fact that no matter how many cases you did, it wasn’t any easier. Each victim was someone that could no longer be saved. They all had a family that wanted them back, and there was nothing you could do.

—

Once you had landed, Hotch sent you with Morgan to go look at the crime scene. It is your least favorite task, not to mention your weak stomach after a flight, you don’t like looking at the blood longer than you have to. Thankfully, Morgan is good at keeping you calm and is willing to check on rooms first. He’ll always give you a warning, your own little one-to-five scale, on how bad the room was.

“The bodies were found still in bed. The neighbors said they didn’t hear anything so maybe the first thing he did was make sure they couldn’t scream.”

You nod as Morgan walks around the bed. “Based on trauma on the head I’d go with at least one woke up. The husband had an indent on the back of his head. Given that there wasn’t anything left at the crime scene, the killer took it with him.”

“Okay so, the unsub gets into the house and comes upstairs to the couple sleeping. Maybe he makes a noise or something. Husband wakes up and the unsub hits him so he stays quiet.”

“What about the wife? I’ve heard men are deeper sleepers so wouldn’t she have woken up? Plus this isn’t the first murder. Wouldn’t the unsub know better than to make noises?”

“Maybe he killed the wife first. The blood or the smell could’ve woken the husband. Maybe even the wife moving before she died woke him up. It didn’t take him long to kill both of them. Time of death for both was around 3 am.”

“If he was done with the wife, why not just kill the husband right away? Why bother knocking him out?”

With that, Morgan shrugs and looks at you. “I don’t know. Maybe it was easier. All I know is that there isn’t much else here.”

“Do you think this couple was having fun?”

Morgan blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Well for starters, there’s not much in here to suggest that they had intimacy. Besides the blood, this bedroom looks like it was set up for a showing. There are no pictures of them together besides a wedding photo. I doubt you’d find sexual items in here.”

Morgan gave the room a once-over. “I guess so. A loveless marriage that didn’t even have kids. I wonder what kept them together.”

—

“So we’ve got multiple couples murdered. They all have their similarities. The men all have some sort of desk job and made decent money. The wives all did some sort of work with people. For example, wife number one was a teacher, and wife number two was a tour guide for the museum. Beyond that, they didn’t have any other things in common. No common places they went or people they knew.”

Morgan held open the door for you. “Actually, I don’t think any of them had kids. Where are the crime scene photos?”

Emily hands you a file that you pop open and show to Morgan. “They all seem to be set up the same. All master bedrooms with the victims inside on the bed.”

As you flip through them, you start to feel queasy. The pictures still contain the bodies in their posed positions on the bed. The walls and furniture are covered in blood. You do your best to pull your eyes from the bodies. You want to look at what was in the rooms.

“It’s the same in these. There are no signs of love or a happy couple. Not a photo besides the wedding one.”

Hotch gives you a glance and you hold out the file. “What do you think this could mean?”

“Well, maybe it’s all staged. The photo happens to be on the wives’ side of the bed and they all happen to sleep on the right side. While that may happen to be the most common side for the wife to sleep on, it’s all preference. They’re posed in a way that makes them look like they’re in a mattress commercial.”

“So the unsub could be acting out a fantasy with the couples. But what sort of fantasy could it be? He’s not pretending to be the husband, there’s no sexual aspect to it,” Rossi wonders while he rubs his chin.

Emily takes the files back from you. “Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he doesn’t do well with women or doesn’t have a stable job.”

You awkwardly let your hand fall to your side. Hotch is being a little colder than usual today, but you can’t let it bother you. Just because you want the little “thank you” in his eyes when you hand him something, doesn’t mean anything. You just want what everyone wants. You want his approval.

—

“(Y/N).”

Hotch says your name for what is probably the tenth time. You are too lost in thought to notice the other times, but now you look up. You meet his eyes as he tries to pass you a cup of coffee. Scrambling to move the files around, you shoved the papers around until you had a small space for the cup.

“Thanks! I was sure I was going to have to use all these files to take a nap,” you joked. “Nothing like sitting here and looking through papers to make me excited.”

Hotch raises a brow. “Find anything yet?”

You give a sigh. “Nope. Unlike Reid, I can’t read super fast or remember everything. Going through paperwork feels like hell, but at least today I had a savior to bring me my coffee.”

You make eye contact with Hotch and give him a soft smile. You are so happy that he looks out for you. It makes you feel special, even if you know he does it for everyone. You know that it is stupid, but every little nice thing he does gives you butterflies.

Hotch gives a chuckle. “I get to be your savior? Just for bringing you a coffee?”

“Mhm. You tend to be there when I need something so why shouldn’t I call you my savior?”

He shoots you a quick smile as Morgan walks in behind him. “You don’t say things like that because I’m here to tease you, (Y/N). If Hotch is your savior what do I get to be?”

“You, Derek Morgan, can be my one and only nuisance. Only you tease me about the little things.”

Clearing his throat, Hotch asks, “Find anything yet?”

“Well if by anything you really mean anything then yeah. I found a bunch of random things that make no sense and have no use. If you meant anything by useful, then no, I have nothing. I did come up with a few more ideas about our unsub though.”

Hotch gives you a nod to keep going, while Morgan leans against the door frame. “Well, the first murder doesn’t differ from the others. Normally it's the one where they develop a pattern but there isn’t anything out of place.”

“So perhaps this isn’t his first murder,” Morgan says.

You shake your head. “There’s no other murders in the area that match. It might be his first kill but it’s not his first violent act. Not to mention I thought it was odd that he focused on hurting the men more than the women. Perhaps he had an issue with his parents. Or resentment towards a male figure in his life.”

“Like a child of divorce or perhaps an abusive father.” This time Hotch acknowledges what you are saying. “He might even have a record for aggressive and violent behavior.”

“Well we can have Garcia look into that but right now we don't have much else to go on. Besides knowing the unsub is only half the battle. We need to know what connects the victims. Where could he have met or seen all of these people? There has to be a place or a person that connects all the victims.”

You choose to let Hotch glance at the files on top while you down your coffee as fast as you can. You don’t want to be a downer on the fact that Morgan is right, but you’re starting to feel tired. You aren’t sure if you could handle even another five minutes staring at paperwork.

“Do you think that figuring that out can wait? I mean everyone else is still doing their interviews on the families. That could bring something to the table.” You set the empty cup on the table. “Besides, if I have to look at another file in the next ten minutes I might go nuts.”

Hotch gives you a soft smile. “Sure. How about you go and take a break? Actually, if you don’t mind, maybe you could get something for the team to eat when they get back while we go over the information. I doubt most of them have had lunch yet.”

You stand and stretch. “Absolutely! I’d do almost anything to get out of this stuffy room with all of this paper.”

“Hey cupcake, get me some good coffee while you’re out,” Morgan gives a cheeky grin. “Oh and maybe a donut, since you’re not giving me enough sweetness.”

You roll your eyes and give him a light shove. “Your little tech goddess wouldn’t be happy with you shooting words like that at someone else. So tone it down, Muscle Man.”

Morgan puts his hand to his heart and makes a fake groan. His silly little act makes you giggle. You know it's all jokes, but you can’t help smiling at it. Morgan always knows how to lighten the mood.

“Hotch did you want anything in particular? Since Morgan’s trying to boss me around with his orders, I figured the real boss should have a say in what I get him.” Your hand rests on the doorway. “Feel free to send me a text about it.”

You turn and walk out the door before Hotch or Morgan can say anything else. You can feel your heart race. Telling Hotch to text you feels so personal despite it not being personal at all. To make matters worse, you hear your phone chime with the ringtone you have set for Hotch.

Despite wanting to look at it right away, you choose to wait until you get into one of the vehicles. You feel like if you look while still in the building, it’ll give away your feelings. It's bad enough that Emily gives you crap about it, Morgan would be a nightmare. Besides you don’t trust him to not slip up and spill it.

Thankfully the coffee shop isn’t far, no more than a ten minute drive, and it gives you time to think. As much as you’d like to avoid thinking about the case, you know you should. That and it’s subconscious at this point. Almost every waking moment on a case is spent thinking about the case.

There’s only so many places that people could have in common. Only one family was religious so that rules out church. They didn’t have any of the same sort of hobbies or even work near each other. The only thing they had in common was budget. Similar houses and similar cars made it easy to spot, and Garcia checked on their credit.

After placing the order, you aren’t even sure how you’ll carry that much coffee into the precinct, you take a seat and people watch. It’s nothing special, a few students studying, a mom and child planning on how to best utilize play time, and a younger couple are all that occupy the tables.

The couple appears to be getting along, and you made note of how badly you wanted a coffee date. That’s when a thought occurs. What if the couples had gone on a date? You remember reading about a case that involved a couple murdering to respark their love after a marriage counselor suggested finding something like that.

After making sure that your order is correct and strapping it firmly into the car, you call Garcia. The Bluetooth connects in the car and within seconds Garcia picks up.

“BAU tech genius at your service!”

You smile as you reply, “My tech genius, are you able to see what purchases the couples made the days before their deaths?”

“Do kittens have whiskers? Of course I can. What am I looking for?”

“Can you see if they all went to the same restaurant? My hunch is that since most of them were seeing counselors that resparking romance was suggested so they might have tried to have a romantic date.”

The keyboard clicks away. “I’ll look into it. Now I hope you don’t mind but I’ve got officer sexy calling me so I need to let you go.”

You laugh. “Just make sure if he asks you to do what I’m having you do, tell him it was my idea first.”

“Will do, sugar. Bye!”

With a click, Garcia is gone. You know by the time you get back to the precinct, she’ll have your answer. Which will be amazing since the faster you solve this case the faster you can go back to smothering your feelings.

It’s not that you hate the fact that you have a crush on Hotch. It just makes your job hard. Standing next to him makes your heart pound and when he smiles at you, you know you’re in deep. Not to mention how gentle and warm his hands are, despite being calloused, when he checks you over for injuries.

Thankfully, by the time you walk into the precinct, everyone else is there. J.J. and Ried help you bring everything in. As you pass out the food, Morgan puts Garcia on speaker.

“Alrighty. I looked into an idea that (Y/N) had and struck gold. Almost literally. All of the couples did in fact go on a fancy schmancy date to a place called the Golden Roast the day before they were found murdered.”

“What made you have the idea to look into that?” Morgan asks. “How did you figure it out?”

You glance at Morgan before continuing to unwrap the sandwich in front of you. “Well, multiple of the couples had marriage counselors and I’ve heard that one of the things they tell couples is to try and find that romantic spark. Going on a fancy romantic dinner date seems like it would be a good idea.”

“A place that like that may want us to bring a warrant. We can go and look but we should still have some sort of backup plan given that we don’t have much to go on to find the unsub,” Ried says as he eats his food.

