#it feels nice having a conversation with someone

[kimsescapefromreality]

Ugh…I’m sobbing. I am in love with your writing. At times it almost feels like a stream of consciousness. 

You manage to capture every feeling so perfectly. The giddy infatuation, the dread and anxiety, the trust. It feels so natural and authentic. Your writing is so descriptive. You create a scene and then there is one sentence that’s like a punch in the gut. „He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs.“ like what?!

Also the dynamic between reader and Hotch is so real? They are so in tune and I adore the small details you include („He laughs again, to your pleasure.“; „You can always picture Aaron.“; him cutting the sandwich into quarters)

The way Hotch speaks with Jack? I’m in tears. He is so gentle and understanding. And Jack is just such a sweet child. „Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye.“ and „He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck“. I know it’s such a small thing but it makes me tear up, literally. 

Another thing I love is how you include Haley, not just as a tool but as someone lively. „He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes.“. „Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic.“

„Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time […] Aaron remembers how he failed her every day.“

I adore how you add dimension to every character. Again, the details. „Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it.“ It’s so true to the character. „She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks.“ (preach) 

Her conversation with Aaron about love? Amazing. The dialogue is so so good. „Is it ever easy? Being in love?“ „I must make it look hard.“ Ugh my heart. 

Your portrait of Aaron is so important to me You show the depths of his character: his guilt and dislike for himself, his thoughtfulness, his gentleness, his protectiveness, his softness. Being a father, a leader, a lover, a human. 

„So much has changed. But not everything.“ such a bittersweet ending.

This got a bit extensive but I needed to get it of my chest haha 

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.�� 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[madamecaos]

Crush(ing) pt.2

Summary: Where Ghost goes a little too rough on you in training then makes up for it.

6k+ ish words │ Ghost (Simon Riley) x Y/N

Warning: Mature filth, probably depression

A/N: You know the drill, no proofread found here. (This is literally an experiment to fight head-on my perfectionism lol)

Part 1

Part 2

Johnny must have said something, you realized the next morning. There was no way the strict management would provide him a personal room without providing some sort of information of a necessity.

And the team was… nicer. You couldn’t explain nor figure out if Johnny had told all the details. Or at least some because no one looked at you with pity.

Training was the same, no sparring today, just some laps and some cardio-inducing sweat. You hadn’t seen Ghost anywhere yet, but something told you he wouldn’t go near you anytime soon. Despite this team being one of the most secretive amongst the military branches, it wouldn’t be excluded from a bureaucratic process if you were to accuse him of something.

Of what, you weren’t sure. You were angry, but you weren’t there yet.

Everything was… as if you weren’t just another ‘lad’ in the team. Soap greeted you with his usual jolly good morning, kept an ongoing conversation like usual, but he filled up your tray and carried it to your table. This was the first time someone had done that. Gaz offered to carry your gym bag back to your room. Price rescheduled a briefing on the intel, allowing you to have fun and explore the city, or whatever that meant without any sort of security to follow you around.

Odd, and confusing. You weren’t sure you were complaining at the sudden reprieve from military treatment, but you weren’t sure if you were comfortable with being treated like a child. As something fragile.

Whatever, your complaining could wait a few days. You wanted to get your hair done and get some coffee that didn’t taste like water and bitter mornings.

So you did, you went shopping for clothes that you weren’t sure about when and where you would wear. At the same time, you eyed the open-back blouses wistfully, a little part of you wishing that your life wasn’t so filled with bruises and scars.

But that was the job. You had to get by.

The taxi left you at the entrance, the driver not having the credentials to enter the base, but that was not a problem.

You couldn’t find your badge, the guard’s expectation making the rummaging of your purse more aggressive. And again, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that, when the guard opened the gates, making you think that he had recognized you and would allow you in, Ghost was standing right smack at the middle as they parted, expecting you. He was as casual as yesterday, a long sleeve tee and the expected balaclava.

You returned his inquisitive stare for a few seconds, the handles of the shopping bags digging into your bruised-enough arms. The hot shower last night had helped tame down the swelling, but not enough to not to feel it.