“So let’s have two people go undercover. We send two other people in to talk to the staff about the couples. The undercover couple acts like the victims and we can use them to lure out the unsub.”

You raise your eyebrow at Morgan. Sure, sending people undercover would be the fastest way to find the unsub but that didn’t stop the fact that apparently one person alone murdered two people. Something about it was still bothering you.

“So, we send two people undercover to pretenc like they’re married. Who do we send?” you ask.

Emily gives you a sly smile. “Since you’re asking who’s going, why not you? Pick someone out.”

You quickly realize what she’s up to. “Maybe you should go since you’re avoiding it. Afraid the tension will be too much for you?”

Rossi nods his head. “Well since (Y/N) is going undercover for practically the first time why don’t we send someone seasoned? I’m far too old to pretend to be their husband, but perhaps Hotch could.”

You nearly choke on your coffee at his words. It sounds like a poor plan, granted you wouldn’t mind playing Hotch’s wife, you didn’t want to argue with him. Everyone else seems to be in agreement on the plan, and your fate is sealed.

—

The fancy clothes feel constricting and you do your best to not touch your hair. The atmosphere is far too romantic for you, and you feel so nervous. It takes all of your willpower to stay on task and not just admire how absolutely hot Hotch is.

“Do you know what you plan on ordering?” Hotch asks. “Or are you going to look at the menu all night?”

His voice is a little harsh and it pulls you back to reality. You need to get on his nerves and pick at everything he does. Or at least that’s what Morgan told you after talking to the staff.

“Well, maybe if you knew that this place isn’t what I like, I wouldn’t have such a hard time picking something to eat.”

The waiter offers you a glass of wine and you decline. The one that seems to come preset with the table is going to be hard enough to pretend to drink, and you don’t need more of it on the table. You can hear the murmur of other couples, and you realize that an argument would definitely draw the unsub to you.

“How am I supposed to know what you like? You don’t talk to me much.”

“Maybe if you weren’t married to your job, Aaron, I’d have time to talk to you.”

His gaze is icy and you know that hits a nerve. You’ve both heard before in a relationship. It’s what your job brings. You feel bad about it, but you know this has to be realistic.

The conversation between you and Hotch simmers down as the waiter takes your order. You take the time to scan the restaurant looking for a possible clue. No one sticks out, and you return your eyes to Hotch.

“You know that work keeps me busy. I have a lot of paperwork and it keeps me at the office late.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Sure it’s not one of those pretty little ladies at the office?”

Hotch clenches his fist. “Are you accusing me of something?”

You meet his eyes. You’re doing your best to be convincing as an angry wife. It seems to be working, as a couple of tables are doing their best to look at the two of you. Hotch’s gaze remains cold, and you don’t like it.

“I didn’t say anything. Why are jumping to conclusions if you have nothing to hide?”

You trace the rim of the wine glass. Hotch’s eyes follow your hand as you do this, watching as you pretend to drink. The waiter jumps at the chance to bring you your meal.

The entire meal is silent. You watch each other over the candle light, and you make note about how nervous that makes you. Crossing a romantic candle lit dinner off the bucket list is happening, and its strictly for the firehazard.

“Since you aren’t replying, I’m going to assume you have something to hide.”

Hotch’s fork clatters against plate. “I don’t have anything to hide. Can you stop jumping to conclusions for one dinner? I’m trying to make this work.”

You make a face and push your plate away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite, thanks. Can we hurry this up, please?”

Hotch waves the waiter over and takes care of the check. You watch as his jaw unclenches, and you really want to kiss him. The romantic dinner may help you catch the unsub, but you know it’s making your crush worse.

—

The car ride to the sheriff’s house is silent for the first few minutes. You are making sure to face away from Hotch due to a bit of a hunch. There was a few people who had bumped into you and Hotch. If one of those people is the unsub, they could’ve left some sort of bug.

“(Y/N)? I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off. “Save it, Aaron. I need some space to calm down. Talking about it isn’t going to help.”

He looks shocked, but keeps driving. At a stop sign, he glances over at you and you give a small smile. You mouth ‘I’ll explain to you later’.

—

You know that you don’t have the bug. You make sure to gently touch the areas that you had been bumped, carefully feeling for any sort device. There’s nothing there, and you know you’ll have to check Hotch. Just how to do it without letting the unsub know.

“You’re right, Aaron. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. Here. Let me take your jacket.”

You move closer to him. You slide your hand up under his jacket and up over his shoulder. Hotch is too shocked to stop you and you are able to successfully pull his jacket off. Hidden under the collar is a little device.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, Aaron? I’m just trying to have some intimacy. It’s called make-up sex if I’m correct.”

“I don’t think-”

You huff. “Fine. I get it. Don’t forget to check your jacket for stuff in the pockets because I don’t want another incident like last time. I’m going to bed, Aaron.”

In the hallway, you start to panic. Did you take it too far? You know that the team could hear what you were saying and that thought makes you die a little inside. At least one of them will be giving you shit about it tomorrow.

—

You’ve been in bed for about four hours before you hear anything. Aaron is in bed next to you, a respectable distance away. The sound of a door creaking leads him to roll over to face you. His hand on your arm would be reassuring, if you didn’t happen to have a gun tucked under the pillow.

You both do your best to stay still as you wait for whoever it is to enter the bedroom. By now, the tem is most likely getting into position. None of the murders have been done with a gun, so you feel less nervous about the unsub entering the bedroom. Besides, Hotch has amazing aim.

The next noise is the bedroom door opening. Gentle footsteps enter the room and walk closer to the bed. Before a hand even reaches the sheets, Aaron shoots up. You grab your gun with one hand and flip on the light with the other.

A man stands at the foot of your bed holding a knife and baseball bat. With two guns trained on him, he’s frozen.

“Drop the weapons.”

The bat clatters to the ground and the unsub starts to back up. You know he’s about to make a dash for it.

“Don’t even think about it! One of us will shoot you before you can even make it through the doorway.”

You and Hotch get out of the bed. Within seconds, Hotch has the unsub pinned against the doorframe, the knife skittering across the hallway floor.

—

After that the case wraps up easily. The man caves easily as the submissive partner looking for the ideal romantic relationship with a woman who was using him to get rid of couples who argued at the restaurant, reminding her of her parents.

The plane ride is quiet. Most of the team seems asleep, and after double checking, you sit down next to Hotch. You slide him a cup of water and fold your hands on the table.

“About the things I said, I’m sorry. Most of it was stuff that my ex had said about me so I figured it would work.”

Hotch gives you a smile. “It’s alright. I also wanted to apologize. I hope I wasn’t too harsh.”

“Well, it worked out in the end. You’re a much better actor than I am. You played the part of a man who loved me and wanted to yell at me at the same time.”

“I wasn’t acting.”

This time it’s you who’s too stunned to speak. You open your mouth and then close it while staring at him.

“Acting about what?”

Hotch looks bashful. “About you. This case has officially made it clear that I have developed feelings for you. In fact, if you’d like, I would like to take you out for dinner properly.”

“I-I think I’d love that. Maybe later in the week. I could use some relaxing after this.”

Hotch unclasps your hands and holds them in his. You can feel your heart race, but give his hand a gentle squeeze. The two of you spend the rest of the plane trip in a comfortable silence, occasionally give each other smiles.

Once you land, you make your way to your car and slide into the driver’s seat. Turning the key leads to a sputter without much else. Of course having an amazing thing happen is immediately followed by something bad happening. Your bad luck stops there, as Hotch knocks on your window.

“Jack happens to be with a friend tonight, if you want to spend the night. Not that you have to of course.”

“I didn’t take you for the type of man that moves faster than Morgan,” you tease. “But in all seriousness that’s better than keeping you up longer than you need to be so you can take me home.”

“Helping the team is what I’m supposed to do. You aren’t a bother to me, (Y/N).”

“Aaron? Can I be honest for just a moment?” He nods as he takes your bag. “I’ve had feeling for you for sometime. Longer than I expected.”

He loads both duffle bags into the car. Just like a gentleman, Aaron holds your door open and closes it behind you. You’re tempted to try to hold his hand, but you let him focus on the road instead.

“Then I suppose I should be honest as well. This case might have been eyeopener, but if you talk to Rossi, I’ve been trying to avoid my feelings for. I just didn’t want it to affect you at work.”

You think back and try to remember if Aaron had shown any signs of liking you. Sure there had been times you had noticed him watching you, or the times he’d stand closer to you than other people would. They were all just subtle signs that as a profiler you should’ve noticed.

By the time you’ve connected all the dots, you’re in front of his place. Aaron lets you in, and sets about setting things down. This includes all the of the stuff you both have to wear as agents and your bags. Your grateful as he takes yours and sets them off to the side as well.

The two of you settle into the couch and curl up together as the TV plays some mindless show. You can’t focus on the TV with the sound of Aaron’s heartbeat in your ear. Not to mention the gentle rubbing of his hand on your arm. It’s hard to focus on anything but him.

The exhaustion hits you, and you find yourself dozing off. Aaron guides you off the couch and lets you fall into his bed. The last thing you process before you pass out is Aaron pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

#reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotch #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds aaron hotch

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dbnightingale24 · 1 year ago

Text

Love Me or Just Let Me Go

A Jonathan Crane Love Story

Look who's back and trying to find her footing again 🙃 sorry for the delay, but between my mental health and personal life, things weren't going well and I needed a break. ANYWAY, I'm back with a new series (as well as ready off a few others), and I hope you all enjoy it! I really missed posting.

Just in time for Halloween, Dr. Jonathan Crane. I just figured (as I start to branch out) it's time to write about my favorite Scarecrow. I'm sorry this is so damn long (I really am), but I hope you all enjoy it! Since Tumblr is still on its bullshit, I can only post part of it here, but the full post will be on AO3 (I'll leave the link). As always, thank you @fuckingbye for the amazing moodboard. I love you!

Word Count: 56,703 (I said I was sorry)

Warnings: SMUT (Minors DNI), Swearing, Drinking, Degrading Kink, Car Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Arguing, Family Drama, Angst, Mentions of Abuse, Fluff (ish), Childhood Trauma, Self Hate, Revenge, Loneliness, Trust Issues, Mental Health (or lack thereof)...I think I handled everything?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: Man, You Make It Easy For Me. So, Why Can't I Make You Love Me?

I do not give permission/consent for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this kind of behavior or relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

“Doctor Crane,” you smile sweetly as your favorite patron makes his way to the counter.

Your smile may be sweet, but you know your eyes show the same thing they always do whenever he shows up: pure desire and lust. The coy smile he always returns lets you know that he’s very well aware of the effect he has on you.

Effect.

“Same as always?”

“Coffee, black, please,” he smiles as he pulls out his wallet.

“New admittance at Arkham?” you ask, turning and starting on his second usual

At least three times a month, he orders a black coffee.

“No, but it is late night for work.”

“When isn’t it in Gotham?” you scoff, placing the lid on his drink.

“How about you?” he asks, handing you a twenty.

“What about me?”

“Another late night?”

“I’m the only one brave enough to close the store, so yeah. I always have a late night,” you laugh softly, taking his money while typing the amount into the register.

“Gotham doesn’t scare you?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve met my Mother already, and I witnessed what drove her to madness, because I saw my Father’s death, so no. Gotham doesn’t scare me.”

“Your Mother...” he trails off as he looks you over, “Y/M/N?”

“I’m surprised you’re just figuring it out,” you laugh handing him back his change. “Everyone always said I look just like her, but I’m guessing the piercings, dyed hair, and tattoos have changed my appearance a bit.”

“Your Mother is quite the character.”

“You’re putting it nicely.”

“Keep it,” he says, gently pushing your hand back.

“The coffee was only two dollars.”

“Your company is always worth much more than that,” he laughs. “If you don’t mind me asking, how were you able to handle it so well?”

“If I tell you that, there will be no reason for you to come around for your afternoon tea, will there? Besides, you’ve got a late night of work ahead of you, and I’ve got ungrateful customers to tend to,” you smirk, cocking an eyebrow.

“Guess I’ll just have to ask again tomorrow.”

“Play your cards right and you may just get an answer,” you shrug and he laughs.

“You have a good night, Y/N.”

“You too, Dr. Crane.”

“Jonathan.”

“Jonathan Crane,” you smile as he grabs his coffee, nods, and walks away.

And just like that, he was gone. It’s the same conversation every day, today a little more telling just because he knows a bit (or a lot depending on how you look at it) about you. It’s always the same amount of small talk, flirty eye on your part, and him looking as if he’s interested but knows better. Smart on his part.

Sure, he deals with crazies, but he’s never dealt with you.

For the rest of the evening, you live in the feeling of that little exchange. Yeah, the man looks like he can’t carry a bookcase, but you know it’s all an act. You’re not dumb. You’ve heard whispers about Dr. Jonathan Crane, and most of it isn’t pleasant. It’s most definitely in your best interest to stay away, especially considering that your Mother is a patience at his place of work, but you can’t stop yourself. Beside, you live in Gotham.

It’s not like you have a ton of “good guys” to choose from.

You can’t pin down exactly what draws you to him, but you know that you can’t turn it off. You’ve tried multiple times. From the first time you laid eyes on him, you wanted him. No, you needed him, in the most unnatural way. Maybe it’s from living in Gotham all your life but, for whatever reason, you feel a sense of security when he comes in.

Yeah, you’ve definitely been in Gotham for too long.

“You’re sure you’re okay to close up all by yourself?” your co-worker Michael asks as he grabs his backpack off of the coat rack, while the last customer scurries out.

“I do it every night, Mike,” you scoff, wiping down the counter. “Get home safe.”

“Ya know, working with you is hard,” he sighs and you start laughing. “What?! It’s true! You’re the only one ever willing to close up shop-”

“It gives me a thrill,” you smirk with a cocked eyebrow. “Go home and tell Josh that you fought off a mugger, if it’ll help your ego.”

“He’d kill me if I ever tried to stop crime from happening,” he laughs softly. “You sure you’re okay, babe?”

“I promise. Get home safe.”

“You too,” he nods before walking out.

You lean against the counter, pull out your phone, and scroll through all the evening news you’ve missed.

Another raping, another stabbing, another kidnapping....it’s all just another day in Gotham. You don’t even bother to look up when you hear the front door open and close.

“If you want coffee, you’ve come to the right place. If you want anything else, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong damn shop,” you mumble as an article about Arkham Asylum catches your eye.

You may not see your Mother often, but that doesn’t mean you don’t care about her.

“How about a cup of tea?” a familiar voice asks.

You look up to see Dr. Jonathan Crane standing at the counter, small smile tugging on his lips, but his hair is out of place.

“Rough night, Doc?” you question, pushing yourself up with your foot, making your way over to the kettle and setting it up.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your hair is out of place and there’s a bit of blood on your glasses, and the lapel of your shirt.”

“You’re more observant than I thought.”

“You’ve thought about me?” you tease, pulling out his his favorite tea powder.

Ginseng.

“More than you think.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re a mystery.”

“I’m sure you’ve met far more interesting subjects than me. You’ve already met my Mother.”

“While she is very much a fun case to study, now that I know she’s your Mother, you’re much more...complex.”

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” you laugh, finishing up his drink before pouring it in a to-go cup. “That’s the nicest way I’ve ever been called insane.”

“Far from insane, Y/N. Very far. More like-”

“Troubled?” “Not that either...a to-go cup?”

“You’ve never been one to sit and stay since you started working at the Asylum.”

“A good point. What else do you know about me?”

“Nothing.”

“What else have you heard about me?”

“Things I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about,” you promise, looking him over as you lean against the counter. “No charge. You get home safe.”

“You see blood on my glasses and my shirt, but tell me to get home safe?”

“Who am I to judge?”

“You know, this day has been very telling about you but, at the same time, I feel like I know you less than I did before.”

“If I’m not keepin’ ya guessing, what’s the point of our lovely little chats?”

“Who says that I need these little moments to keep me interested?”

“Show me that you don’t.”

“Have a drink with me and I will,” he smiles coyly, mischief in his eyes.

Every red alarm in your brain goes off, but you’ve never bothered to listen to them before, so why start now?

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and slowly made your way from around the counter, ignoring the the sirens as they grow louder and louder, and sit across from him at the small table.

“Jonathan,” you smile, mischief dancing around in your own eyes as you take a sip of your coffee. “Take your best shot.”

“What do you fear?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow and you scoff. “What?”

“What do you think I fear?”

“I can’t get a read on you.” “That’s fair, I guess,” you shrug, swirling the coffee in your cup around a bit. “I’ll tell you what I fear if you tell me something about you. I’ll know if you’re lying, so don’t try it,” you proposition, meeting his gaze with a devilish glint in your eye.

You really shouldn’t be playing this game.

An evil smirk spreads across his face before he responds with, “I’m the one who created the fear toxin.”

‘Will you stop fucking playing this game?! Tell him you need to get home!’ your brain begs, but you’re just starting to have fun.

You’ve never been good at doing what’s in your best interest.

“That tracks,” you shrug before taking a sip of your coffee.

“It tracks?”

“You work at the Asylum, no one in this city really has a good and clean record-”

“Oh? What’s on your record?”

“I put laxatives in drinks of customers who piss me off,” you tell him nonchalantly and laugh and when he practically chokes on his tea. “What? I don’t seem capable?”

“For some reason, I thought it would be something along the lines of murder.”

“No, I’m afraid the only thing I’ve ever really broken is hearts.”

“Why’s that?”

“I learned very early in life to never get too attached to anyone in Gotham. Never works out well for me.”

“Your parents?”

“Parents, first real love, last serious relationship. I fuck until I’m bored and then I leave.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but you can’t tell what it is. It’s not disdain or disappointment, but more along the lines of...shock? Confusion.

“So, you have fear of abandonment?” he asks as your timer goes off.

“Well, it’s time for me to close up shop, Dr. Crane,” you smile, getting up making your way back behind the counter with your half full cup of coffee.

“I didn’t take you as someone who’s a liar,” he comments and you don’t miss the irritation in his tone.

“I never said I wouldn’t tell you, I said it’s time for me to close up shop. However, I do like having this effect on you.”

“And what effect is that?”

“Rattling your cage.”

“Oh, you do much more than that, and I think you’ve known that for quite some time.”

“Oh, but Doctor Crane, this is the first time you’ve ever had the balls to court me,” you smirk over your shoulder and he laughs.

“How long does it usually take you to close up shop?”

“As long as I want it to. Why do you ask?”

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I figured we could...take a walk around the city.”

“You’re a very confident man, Dr. Crane.”

“No one’s gonna touch me out there.”

“And what on earth would we talk about on this little walk?”

“You.”

“Your obsession with me is cute. I like it a lot.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an obsession, more like...fascination.”

“And what’s so fascinating about little old me?” you ask, covering the tops of all the different syrups.

“Like I said,” he responds softly right behind you, causing you to jump, “because you’re a mystery.”

Oh, you’re fucking in it now.

You can read the full story here

tags: @autumnrose40

#fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfiction #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x oc #scarecrow x y/n #jonathan crane x y/n #Scarecrow Dc

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freckled-words · 3 months ago

Text

Animal Transformation

This took way too long, but that tends to happen when you don't have a really strong idea for the plot. I'm also super rusty, but I think I got my swing back towards the end.

Hope you enjoy the read, and let me know if you spot any spelling mistakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out even frost giants have allergies, and it has the funniest effects on a certain trickster’s shapeshifting control.

Darcy watches as Loki loses control of his shapeshifting magic, and she just can't resist a furry face.

“Community service” was the polite term used to describe Loki’s return to Earth.

“Doing whatever the Hell we say” is the more accurate description, as coined by Director Fury during the initial meeting.

Thanks to a curse/spell from Odin, Loki’s magic and strength was moderated by whichever task Loki was assigned to at the time.

When he was sent out to clean up trash in Central Park (disguised and under Natasha’s supervision) he was as strong as an average citizen.

If he went out with the Avengers to deal with a threat, he was allowed just enough magic and strength as was needed to defend himself.

In-between his assignments, and back in the Tower, he was set to about mid-level Godly might (just in case a Hulk suddenly appeared or an accidental arrow went flying his way.)

The combination of ‘cursed weakness’ and menial labor, unsurprisingly, lead to a consistently pissy Loki. The closest thing Darcy had seen to a smile on him was the trademark smirk, right before he said something snarky.

Even though Darcy hated Loki’s guts for all the death and destruction he’d brought to New York, she also couldn’t stop herself from adding him onto her ‘Take Care List.’ Much to most everyone’s surprise (Jane had long since accepted that Darcy couldn’t help herself.)

She didn’t go out of her way to kneel and curtsey around him or anything, but she did make sure he got a mug of tea or coffee when she was doing the rounds in the morning. As well as a decent portion of food like the other bottomless pits that had to be fed (with Thor back on Earth, the grocery bills knocked up another couple hundred.)

Anytime Loki bothered to acknowledge Darcy, it was never in a polite fashion, and Darcy made sure to give just as good as she got.

“I see Midgardian cuisine is just as lacking as the people.”

“I see your manners didn’t make the trip from Asgard.”

“If you’re going to offer me food, at least make certain it's cooked.”

“Gee why didn’t I think of that? Oh right, dumpster fires don’t get a say in what they get.”

It became something of a routine for them to exchange barbs at least once or twice a day, and by Loki’s second month in residence, the other members in the Tower stopped bracing for Loki to lash out at Darcy.