Keeping that in mind, you walked forward with all intention to ignore him. As you neared-

‘Ma’am-“

“She’s with me,” Ghost said, not allowing any doubt in his tone. The guard, given Ghost’s no-nonsense attitude, didn’t argue. The guard had recognized you but was jut being difficult, surely.

“May I?” He asked as he matched your pace, the whirring of the gates closing behind you occupying the silence.

You faltered and cursed internally. So much for not being affected by him.

Without hesitation nor expecting an answer, he took your bags, and you couldn’t help but notice he avoided skin contact.

The walk to your room was tense. His footsteps were not as quiet as usual, which made you think he made noise on purpose, enough for you to be aware of how far behind he stayed.

Somehow that put you somewhat at ease, but not enough. Ghost being nice? Something was happening, you just didn’t know what, but at the same time you were done assuming things about him and what his actions meant.

“I’m in a different room.” You explained as you neared the corner of the hallway that used to be your bunk bed.

“I know,” he answered just as briefly.

From your peripheral, you eyed him. You returned your gaze forward immediately when you met his, as he was already looking at you. His eyes seemed to have more depth under the fluorescent lights, no horror nor worry to be found this time.

But they weren’t blank and unexpressive as usual. 

Eyes centered forward, you finally neared your room, eying warily the small cooler right by the door. When you opened your new room, you turned to ask for your bags.

You should’ve known this was a trick as he shouldered himself into what was supposed to be your safe space.

Tiny and cautious steps led you in as he placed the bags on the simple desk. You left the door open.

Then, he had the gall to point at the bed. “Sit.”

He turned back, and returned as he closed the door, now cooler in hand.

You stood frozen in the middle of the room. The frown that marred your face was enough for him to falter. You looked at the bed slowly, then back to him.

This room, away from the others, was all him. The room was far away from the people that knew there was tension between you two, and now he was demanding that you sat on the bed. There was no question as to what this might lead to.

You were no barrack bunny.

Your heart wanted to crawl up your throat.

“Please…” He showed his hands as a peace offering, placating. You were too in your head to notice the ice packs. He made another gesture towards the bed. “Cold helps swelling go down.”

You wanted to think that he genuinely wanted to help, but that tiny monstrous voice in the back of your mind told you he must want the bruises gone because they were proof enough of his brutality.

Intrusively, the dark thought developed. He must want a blank canvas to ruin again.

“You can barely see them now,” you said, knowing that your strong reprieve would loosen if you felt his hands on your skin.

He took a deep breath in, seeking patience at your resistance. “Right.”

Droplets hit the floor as the ice packs melted. When you realized he wouldn’t move, you sighed and took them from him. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

You sat on the corner of the bed and begrudgingly placed an ice pack beneath your shirt, the size of it barely covering the span of your shoulder. Thankfully, you were strong enough to hold in the hiss at the contact. “There, happy?”

“No,” he reached for more inside the cooler. “I know it’s not only your shoulder.”

He waited for you to act, but not patiently, that much you could tell, but he was smart enough to not push you. Instinctively, you held in an eyeroll and laid down on the bed, belly down. If this is what you had to do to get him out of here faster, then so be it.

Tentatively, he grasped the bottom of your shirt, avoiding skin. He managed to lift your shirt halfway, before it became troublesome for him to reach all the marks.

There was hesitation in his actions. The sure soldier now timid, uncertain, not knowing what was required. There was no way your clothes wouldn’t soak as the ice packs melted, and there was no way he could reach the bruises on your upper back without seeing.

He paused and you knew what he was asking of you, silently and unwearyingly. At least, he was smart enough not to make demands when you laid in this vulnerable position.

But, when you sat up and shed off your shirt and bra, he took a trembling breath as if he was the one being splayed open. Ghost looked away respectfully but caught the deep shades of blue and purple in the corner of his eye.

After shedding the only layer that covered your back, you laid belly down, pretending that you weren’t as nervous as him.

You expected clinical detachment from the man that had shown you only that, but as he sucked in a breath at the sight of your spine, you knew this was anything but.

Your arms pillowed your head as you faced the wall, concentrating on counting from one to ten as cold burned along the length of your spine.

Instinctively, you hissed when the cold packs reached a really sore mark that had been beneath the clasp of your bra all day.