Darcy just came to accept this as part of her new normal, and rolled with whatever weirdness that came along with it.

Right up until the weirdness took a detour into ‘omg wtf’ territory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...Avengers were seen fighting against what was described as a hoard of mutated bi-pedal flowers.”

Anytime the Avengers were called out for a mission Darcy kept the TV on in the background so she could get updates on what kind of mess she might be helping to clean up later. JARVIS was great for giving her updates on everyone’s physical well being, but he couldn’t necessarily predict how the team’s mood was going to be once they got home.(When there was a HYDRA mission, it was home-made pizza night. Apparently slamming around a massive ball of dough was very therapeutic for Bucky.)

The news being a bit slower than actual events, Darcy wasn’t surprised when JARVIS announced the team was returning in the next 10 minutes, along with a cryptic note of, “No major injuries to report, however Dr.Banner does advise no immediate physical contact.”

The last time JARVIS passed on this kind of note, the Avengers had gone up against a T-Rex made of enchanted septic waste (sometimes D&D nerds manage to get their hands on blackmarket magic, and it never ends well for anyone.)

Having (barely) survived Death-By-Foul-Poo-Stank, Darcy figured her nose could handle some overly strong floral perfume coming from the team’s gear. With Jane’s blessing, she was ready and waiting for them in the kitchen 20 minutes later. She’d brought out multiple boxes of kleenex, a handful of neti pots, and every brand of allergy medication in existence.

The first waft of thick flowery perfume drifted in with Steve, and nearly had her choking as her eyes watered, “Cripes Steve, how is this almost worse than the Fecal-Rex?!” Grabbing a handful of kleenex she blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes.

“Just be lucky you’re getting this, and not the full bouquet. There was every kind of flower there, and everyone but me, Bucky, and Bruce nearly dropped from an immediate allergic reaction.” Steve grabbed one of the neti pots and looked over the instruction card that came with it.

Darcy could just imagine Tony having to flip up his face visor to keep from coating it with his sneezes, while Clint cursed trying to zero in on his target with his eyes burning and watering.

“Wait so even Thor -”

What had to be the loudest sneeze in existence went off, followed by the lights flickering erratically throughout the room.

Thor entered a moment later blowing his nose into a wad of paper towels. The skin around his nose and eyes were bright red, evidence that he’d been rubbing at them for a while already.

“I didn’t think anything on Earth would be able to infect your whole Godly-Alien-Race?” She asked while pushing a box of lotioned kleenex towards him.

Thor accepted the softer tissues and yanked out ten to hold in his hand, ready for the next sneeze, his voice was congested when he answered, “Nor did we. Banner believes their mutated state amplified their pollen’s properties.” He blew his nose again, and Darcy winced at the sound of his tortured sinuses.

“What about Loki? He’s not human or Asgardian, how is he faring?” Thor had explained his brother’s origins to everyone over drinks the night before Loki had been brought to the tower. A couple members of the team concluded that Loki’s destructive behavior must have been a kind of psychotic break, what with his whole life being flipped upside down and dipped in ice water.

Thor and Steve exchanged a look, one that nearly had them both coughing back a round of laughter.

Squinting Darcy pressed, “What happened to Frosty the Snow Giant? It was something good wasn’t it? Give me the deets ~” She crept closer to Thor, wiggling her fingers towards the box of kleenex as though she were going to snatch it back.

Thor grabbed the box and turned away, his smile spreading, “During the fray, Loki was met with the misfortune of having his entire head swallowed by one of the flowers.”

Steve’s smile curled towards ‘I enjoy trouble’ and added on, “Turns out getting a nose of the stuff is worse than just breathing it in.”

“So Loki is…?” She prompted already knowing the answer had to be good.

“Hiding in his room.” Natasha supplied, slipping around Thor to grab a box of lotioned kleenex herself. Unlike Steve and Thor, she’d gone straight to her room to shower and change into clean clothes.

Images of Loki with a purple rash all over his face, or icicle snot hanging out of his nose popped into Darcy’s mind.

“Well if he’s feeling that rough, then I’m sure he’d appreciate some tissues and allergy meds. I’m just gonna…” Darcy grabbed the extra strength Benadryl, the last box of lotioned Kleenex and one of the Neti pots.

Her arms full she made a beeline for the elevator, and chose to ignore Steve’s question of, “Is she still safe?”

One quick elevator ride, and a hop-skip down the hallway had Darcy standing in front of Loki’s door.

Since her hands were full, Darcy called out,“Loki, you in and decent? I’ve got a sniffles care package for you.”

“Go away, Serf.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘Serf’ was Loki’s default nickname when he couldn’t be bothered to think of a better insulting name.

Even through the door she could hear the rapid fire sneezes that followed, as well as a muffled cough.

“You can either let me in, and choose what state of dress you’re in, or JARVIS opens the door and I get to see just how much of a rash you have on your ass right now.” It was a shallow bluff at best, but she couldn’t just walk away without trying first.

The annoyed noise that traveled through the door sounded an awful lot like a growl, more so than the usual one she was able to get out of him when she pushed his buttons.

A second later the door opened.

Biting down on her lips to try and not smile too smugly Darcy marched in, “Good choice Frosty. You’ll thank me later when you’re not missing three layers of ski…nnnnyah?”

With all the apartments in the tower having the same layout Darcy had gone straight for Loki’s small living room to place her bundle on the coffee table.

She’d glimpsed Loki from the corner of her eye as she’d breezed into the room, and hadn’t spotted any bright red or pink on him. When she straightened and faced him properly, her brain and mouth had a disconnect.

Loki still stood by the door, which he was still holding open, his battle gear was gone and his hair was damp from his shower. Like Thor the skin around his nose was chaffed from blowing, and his eyes slightly puffy, and for reasons that Darcy’s brain couldn’t fathom there were two black, white tipped fuzzy ears on his head and a twitching, fluffy, black, white tipped fox tail peeking out from his back.

“Uhhhhhh….”

“Make your jokes, then leave.” Even congested Loki’s tone was clear in his frustration.

Darcy held her hands up, “Hey there’s no shaming here, just confusion. Last time I checked, allergies didn’t turn people into furries.”

“I am not…” He broke into a fit of sneezes, “Whatever nonsense term that is. I’ve simply…” More sneezing, “Been struggling with my Seidr.”

Darcy hummed and nodded, not really understanding but didn’t think it smart to push him into a more in-depth explanation. His sneezes were so close together and harsh, she was getting worried about the amount of air he was getting into his lungs.

“Regardless, maybe some meds will help. I suggest taking like, 4 of the Benadryl. If it works it’ll knock you on your ass, but it’ll also stop the sneezing and congestion.” She was making her way towards the door as she spoke and stopped just by the opening, “Any chance I can-” She reached towards his twitching tail.

“Leave.”

“I’ll come check on ya in a couple hours!” As badly as Darcy wanted to touch the fluffy tail, she was not ready to die for the attempt.

~~~~ THREE HOURS LATER ~~~~~~~~

Darcy juggled the three tupperware containers of food in one arm while she did her best to knock with the other, “Loki you good? I’ve got food.”

She didn’t hear any approaching footsteps, and was startled when the door was opened.

Darcy barely got clear of the door before Loki shut it. Turning to face him, she just about dropped the food.

“I can’t tell if this means the Benadryl helped or not.” She offered as an opening for him to explain.

Loki still had the ears and tail, but now there was fur around the edges of his face, covering his hands and feet, his nails had blackened into claws, and there were definitely whiskers growing out of his cheeks.

Loki blinked down at her, his nose twitched (was he about to sneeze or was he testing her scent?) and she saw something shift in his mind as his pupils widened then shrank, he blinked and his usual scowl returned to his face, “How did you get in here?”

Darcy cocked her head to the side, “You let me in, just now, and almost hit me with the door. Did fur grow inside your brain too? Do I need to call Bruce?”

Her concern crossed from surface level to genuine as she watched Loki look down at his hands and wiggle his clawed fingers, his expression was hard to read with his eyebrows blending into his new furry hairline but she was certain he was looking confused himself. “Damn.” The word was uttered so quietly Darcy might have missed it if she weren’t standing so close.

“Loki, you’re seriously worrying me dude.” Again his ears twitched in her direction.

“I’m touched.” Darcy took the dry sarcasm as a good sign, “The only thing you should be concerned about is keeping your blithering trap shut. It was bad enough when it was just the ears and tail. If The Oaf hears of this, there will be no end to his ridicule.”

The more Loki said, the more Darcy relaxed. It was a sad reflection on her life when she was happy to have the mass murdering alien give her a hard time.

Opting to ignore his bluff (she’d long since realized that he could bark all he wanted, if he ever hurt her he’d immediately be kicked back to Asgard) Darcy went to his kitchen and put down the tupperware containers, “Don’t worry your fuzzy little head, I won’t tell anyone…” Faster than Loki could anticipate, she whipped up her phone and snapped a picture, “I will show everyone though, unless you let me touch your ears or tail.” She shoved her phone down the front of her shirt and between her boobs, uncaring of the extra cleavage she was flashing him in the process.

Loki’s upper lip drew back revealing some rather pointy canines, “Impudent wench.”

Darcy smirked as she rocked on her heels, “Oh come on Fuzz Butt, you can’t tell me no one’s ever wanted to see what your transformed fur feels like.”

“None have ever been so brazen or foolish to try.” Loki bit back. He was becoming so agitated his tail was swishing, and his ears had flattened on his head.

‘Dammit, now he’s just looking cute.’

He was also looking a little unsteady. With each swish of his tail, Loki wobbled the slightest bit, and his eyelids seemed to be struggling to stay open.

“How many of those Benadryl did you end up taking?” She hadn’t heard him sneeze once since she came in, and the skin around his nose and eyes had returned to normal.

“The four you recommended had no effect, so I added another five. The sneezing stopped just before…” Loki caught himself before he could finish outing himself. Shaking his head he staggered off towards the couch, “Leave Serf. I require rest.”

She really, really wanted to push her luck and remind him about the whole Fuzzy Picture threat, but it wasn’t as much fun if the other member of the party was spiraling towards a crash. Cause damn, NINE?! If one Benadryl was enough to turn a regular human into a zombie, then nine must be bordering on a coma.

“Fine, but don’t think this isn’t over. I’ll come back in an hour and make sure you’re still breathing.”

She saw a feeble, black fuzzy hand lift up to acknowledge he’d heard her.

Darcy left but made sure to leave the door unlocked. Quietly she called out, “JARVIS keep an eye on his vitals and let Bruce or Thor know if his heart stops or something.”

“Of course Ms.Lewis…Shall I let you know when it’s been an hour?”

Unsurprised that JARVIS had been listening in on the conversation in Loki’s room, Darcy gave a thumbs up to the nearest camera she could see, “That’d be great J.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 45 MINS LATER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ms.Lewis, I thought I should inform you that there has been a change in Prince Loki’s condition.” Darcy tried not to cringe too much from having JARVIS say this directly into her bluetooth headphones (a welcoming gift from Tony.)

Glancing over to where she could see Bruce working at his station she figured this wasn’t a life threatening change to Loki’s condition. Not many realized just how much intelligence Tony’s AI had, but Darcy was no fool. She grew up worshiping the internet, and treating ‘The Matrix’ and ‘The Terminator’ like prophecies.

If JARVIS thought this was something only she needed to know about then she’d take it as the gift that it was.

A quick elevator ride later and she was back at his door.

She knocked lightly and let herself in, “Loki? JARVIS says you might need help.”

There came a slight whimper (or was that a whine?) from the living room.

This late in the afternoon the sunlight had moved away from Loki’s windows, and none of the lights had been turned on. Everything was cast in shadows and patches of darkness, making it hard to see anything.

“Loki?”

Darcy hit the switch for the kitchen light so she didn’t accidentally blind/enrage the half-transformed frost giant.

Able to see Darcy watched as what she had initially thought to be a deep pocket of shadows uncurled from the bottom of the coffee table.

A black fox the size of a St.Bernard stretched out like a cat as unfocused green eyes blinked in her direction.

“Oh my Gods.”

She wanted to take all the pictures, but she also wanted to try touching him. When he was still humanoid the fur had looked silky, as a full fox it looked absolutely luxurious and Darcy just had to get her fingers into it.

She had never interacted with foxes before though, and didn’t know how unhinged Loki’s brain was going to be with all that Benadryl in his system.

Finished stretching he ventured a couple steps closer, his nose to the air to scent the new presence in his home. Some of Loki’s consciousness must have been working, cause the fox’ ears went down and it spun around to hop onto the couch.

‘I’ve just been brushed off by a fox.’ Loki could brush her off a million times and she wouldn’t bat an eye, but Fox-Loki showing her such little interest just felt like a bitch slap.

“Rude.”

Going over to the couch she watched as Loki laid down with his head resting between his two front paws. His eyes closed and a rather un-fox like sigh came out through his nose.

Darcy crouched down to eye level and told him, “You know you make a very pretty fox.” Other than his ear twitching Loki didn’t acknowledge her.

“May I please pet you, your Foxiness?” Murderous Asshole or not, Darcy wasn’t going to touch without consent.

His eye cracked open, regarding her for a moment then closed and another long sigh was released. Darcy took it as one of resignation and beamed. Finally she could get this out of her system!

As gently as she could she placed her hand on his head; he didn’t move away or twist around to snap at her, confirming that he had given in.

She stroked down along his spine, marveling at the feel of his thick, silky fur. Bringing her hand back to his head she lightly scratched around the base of his ears, the fur there was much softer and she had to bite her lip to keep from gushing out more praises to him.

Her petting was kept strictly to his back and the top of his head, areas that most animals considered to be safe zones. As much as she wanted to touch his tail she didn’t know how sensitive it was and didn’t want to push it.

Darcy cut herself off after about five minutes, plus her legs were screaming in protest from holding that crouched position so long.

A woman of her word Darcy dug out her phone and deleted the picture of Loki the Were-Fox. Satisfied she whispered to Loki, “There now no one but me and JARVIS knows what a half fox, half Frost Giant looks like. I also won’t tell anyone that you totally lost control due to overdosing on allergy medicine. You’ll be back to your entitled asshole self by tomorrow morning.”

This got her a small indignant huff.

Darcy let herself out and made sure the door locked behind her.

It was only after the door’s lock had clicked that Loki released his animal shape. It took a bit slower than usual, but he wasn’t quite back in focus just yet.

Back in his usual form he resettled on the couch. With not a single piece of clothing on his body, the material didn’t feel quite as comfortable as it had in his fox shape.

The Midgardian medicine had thrown his control off balance, just not as much as he’d let Lewis believe. He could have reverted back to his proper state a half hour ago, and gone back to his bed for a proper rest.

Instead he couldn’t resist seeing what the woman would do when faced with the full transformation. He’d been somewhat hoping she would startle or scream and flee, calling for Thor’s protection. Instead she’d looked at him like he was the most beautiful animal in existence. It was a delicious boost to his ego.

Loki chuckled to himself, picturing her face when she might learn that her ‘petting’ along his fur had translated to the feeling of a lover’s touch on his skin.

There would be sputtering, possibly some shrieking and all the threats and profanities.

The image was so entertaining he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

#fanfiction #darcy lewis #loki laufeyson #loki x darcy #tasertricks #Avengers #marvel cinematic universe #animal transformation #TaserTricks Misadventures

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seenoversundown · 5 months ago

Text

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Six

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: It's still Sad hours folks, Mentions of Grief, Mild Anxiety, Some Self Deprecation / Negative Self Talk, AND THEN some Fluff, Cute Banter, Dry Humor, and the biggest warning of all: Pirate Facts (don't forget who we're talking to here)

Word Count : 3.5k

Summary : Charlotte is still processing the prior day's events and struggling to deal with her grief coupled with the fact she let a "stranger" see her upset. Unfortunately, things have to get worse before they get better, but she is well on her way to better.

Author's Note: HEHE ANOTHER ONE. Okay really though, I know we've been having sad chapters and I want you to get to good stuff so I figured since this is the last sad chapter for a bit AND she's a little shorter than the next handful, I may as well let you have her early. We start off a bit rough, but it only gets better as you read! PROMISE.

Honest - Joseph "There's always two thoughts, One after the other, I'm alone, No, you're not."

I’ve been sitting in bed since I got home last night, recounting everything. A full-blown meltdown, Charlotte? You really couldn’t choke it back for a little longer? I have never been good at letting people in. I tend to keep everybody at arms’ reach, which is why I now have… basically, no friends.

I don’t know how I got here; that’s a lie. I am too intense. I work too much. I care too much about my work. I could stand to relax a little more. Okay, let’s not talk ourselves into a spiral now; it’s too early in the morning.

It’s 7 a.m., and I’ve barely slept. I force myself out of bed. I just need coffee. Stretching as I walk into my kitchen, I set up my coffee pot and lean against the counter, rubbing my eyes to rid the sleep left on them. He was so sweet about it, too. He didn’t even hesitate. Taking a deep breath , I shake my head as if that would get rid of the thoughts.

I pour some coffee into my favorite mug, take the first sip, and feel the warmth go through my body. ‘Oh, Honey’ rings in my head. Does he just give everybody pet names? Finding myself on my couch, my laptop sitting next to me, taunting me with the option to work. I know I should take the day off with how little sleep I got, but I would also rather stay busy.

I could just check my emails.

Maybe I’ll just work for a few hours.

It couldn’t hurt to just clock in.

I’m pushing open my laptop, frustrated because I know I’ve lost the battle with myself again. I immediately pull up my emails, seeing a handful from the last few days that I haven’t answered.

It’s a lot of easy work, which is good because, well, I shouldn’t be working right now. I spend a while replying to everything in my inbox, including an email to my boss. I sip my coffee between emails, trying to stay focused on work but finding my mind wandering.

I would have been fine if he didn’t acknowledge that I looked sad. I could have gotten through that situation so much better. Why did he have to notice? I pause my thoughts, realizing how insensitive they seem. You’re grieving, Charlotte. Jesus Christ, give yourself some grace. You’re GOING to be sad. He was just good at handling that. I still can’t wrap my head around how quickly he reacted. Most men I’ve met probably wouldn’t have even realized something was wrong, let alone make sure I could privately have a moment.

My throat starts to tighten again, and my chest feels heavy; I wish I could tell her about this. She would have been so shocked to hear that I let someone help me. My eyes start to get blurry. Oh, not again. I sit there, letting the tears fall down my face.

“Fuck,” I mutter to my empty apartment.

I rub my eyes, probably harder than I should, before making a second cup of coffee. Breathing shakily as I pour, text him. No. You need a friend, Charlotte. I don’t even know him, aside from his business. He said to let him know if you need anything, and you do kind of need something right now. I do not, I’m fine. Then why are you still crying?