“Easy,” he mumbled, deep voice doing nothing to help the rising goosebumps along your skin. “Going up now.”

He warned before you felt the branding of his fingertip, tenderly brushing away the hair from the nape of your neck. The shiver that racked through your body had nothing to do with the cold.

“Tickles,” you grumbled, burying your face further into the sheets.

“Yeah?” He mused gently, doing nothing to hide the fond undertone.

The voice inside your subconscious kept screaming that this meant nothing. That this was a soldier taking care of another. A weak link in the team meant repercussions.

The time passed in silence, and going against your instinct, you did nothing to fill it.

What could you say? That you mark easily? That it wasn’t his fault?

You said nothing, just like him. Thankfully, in the shadows of the sunset that bled into the room, you found yourself asleep before you had to face another awkward goodbye from the man that, surprisingly, felt something other than disdain for you.

--

This had been the offset routine for the last two days. And, for the first time in a while, you wished one of the terrorists reappeared for a whole other reason. This break had to end, or you would lose your mind.

“Easy,” he coached as he always did when he iced your back, as he’s been doing every night.  Only the phantom-like of his fingertips brushed against you as you hissed. “There we go.”

His hushed worry didn’t help.

The tension and the edging had you holding in the urge to squirm. The gnawing lust you felt for the man must be unnatural, and in the midst of your grudge, you thought he was doing this on purpose.

But, to your disbelief (and delight), he’s done nothing but be a gentleman inside and outside the bedroom.

During drills, he checked in often. Inconspicuous to your teammates, he let you off on not running the last lap. He also refused to let you spar with anyone “until you’ve recovered” he said once. The first day at training was fine, the second day you remembered why you were mad in the first place.

Despite doing the most in your mock fights, he didn’t believe you were strong for this job overall. The Lieutenant didn’t believe you were his equal.

But the third night you thought it over because, when the night was at its darkest, he visited your door, awaiting for entrance and a silent forgiveness for what he’d done.

When you removed your shirt, he looked away. He asked, checked and coddled you as he placed each icepack, never allowing his flesh to touch yours. Also, you weren’t going to pretend that he didn’t caress your hair away, being the opposite of methodical.

So you found yourself on the third night, laying belly down on the bed. The bruises were almost already gone, most yellow and transparent.

Part of you knew this was the last night he would do this, and part of you wondered if he would find another excuse to interact with you? Should you leave it up to chance and wait for him to act? Did he even want to? Or was this a one-time thing, a reprieve for the brutality he had put you through? That would mean that, when all wounds were healed, there was nothing else tying you two.

Maybe this was the last time you had the opportunity to speak with a semblance of privacy, outside of the norms of a soldier. This gave you enough bravery to do something different.

This time, as he was placing the last icepack on your upper back, you turned your head, now facing him.

If you weren’t so in tune with his movements, you wouldn’t have caught the slight falter as he pressed gently, right by your shoulder. Unintentionally, this was a sign that the dynamics had changed.

He didn’t have as much power as he thought, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was a conversation to be had, and he couldn’t bully nor punch himself through it.

Two days ago, you would’ve been furious at yourself for reading him so easily.

With no other space left to blanket your back, he leaned backwards, sighing heavily into his chair. At your ongoing stare, you dared to believe he looked defeated.

“The team is leaving in two days, 0800,” he started.

You merely blinked and his fingers twitched, fighting the urge to fidget.

He blinked back, the balaclava doing nothing to hide the tightening of his jaw. “Price has scheduled a briefing for tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

There was some information he wanted from you, but you weren’t sure what. The details mentioned were already rumors around the whole base, they were no secret.

After a pause, he looked around the barren barrack. “I haven’t heard of a request for transfer.”

“The Captain would be the only one privy to that information, would he not?”

He grunted in agreement. A long pause, then Ghost played again with the skin of his knuckles. What an odd time to notice that he hadn’t been wearing gloves this whole time.

“Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t be difficult,” he snarked, baiting you for an answer in your usual anger, but you thought a lot about how you wanted this night to go. You laid placidly, feeling the ice melting against your back.

“More demands then,” you sighed, merely disappointed, cheek pillowed against your arm.

“Demands? You threaten to leave, and then I ask if you’ve requested a transfer-“

“That would imply that you, indeed, asked a question,” you said, gently as you kept staring at him, unexpressive. “The only question you’ve asked me since we’ve met is ‘are you dumb?’ three weeks ago while training.”

He went still and you waited for a refusal, an excuse that the military was no place for questions or politeness. He had been trained to take, follow orders and for others to do the same.

“You don’t ask.”

“I don’t… I only want to know if you’re leaving. After…”

-After he had to ice your back for several days straight after he didn’t know how to measure the severity of his strength. You were stealing one of his tactics, one that worked well with you. Allow the other to make the assumptions, fill the silence and reap the benefits.  

“Then ask.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing. “What do you want to know, Lieutenant?”

In the dimmed lighting of your temporary reprieve, the silhouette of the man that had driven you near insanity moved and leaned in, elbows resting on his knees.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, lowly, as if it were a secret between you two.

You played along and tilted your head downwards minutely. His eyes followed the movement along as if he was starved for it. “Would you like me to?”

Just as gradually, he shook his head. The slow denial whilst holding your stare did something to you, enough to forgive that he hadn’t rebutted your leave with words. But, given the deep breaths he was taking, which might have been unnoticed for anyone else, you knew he was meticulously observing you, gauging you for your wants and needs.

You knew that look, the sudden shift. He was a soldier in a battlefield, a soldier with a mission. Ghost wanted you to stay and, right now, he was quietly asking what would get him exactly that.

“Anything else you wanted to ask me?” You asked, acting oblivious to his intensity.

You could play games too.

After a beat, still and unmoving, he shook your entire belief that he was cruel and uncaring. “Do you forgive me?”

Your breath stuttered, cool girl act failing, hardly hiding how those words affected you. Wide eyed, you stared and muttered dumbly a ‘what?’

While this night passed in the secret of your bedroom, you thought it would all be forgotten. Somehow, in your expertise as to what was Ghost, he was a man of action, not words. As you laid there, ice reddening the skin of your back, you believed that as soon as the bruises disappeared, nothing else would be mentioned. No words necessary. Transgressions would have never been declared again, and Ghost would’ve gone back to the cooly and indifferent Lieutenant you’ve come to known.

Asking for forgiveness and admitting fault felt like a whole other monster entirely.

At your silence, he leaned forward, allowing one knee to fall, then the other with a thud. The chair creaked at the movement as the man left the seat.

By your bedside, Ghost carefully knelt with hands splayed on his thighs. The bed wasn’t tall enough, so even kneeling, he had to hunch himself to keep eye contact with you. His eyes roved over your face, with thirst for any reaction that wasn’t hatred.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked again carefully, trying to get through your petrified form.

You merely blinked without words coming to mind, avoiding the burn behind your eyes. Along with a faltered breath, a shiver racked along the length of your spine, drawing his eyes to the goosebumps rising on your skin.

The ice had already melted, wetting the towel pinned beneath you. He had thought of everything.

Ghost returned his stared back to yours, finally catching the minuscule nod as an answer to his question.

He returned your nod with one of his own.

It seemed that the confirmation sprung him into action, like that was all he needed to hear. He stood and you did nothing else but lay there, immobile with your back exposed as he returned the melted ice packs to the cooler. Other nights, you had fallen asleep before he left, even with the cold covering your back.

You had often woken up with a towel-dried skin and the covers drawn up to your neck.

This time, you weren’t sure what to expect. Was this it? Now that you said yes, would it all go back to normal? Would he avoid you in the hallways and bark instructions in the battlefield?

The click of the cooler closing seemed to echo in the room and a sense of finality settled in.

You sat up, clutching the towel to your chest, doing the impossible to cover the shivers running through your body.

Despite his rapid movements to clean and organize every item he brought up, you knew he was running from the mere second he was vulnerable. There was no way this man had gotten on his knees before, not for anyone.

Given his braveness, you dared to ask the question that had plagued you since he stood up. “Is this it?”