Sitting on my couch, I grab my phone and pull up his messages. Just text him.

I struggle to type anything out for a moment, wiping my face a few times before finally settling on something simple.

Charlotte: hi goodmorning

I lock my screen quickly, setting my phone next to me, face down. Why did I do that? It’ll be fine. Just let him respond.

Back to work, I open an email from my boss;

‘Charlotte, Why are you working today? I thought you took the day off? Regardless, how did everything go in Portland? Did you get the paperwork handled with Caravel Tavern? I’m hoping for your sake that the owner was pleasant and just filled it out for you. It’s an unfortunate situation that you had to go there, but much appreciated that you were able to stop by and get that taken care of.’

My boss and I have been working together for a while, so I’d like to think that he isn’t being disingenuous with that email, but the fact he knows the ultimate reason I went to Portland and only seemingly touched on the work part is making my stomach hurt. Does everybody think that I’m emotionless? I went there to mourn my friend, and he was worried about how my work went. I feel the tears pricking at my eyes again. This time, I don’t fight them. Setting my laptop to the side, I take a few sips of coffee, wiping my eyes in between.

My phone vibrates beneath my leg. Is it.. Grabbing it nervously, I flip it over, letting the screen turn on. There, his name sits on my lock screen.

Jacob: Well goodmorning, how are you feeling?

Not great. My stomach turns reading the question over and over. Why does he care?

Charlotte: I’ve been better, honestly. How are you?

Why did you say that? He literally saw me cry yesterday. I think he’d be more shocked if I said I was feeling great.

Jacob: oh i’m sorry, can I do anything to help?

No. Just tell him you need a friend, especially right now. We have worked together, I can’t do that. I’m above him, technically. Charlotte, chill out. You’re not co-workers. You can be friends with him.

Charlotte: I don’t know. I’m just having a rough morning and I didn’t know who else to text.

You don’t have anybody you would text anyway. This happens when you don’t keep in touch with your friends.

Jacob: Do you want to talk about whats wrong or I can just try to distract you?

He’s so.. Don’t tell him.

Charlotte: I think a distraction is needed

I’m immediately curious how he’s going to be distracting through text. He’s distracting enough in person. Charlotte. I’m sorry, but it’s no secret.

Jacob: In that case, how much do you know about the golden age of piracy?

Charlotte: lol I do actually know a little bit, but go on.

Jacob: Do you?? Well then, my personal favorites are Anne Bonny and Blackbeard is an obvious choice but.. I dont even care haha hes great.

A smile crept onto my face when I read his reply. Why is it so wholesome that one of his favorites is a woman pirate? He’s probably just saying it.

Charlotte: You like Anne Bonny?

It’s marked as read immediately, and the typing bubbles pop up almost instantly.

Jacob: She was incredible! And she never was found?? That’s insane. You have to respect it.

Charlotte: She really was incredible. I know a little about Blackbeard but, you can tell me about him.

Charlotte: If you want obviously, you don’t have to.

Phone in hand, I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on before facing the mirror. My eyes are puffy, and my hair is everywhere. God, Charlotte, get it together, girl. I set my phone on the counter, leaning in to look at myself closer. Seeing how dark my under eyes are and how irritated my waterline is from rubbing at them. I look down at the counter, feeling the tears coming back. Softly shutting my eyes to force the tears out.

“For the love of god,” I whisper to myself.

Undressing myself and stepping into the shower, I stand with my face in the water. Feeling the warmth surrounding me, it feels safe. Once the water has completely soaked my hair, I sit on the tub floor, holding my knees close to me, letting the hot water beat against my back. You’re allowed to be sad, Charlotte. Tears freely fall down my face. I hate this.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Carefully squeezing the water out of my hair and clipping it out of my way, I pull on a comfortable sweatshirt and leggings. I quickly rub some moisturizer into my face, grab my phone, and head back to the couch. I sink back into my spot, pull my throw blanket back over me, and slouch down into the corner.

I pull my phone out and see a handful of texts from Jacob sitting there.

Jacob: Welllll.. Supposedly his actual name was Edward Teach .. or Thatch.. Nobody really has confirmation because Pirates didn’t always use their real surnames to not spoil the family name.

Jacob: He obviously was the owner of Queen Anne’s Revenge, but it was originally a French Slave ship named La Concorde that he managed to capture.

Jacob: When he died, they beheaded him and put his head on a STAKE at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay!

Jacob: Are you okay? Is this annoying?

Why do I want to cry? Well, nobody else is checking on you.

Charlotte: No, you’re not annoying me. I showered, I should have let you know. I’m sorry.

Rubbing my eyes until I see TV static and taking long breaths seem to be the only thing calming me down. Nobody taught me how to handle waves of grief. My stomach turns at the thought.

Jacob: dont be sorry, its okay.

Charlotte: Are you actually working right now.. by any chance?

What are you doing? I don’t want to be alone right now.

Letting out a deep breath, trying to unclench my jaw, it’s hard to relax.

Jacob: I don’t have to be.

My hands tremble as I click on his name and promptly click on the ‘call’ button. Please pick up.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “what’s going on?”

“Hi,” I whisper. My throat immediately gets tight, and my lips shake.” Um,” I say, taking another long breath.

“Oh,” he whispers, “hang on.” I can hear the music from the bar slowly fade before the click of the door shut.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” I whimper softly, “I can’t stop crying, and I’m nauseous, and I just don’t want to feel alone.”

Oh, that was a lot.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” his voice is calm. “I’ll stay on the phone with you; just take a little breath for me, okay?”

In through your nose, out through the mouth.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to, but I hate that you’re so upset,” his voice getting a bit softer.

“I don’t think I can say it out loud yet,” I confess, “It’s just- I’m sorry, it’s too much, and I-”

My breathing picks up again, and I can feel my heart pounding. This was a good idea, wasn’t it?

“Honey, it’s okay,” he says, there’s that name again. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. We can talk about anything else.”

Breathe Charlotte. Closing my eyes, more tears fall, but my breathing slows.

“What have you done today?” he asks.

“Um, I took a shower and answered some emails,” my voice still struggling to stabilize.

“You were working?”

“I thought it would help distract me, but it sort of made everything worse,” I said, sounding defeated.

His soft laugh is almost enough to make me smile, “Have you eaten today?” he continues the light interrogation.

“No, I’ve only had coffee,” I tell him.

“Why don’t you make yourself something to eat?” His tone is still very calm; he really is good at this, “Maybe sleep a little if you can.”

He’s right. I probably should eat something, at least.

“I definitely feel like I could use a nap,” I let out a sad giggle, wiping my eyes for the millionth time.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you for a little bit?”

My chest feels weird when he asks that.

“If you don’t mind..” my voice was small, not wanting to be a pain.

“I don’t mind one bit.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I stroll into my kitchen, open the cabinets, and stare into them.

“What should I eat?” I question out loud.

“Food is probably your best bet,” he answers dryly, and I swear I can hear the smirk on his face.

“Incredibly helpful, thank you.”

His giggle rings through my ears, and I can feel the tug on the corners of my mouth. His laugh is cute. Reaching into the cabinet and pulling out my bag of pretzel crisps.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Just some pretzels,” I mumble, knowing it’s not much. But I’m also not starving.

“Lunch of Olympians, Charlotte.”

This time, it’s my laugh radiating through the phone. Oh. I bring my hand up to cover my mouth once I realize it.

“That might be the first time I’ve done anything other than cry today.”

“Happy to help, m’lady.”

I giggle at the mild English accent that snuck out, “I think if you learn much more, you’re gonna become a pirate.”

“That isn’t a threat to me like you probably think it is,” he says.

“Have to start calling you Captain Jake Sparrow,”

He clears his throat before letting out a weak “Yeah,” followed by an uncomfortable laugh.

“Um, so,” he starts, “what’s something that you enjoy too much? Since you’re so graciously laughing about mine.”

Working. You like other things, Charlotte. But working is the most satisfying. Baking.. Reading.. Hello?

“I read a lot,” I blurt out, realizing I was in my head, “and I like to bake.” My hand covers my face as I tell him because I definitely sounded like I just pulled it out of my ass.

“Oh! I read a fair bit myself; what are you reading?”

Fuck. Yeah, go ahead and tell him what you read.

I scan the book on my coffee table; it’s just another contemporary romance novel. I like to alternate more non-fiction things with some romance because I’m not a robot. I have a soft spot for sweet stories. Something about effortlessly falling in love or watching two characters pine over each other for a good majority of the book before allowing themselves to act on it.

“Uhhh…” I stammer over myself. “I don’t know if you’d know it.” I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks as he breathes through the phone, waiting for me to elaborate. Slumping down into the corner of the couch.

“What genre?”

“It’s uh.. a contemporary romance..” I whisper quickly. Look, there’s nothing wrong with romance novels, but with how I have learned to present myself while I’m working, it feels a bit silly to admit.

“Ooohhhhh,” he taunts. “Are you secretly a little hopeless romantic, Red?”

“I am just a girl, Jacob. You asked the question.” I giggle at the nickname and the fact he’s calling me out so quickly. Scooting myself down further, so I’m practically lying down.

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” he laughs, “I read a lot of historical things, as you can imagine. So, consider me boring.”

“You are far from boring,” I tell him, not meaning to have it come off like it probably did.

“I think my brothers would beg to differ,” he sighs.

“I’m almost positive that’s just a sibling thing that they’re required to do,” I readjust my arm underneath my pillow, switching my phone to speaker and setting it next to me, “But also, maybe I just don’t think pirates are boring. Who’s to say?”

“Hey Jake, can I bother you?” I hear faintly in the background, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Hang on for a second?” he asks quietly.

“I’ll be here.”

I close my eyes, just listening to the random sounds that pick up from his phone. God, I’m so tired. A yawn sneaks up on me, releasing a deep breath, and I can feel my body relax even more. I can feel my breathing change a bit, and my head feels heavier as I lie here.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” he says. A small “oop” falling from my lips involuntarily.

“Did I scare you?” he whispers this time.

“A little,” I mumble, my eyes still sewn shut, “I think I fell asleep.”

“Get some rest,” I swear I can hear the smile on his face, “we can talk later.”

All I manage is an ‘mhm’ before I feel myself drifting back into my slumber.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

My phone vibrates against my face, jolting me from my nap. Holy shit. Swiping away the unknown caller, tucking my arms back into my blanket, and closing my eyes. I don’t want to be awake yet. Deciding to lay there for a few more minutes before becoming a human again.

Finally, I caved and opened my phone. Jacob’s messages were still pulled up, but I noticed new ones sitting at the bottom.

Jacob: i hope you feel a little better when you wake up. It was really nice getting to talk to you. I mostly talk to my brothers at this point so it was refreshing

Jacob: not the you being sad part, just the rest of it obviously

I audibly laugh at the second text. He’s so uncomfortable.

I scroll through our messages for a moment with a small smile. You’ve been grinning at these messages… Well, he is charming. I mean, he basically talked you down until you were relaxed enough to sleep. I can still hear his voice in my head, ‘Take a breath for me.’ The way he looked at me as he wiped the tears from my face, I don’t know what happened at that moment. I hear Cass in my head, “Stop thinking yourself out of happiness.”

I set my phone down, quickly sat up, and grabbed my laptop from my coffee table. I opened it, pulled up my emails again, and scrolled for the email from my boss. Hitting reply, I quickly start typing;

‘Good evening, Actually,- I may need to work remotely. After spending a few days checking in, it seems like some assistance may be required-’

Actually what? My hands are typing faster than I can coherently think, but it’s not entirely a lie; he does seem like he needs a little bit of help getting things in order, and with having to train Melody and get her certified, he’s going to be juggling a lot of things.

‘I believe that Mr. Kiszka-’

I giggle to myself, fully able to hear him from the first day I walked in saying, ‘Mr. Kiszka is my father.’

‘-has the capabilities to succeed, but he is still fairly new at this and is just trying to get caught up. He also has a new hire that he will be getting certified, and I will be assisting him with that process to ensure everything goes smoothly.’

Charlotte, you’re still emotional. Maybe you should just hold off on sending this. What do you mean by ‘you will be assisting him’? He’s fine! The words are flowing out from my fingertips, and I’m choosing to ignore the voices in my head this time. Okay, wow.

‘That said, I’ll be located within 30 minutes of Portland. If there are any other businesses you’d like me to check on while I’m there, please let me know. Have a great weekend, Charlotte Rhodes’

I hit send with no second thought.

Okay, so that was a dumb choice. You were much more assertive than you usually are, and that isn’t going to fair well. You weren’t that bad, but not giving an option for working remotely was definitely a choice.

Shutting my laptop abruptly and setting it back on the coffee table, my heart is racing. Never done that before. Typically, I’m not someone who acts on emotions, but for some reason, today is different.

Charlotte: I knew what you meant, lol. I feel much more educated on pirates now.

Jacob: oh i have so much more i could tell you

Charlotte: Well, I’m done working so.. I have time.

Staring at our texts, I don’t know what I’m doing. My hands timidly scroll up, rereading our conversation. Why do I feel nervous? Noting that he’s been nothing but nice and helpful, my phone gently vibrates and automatically scrolls to the bottom as he replies.

Jacob: be careful what you wish for dear

Charlotte: I’m already on board, it’s too late.

I sink into the couch again, wondering if this is a mistake. I did kind of make an irrational decision.. Mmm… feels silly now, doesn’t it? But immediately remembering that, I promised my best friend that I would live a little. ‘It’s just a job, babe,’ plays in my head, and she’s right. It is just a job, and I’m still going to do my job, but from Portland. Where we can talk to this nice boy, who seems like he’s just happy to have someone to talk to. But you also need to not lose your job for a-

Jacob: I hope you already have your sea legs then

Jacob: there were a million pirates in that era so we have a lot to go over

The nerves are nowhere to be seen, swallowed by my quiet laughter as I read his texts. I can only imagine how excited he probably is to talk to someone about this who isn’t going to groan or fake sleep during it. I will gladly take any distraction I can get tonight. The nice voice in my brain is just telling me, maybe we could be friends.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Five

Chapter Seven

FDOG Masterpost | Masterlist | FDOG Playlist

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bakerstreetbasilisk · 2 months ago

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DIFFICULT DAYS

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Warnings: Mild language, Mentions of child death

Written for prompt FFF270: Lights And Sirens of Flash Fiction Friday by @flashfictionfridayofficial

One would think having spent more than a half of their life in the police force, a person would be desensitized to most of the life’s horrors by now. But for Greg, when some cases tend to hit a little too close to home, things start getting personal.

He’s been standing in the drizzling rain for hours now. SOCO are at work in the scene and if he’s very lucky, he’d be able to wrap everything up in a couple of hours, but he has a sinking feeling it’s not one of those days. Running on a dangerous combination of coffee, adrenaline and pure willpower of which the former two are rapidly waning, the lights are actually getting a little too bright and the sirens are getting a little too loud.

He can feel himself starting to lose focus, when out of nowhere he senses a presence behind him. A tight grip on his arm steadies him, subtly guiding him to lean back.

Greg sighs. He knows who it is. He’d always know who it is. This is all he needs right now too; the quiet support of the man who had vowed to love him no matter what.

“Will you please allow yourself to sit down for a moment?” A soft voice whispers in his ear.

Greg doesn’t turn back. He’s been at this for almost two weeks, trying to find a loose end, because if he has to tell one more parent that their child has been found dead, he doesn’t know what he’d do.

It’s over now, though. They’ve found the bastard holed up in one of his ex’s shoe-box flat. The anger that had kept Greg going until the arrest was made is slowly turning into nausea, becoming stronger every second.

Still, he has to make it to the end of this.

“You know I can’t,” Greg says. The hand on his arm slowly moves to his back, rubbing gentle circles. Greg can almost feel the warmth through the layers of fabric.

“Hm,” comes the reply. It sounds final enough for Greg to turn around.

Mycroft looks impeccable, despite the late hour but his worried gaze seems to show how exhausted he really is. He’s been following this case very closely on top of his busy schedule and Greg can’t believe he’d forgotten that.

“Go home, love,” Greg says. “It won’t take long.”

Mycroft gives him that very specific, very familiar look that says, I won’t stop you from doing your job, but you can’t stop me from worrying about you. And Greg is overwhelmed with love and relief that he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

“Go,” Mycroft says. “Finish what you have to do. I’ll wait here.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Greg closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. He feels stronger somehow. When he opens his eyes, everything’s clearer.

Just a few more things to wrap up, he tells himself as he calls his team to finish off.

Whatever happens afterwards, there’s someone he can rely on.

#flash fiction Friday #flashfictionfriday #fff270 #mystrade #mycroft holmes #gregory lestrade #hurt/comfort #mystrade fanfic #basiliskwrites

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potatoplace · 2 months ago

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Writing tag game by @bonecarversbestie !!

I was tagged by @thelov3lybookworm 💖 thank youuuu

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing

Normally an idea will pop into my head while I'm at work - my job is physical and can be pretty mindless, so it's perfect for coming up with entertaining stories! I normally end up running through the plot of what I want to happen a few times before I even get to writing, so I have a good mental outline of the story. When it comes to the actual writing part, I tend to go full speed ahead for hours. Also most of the time I'm smoking a lil bit, I find being just a lil stoned can help move the writing process along. I veeeery rarely edit my works except for mistakes I notice as I go. And once I'm done, I post right away, pasting it into the app and editing it to look how I want. I give myself as little time as possible to second guess my writing lol

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I'm normally a plotter, I like to know what I want to happen, but if fun ideas come to me in the moment then I go with them! Very rarely will I have an idea that I don't think about and plan for at least a few hours beforehand.

What do you listen to when you are writing?

So many things... Taylor Swift, Halsey, Chelsea Cutler, Blackpink, and more, but those are the main artists I listen to while writing. I also end up having stuff on in the background, lately it's been between Grey's Anatomy and Gilmore Girls.

What’s your drink of choice(while writing)?

I love me a monster ultra, strawberry dreams has been my fave since it was put out! Coffee too, and water of course (I'm a big water hoe)

Promote yourself! What’s your favorite thing you’ve written?

Probably You Can Have It! It's such a fun, cozy world that Reader lives in, and I'm sooo excited for all the plans I have for her, Feyre, and Rhys!!!

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

This was tough... You guys give all of my stories so much love, none of them ever really feel left out! The only one that I think deserves more love is probably Omega Needs, it's my first fic on here and I love how I've changed the dynamic between Feyre and Rhys, and all the shit going on in the Spring Court. I just love them 🥹

Do you have any advice for new writers?

Just! Keep! Writing!!! I have been a new writer at so many points in my life, and every time I've enjoyed myself, but this time feels different. I've pushed myself to keep writing and not reread my fics to death before posting, and that has helped immensely with how I've approached writing this time around. Also! Write what YOU want to read! I know that I don't feel motivated when I'm not very interested in the story, so make sure that you like what you're writing!

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Ooo definitely the style where the pacing matches so well with intense emotions, like the punctuation and everything changes to match it. And also poetry! I love the way people can capture a feeling so perfectly.

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Definitely Shitty Azriel from my tears ricochet. I'd thought I might have a problem making him hateable but still like... acting sweet to reader even with all the lies that she didn't know about. But I didn't, and the response was an overwhelming "fuck you Azriel" (which I delighted in, thank you guys 😂)

I'm tagging @mira-says and @icey--stars, don't feel pressured or anything tho!!

#tato talks #tag game #writing tag game

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pxrplebxtterfly · 2 years ago

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Yes Father (1/2)

gifs belong to me

18+

Pairing: Sam Winchester’s alias Father Frehley x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, (d)ubcon, priest kink?, innocence ruined kink?, mentions of God and religion, mentions of death and murder, handjob, fingering. (Sorry if I didn’t identify the warnings correctly. I tend to just write without thinking of what things are called.)

Summary: Two junior priests visit your church and you’re tasked with giving them a tour of the chapel. You take a liking to one and meet him later that night at the church.

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This fic was written in a FIRST PERSON POV!!! This is the first part of a two-part fic about Sam’s alias Father Frehley. This first part takes place during season 1, episode 14: Nightmare. Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I’ve always been a believer. Always. I go to mass every Sunday and always help out where I’m needed.

I have a myriad of jobs to do at the Church. Sometimes I hand out book bags for the kids to look through, or other weekends, the coffee and doughnuts for the parents, just devoting my time to the Church.

One Sunday, I’m handing out said coffee and doughnuts after the final service of the day, when two new priests walk into the lobby of the church. They’re dressed in black suits with white roman collars, marking their priesthood.

They’re listening to Father Padrick; one of the priests at my church, and asking him questions. They follow him in through the doors and make their way closer to my little table.

They’re handsome. Probably the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. I almost choke on my breath when I see them. One in particular is a mountain of a man; broad shoulders, chestnut hair, and misty hazel eyes. He looks pensive as Father Padrick speaks to him.

Approaching me, Father Padrick says, “Hi dearie, this is Father Simmons and Father Frehley”

The blonde one nods first, and then the brown haired one. His eyes stay on mine for a moment too long.

“Gentlemen,” Father Padrick continues, “This is y/n. She goes to the university in town and volunteers here every Sunday.”

“Nice to meet you” I say timidly and stick out my hand to shake theirs. Father Frehley quickly grabs a hold of mine and squeezes it gently. His bear paw of a hand envelopes mine and the dry warmth sends a shiver down my spine.

“It’s always good to see fellow young people helping out the church” Father Frehley says to me, kind eyes making me smile.

“Fellow?” I ask him. He doesn’t necessarily look old at all, it’s mostly just his frame that makes me think so.

He smiles and says, “Yes, I’m only twenty-three, still new to the parish”

Father Simmons must have seen my enchantment with Father Frehley and interrupts my thoughts saying, “I’m also new, and young, just for the record.” He chuckles awkwardly and I nod my head in slow agreement.

“Anyways, would you please take these two on a tour around the church?” Father Padrick asks.

“Of course, follow me” I say softly.

I walk in front of the men, leading them towards the large wooden doors that lead into the chapel.

“So, have both of you come to join the clergy here?” I ask, dipping both my fingers in the small dish of holy water as I enter.

“Uhm no, we’re actually junior priests over at St. Augustine’s, however we were close with Father O’Malley and are in town for the weekend for his funeral” Father Frehley says mournfully.

When I hear him mention Father O’Malley I quickly turn around to watch them both make the sign of the cross.

Father O’Malley was another priest at my church, who was murdered in a sadistic and bizarre way a week ago outside his home.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t even think to connect the dots. I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him as well as I know Father Padrick, he mostly did services during the weekdays” I say and hang my head in sorrow.

“It’s okay, we just wanted to come take a look at where he devoted his time and talk to others that knew him” Father Simmons adds.

I nod, “I wish I could tell you all about him, but unfortunately I don’t know what to say, he was a very secluded man”

Father Frehley smiles warmly, understanding what I mean and continues, “Did Father O’Malley pick up any strange habits or behaviors recently?”

“Not that I can think of. I’m sorry, was something wrong before his death?” I ask, wondering why such a strange question was asked at random.

“Well that’s what we’re trying to figure out” He responds.

I hum and fidget with the hem of my cardigan as we make eye contact. Father Frehley licks his lips subconsciously and they glisten just like his eyes.

A rumble of heat echoes from my private parts and I look down at my shoes, struggling to figure out what that sensation was.

“Everything okay?” Father Frehley asks.

I shoot my head up and realize he’s closer to me now, leaning in with concern. “Oh yeah,” I laugh, “just feeling a little sick or something”

I don’t know why my heart has started to beat fast, or why my mouth is suddenly dry. Was I afraid of him? Did he excite me?

“Well, we’ll let you get home, but if you remember anything about Father O’Malley and his death, or you even just feel strange, call us, okay?” Father Frehley says.

I bite my lip as our fingers touch when he hands me a small card with his number on it.

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I’m pacing back and forth in the living room of my small apartment, trying to calm the panic inside of me. My stomach is churning and my body racked with anxiety as images of Father O’Malley through my mind. The uncomfortable adrenaline from thinking about the death of a person I knew, was eating away at me.

I’m cursing at my own brain and decide to walk to the next block and pray at the church.

I grab the keys to the church and head out.

I approach the doors of the building and stick the key in. I fidget with the key but realize that the doors are already unlocked. I open the door quietly, assuming it’s Father Padrick completing future sermon plans.

As soon as I’m inside I realize the doors to the chapel are open and see the flickering of prayer candles lighting up the room. Dark shadows bounce off the walls and it’s eerily silent.

I continue further into the chapel and see someone sitting on the steps of the altar. Moonlight shines through the ceiling of glass and windows of stained glass, to illuminate the brooding figure.

I squint and quickly recognize exactly who it is.

“Father Frehley?” I ask, and walk towards him.

His head shoots up in surprise.

“How’d you get in here?” I continue.

His face beams as he recognizes it’s me. He sighs as I approach him. “Promise you won’t tell Father Padrick?”

“That depends on how you got in,” I say teasingly.

He scoffs with a grin, claps his hands together and says, “I picked the lock”

My eyes widen and a smile spreads across my face as I laugh about his entrance strategy. This giant of a priest, broke into a church and didn’t even seem to be repenting.

“You could have just asked me for a spare key” I grin.

“Oh yeah? And what are you doing here?” he asks.

I blush at his interest, “I just came here for a moment away from life’s anxieties”

“Sounds like we both could use a break”

I look down at him inquisitively. His eyes are sparkling up at me. I watch him stand up and take a step towards me.

My stomach flutters and that strange rush returns to my privates. I let in a sharp breath, shocked at the sensation.

“What do you mean?” I ask eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“I’ve just been stressed lately, and could use a stress reliever. You’d be surprised at how interesting and hectic my life is. All that chaos can really do a number on you, you know? Stress takes on all sorts of physical forms in your body” he elaborates.

“Like what?” I ask and tilt my head, curious to see if he continues.

“Well, for instance, pain,” he pauses, looks at me and bites his lip. I can tell there’s thoughts and ideas brewing in his head. “I’m actually experiencing some pretty bad pain right now” he sighs.

“Where? What happened?” I immediately scan his body, looking for any signs of pain.

“Earlier today I was on a date, and my date had a job that she didn’t finish… Which has left me with a tremendous amount of tension and soreness” he says, and places his hand on his crotch.

My eyes go big yet again at the sight of a large bulge in his pants.

“A date? I thought priests weren’t allowed to date” I step back.

“I mean a date as friends silly,” he explains.

“Oh, I see” I nod and feel stupid for jumping to conclusions.

He squeezes the rod in his pants and closes his eyes for a second, as if he’s trying to imagine something.

“Is that where it hurts?”

“Yeah, it’s really sore and hurts real bad”

“Is there anything I can do to help Father?”

He lets out a shaky breath when I say his title. His hand begins to rub over the bulge, back and forth. “There is something,” he says, “you could give me a special massage”

“Of course Father, anything to help” I say and reach for the bulge. He grabs my wrist before I’m able to place my hand on him.

“Hold on a sec, let me get comfortable” he whispers.

I nod, agreeingly; the perfect massage requires the perfect position. He leads me by the wrist to a pew in the first row and sits me down right next to him.

As soon as we’re sat, I reach over and place my hand on his large bulge and rub my hand back and forth just like he was.

“I’ve never given anyone a special massage before, so will you tell me if I’m doing it right?” I ask, looking into his darkening eyes.

“Of course baby, let me pull my pants down so you can get a better grip” he says.

The pet name ‘baby’ sends another odd wave to my privates.

Father Frehley pulls his pants down and something large springs up.

“This is my cock baby, it hurts really bad. The only thing that’ll make me feel better is if you touch it” he begs into my ear.

I nod and he places his huge hand over mine, and brings it to what he calls his cock.

“Yeah just like that” he praises, wrapping my hand around him. “Now move your hand up and down and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

I follow his instructions and begin to move my hand up and down. He’s moaning and huffing while he looks into my eyes, watching me work.

“Fuck honey, you’re making my dick feel so good” he seethes.

Before I can even think, he reaches for my face and kisses me. I know that kissing is wrong but I don’t pull back because I don’t want him to be mad at me for disobeying him, and because it makes my privates flutter again.

I continue to pump at his dick and his hips begin to thrust into my hand harder and faster, so I apply more pressure and quicken my pace. My hand and arm are sore but he hasn’t told me to stop so I continue. I just want to take his pain away.

As we kiss, his hands pull slightly at parts of my hair and push at parts of my face. One of his hands finds my neck and wraps around it gently. Warmth spreads through every vein in me.

His kisses become sloppy and his tongue is exploring my mouth. I traverse his mouth with my own tongue as well and the heat between us increases. His tongue circles mine, leaving me breathless. His moans become louder the faster I pump my hand. His cock is throbbing, and his hips are stuttering into my fist.

With a sudden “Fuck” from his lips, I feel something warm splatter on my hand while I jerk at his dick. His whole body tenses and then relaxes with the release of the fluid. He wraps his hand around mine and slows my pumps, eventually making them come to a stop.

“Fuck baby, you’re amazing, look at what you did to me” he smiles intoxicatingly as his lips pull away from mine.

“Did that- did that make you feel better?” I ask shyly.

“So much better, you have no idea” he shakes his head and laughs.

His laugh and the weird warmth and sensations in my privates causes my hips to roll forward uncontrollably.

“Sorry,” I apologize for the spasm.

“Oh don’t be sorry, is everything okay?” he asks, his face scrunched with worry.

“Well, I don’t know, I think so, but I feel funny,” I confess.

“Where?” he asks, and doesn’t break eye contact with me.

The funny feeling only increases, “Somewhere embarrassing?”

“Embarrassing? What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s impolite and crude”

“Oh, I see what you mean…” he smiles and nods, understandingly. “Does it feel all fluttery and hot?”

My face grows bright red, and I whisper, “How do you know that?”

He laughs softly and says, “I wasn’t always a priest”

I don’t really understand what he means but I bunch my hands into fists as I catch him biting his lip, and his eyes scanning down my body.

“It’s only growing worse isn’t it?” he asks.

I suck in a deep breath and nod.

“Do you want me to help you with it? I can make you feel all better” he breathes out so tenderly.

He’s so close to me, for the first time I can really smell his cologne and hear his breathing.

“H-how? A special massage?”

He nods; traces a finger up and down my arm as he asks, “Will you let me touch you?”

“You mean, down there, where it feels funny?”

He nods again and looks like he’s about to devour me. I’m shocked at his request. Nobody has ever wanted to help me feel better by touching me.

“And if I let you, it’ll make me feel better?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you let me, I can make you feel really good” his fingers ghosting my waist.

“Are you sure?” I whimper. The heat from his body and touch fuel the sensation in my privates.

“Mhm” he says and kisses me softly.

Something in me ignites as he pulls me against him and slips his tongue in my mouth. His hands run up my back and hold the sides of my face as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. His kisses slow and he lets out a low moan as he pulls away.

“Sit on my lap” he commands.

I don’t question this for a second and immediately sit on his lap, my back pushing against his torso. He places his hands on my stomach and begins to run them up and down my torso. Father Frehley is right, this does feel good.

With caution, he moves his hands up to my breasts and I moan. I didn’t think that a touch on my chest could stir such a feeling in me.

“Let me help you baby” he coos against my neck. He begins to kiss, and suck, and lick at my neck, making me dizzy. His hands have somehow undone my bra and taken my sweater off. He's massaging my breasts, running his fingers over my nipples, tweaking them occasionally. I can’t help but whimper and moan from his touch. My hips begin to buck, like they have a mind of their own.

“God look at how needy you are” he groans into my neck.

His hands finally find my privates and he rubs his hand over my mound. My hips continue to move, grinding against his hand.

“How can someone so beautiful never have been touched?” he mumbles.

Continuing his kisses on my neck, he pulls my skirt up and rips my tights. I squeal from his impressive action and watch as his large fingers pull my panties to the side and touch my hole.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet” he melts into my ear.

His fingers gather the slick that drips out of me and brings it up to the most sensitive part of my privates.

I moan as he circles that spot slowly and he says “This is your clit. When I touch this, it makes you feel better doesn’t it?”

“Yes Father” I mumble, already addicted to whatever this feeling was.

Father Frehley groans at my obedience and applies more pressure. He’s skillfully rubbing at my clit and I feel a strange tightness increase in me. It’s like a balloon of pleasure slowly blowing up inside of me.

As soon as it feels like it’s going to pop, he pulls his fingers off of me. My hips stutter in the air, aching at the loss. I whine at the stop of the sensation.

“Shhhhh, I know honey, you’re doing so well for me. But now I’m going to put my finger inside of you” he whispers.

He does exactly what he says. I feel one of his thick and long fingers slide into my hole. I immediately clench around it and moan from both pleasure and discomfort.

“God you’re so fucking tight” he whines. I don’t even recognize he’s taken the lord’s name in vain.

He lets me take a second to adjust to his finger inside of me, but then begins to slowly drag it out and back in. Each time he plunges his finger back in, I moan. He begins to pick up the pace and also starts to move his finger while it’s inside of me, hitting a sweet spot against my walls. I feel a tear roll down my cheek as his finger curls and continuously brushes that sensitive spot.

“Look at your tight, virgin cunt, trying to push my finger out,” he hisses.

His finger feels so good, prodding that perfect spot in me again and again and again and again.

With time he adds another finger to me and picks up his pace. The palm of his hand rubs against what he calls my clit, and it feels so, so wonderful. His fingers are flicking back and forth in me, vibrating against that tart spot, making my eyes water.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, taking what I give to you. Want you to make a mess all over my hand baby” he moans.

His words kick my hips into action and I begin to grind up against his hand even more.

With one hand pinching my nipple and the other slamming into me, the balloon of pleasure that had been building, bursts. A wave of fluttering and blinding sensations hits me and I’m thrown into a different universe. I think I see God and hear angels singing.

As the tide of this sensation goes out, I’m once again back in the church on Father Frehley's lap. His fingers have slowed and so have his kisses on my neck.

“Look at the pretty mess you made” he whispers and slowly drags his long fingers out of me. I moan at feeling and at the sight of his glistening hand.

He cups my mound gently and kisses me on the shoulder. He brings his fingers up to my mouth and says “Taste yourself sweetheart”

I obey and open my mouth to let his fingers slide in. I suck and taste the nectar I’ve made. With a pop, he takes his fingers out of my mouth and says “Good girl”

I lay in his lap just catching my breath, looking up through the glass ceiling at the stars, trying to rationalize what I just experienced. Almost as if he can read my mind he wraps his arms around me comfortingly, and kisses my shoulder gently.

“You did so well baby” he whispers.

#supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #smut

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