No begging in your tone, no expectations. If he said he was done, you wouldn’t bring it up, wouldn’t claim nor believe he owed you anything, you decided. You weren’t also blind to the fact that he was always the one that set the tone for whatever sort of relationship you two had.

The man was always covered, always on guard, always a higher ranking, always more methodical.

And you already said what he needed to hear. There was no solid reason for him to come back.

“Are we… normal now?”

Ghost turned slowly, and you weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his intent gaze definitely brought you flashbacks. It wouldn’t be the first time he had looked at you like that after having access to your body, and then turn away and out of your life as if it meant nothing.

You had expected him to do the same as that night, the night where you found reprieve in each other’s bodies, then never spoke about it again.

Expectation kept you still, bracing for whatever nonchalant rejection came your way.

“You look at me as if you expect the worst from me,” he said as he turned towards the entrance, no hurry in his pace. His hand reached for the handle; cooler left behind at the desk. The lock clicked shut. “I aim to change that.”

You didn’t know what was more important, to breathe, to speak or to run.

He didn’t leave space for that as he headed towards you, expectation building at his leisurely pace. As if he had all the time in the world, he knelt again before you, eyes leveled with yours. This time, he was closer, enough for you to feel the heat through his clothing.

Hands that had known nothing but violence reached for your face, slowly but steady.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, something akin to worry in his tone. Thumbs caressed your cheeks as he held your face, searching for any reaction that might be against this.

“I’m cold,” you replied in barely a hush, shoulders caving at your vulnerable state.

Decidedly, you wanted to do the same. He saw the intention behind your actions as you gave him enough time to stop you.

Carefully, you reached forward, allowing the towel that covered your chest to drop, and rolled up the balaclava that had you spiraling over the last few missions.

Simon didn’t look down but searched for your eyes as you took in the face of the man that had plagued your dreams and nightmares.

You chuckled and he tensed.

“ ‘s not fair.”

His blonde eyebrows furrowed, distorting slightly the scar above his right eye.

“You can’t be buff and pretty,” you jested, eyes crinkling at the corners when you tried to hide your grin.

Uncharacteristically, he rolled his eyes and huffed at your joke. This made your smile widen, thinking about how expressive he really is as he was used to hiding behind a mask.

And you wanted to live in this moment, where you could appreciate every detail of his face, something that you’ve had the sole honor to see, but your anxiety was driving you wild.

You hated yourself for a moment, as he held your face fondly, for not being able to accept the present and wonder if this was a one time thing. After this night was done and he had proven he was more than pain and passion, would this tender moment live in your mind and your wishes for more.

It was sad but not unusual to expect crumbs.

As if sensing the shift in your mood, his head tilted, observing. Hands that radiated warmth drifted down to your neck, your shoulders then your hair as he caressed the wisps down your back.

“What is it?” he asked, low and worried.

The fact that he asked was monumental, but not enough to get you out of your spiraling.

“I’m not… I don’t expect anything,” you started, or tried to as the wide circles massaged into the tense muscles of your lower back served as a distraction. “But do I have to…”

His pinning and inquisitive stare had you stuttering and quivering.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know but…” You dared to finally look back at him and asked meekly. “Do I have to pretend this never happened? Like last time.”

No answer from him, merely a sigh and you bit your tongue. You sat up straight with a mournful smile as he retreated his arms from your body and you crossed your arms across your chest.

He stood up and this time you expected him to leave, truly.

Instead, you got a, “turn around and take off your pants.”

He certainly could be blunt when he wanted to. At your confusion and furrowed eyebrows, he took the liberty to manhandle you into what he asked of you. With his hands on your hips, you stood with no space between you two. As you stared, he methodically undid your belt with a clink and unclasped your pants, then knelt, bringing your pants down with him. One hand behind your knee had you lifting your foot, then the other, leaving you in your underwear.

You kept looking down at him, asking silently what the hell got into him that had you standing in your underwear. The expression on his face dared you to say something.

Did he look like that every time you had been stubborn?

Without regrets, he turned you then pushed down on you, until you laid flat, belly down, similar to what you had been 10 minutes ago.

“You might be bipolar, has someone told you that?” You huffed, annoyed, about to use your arms to rest your head. That was until your wrists were taken, arms placed by your sides.

Then, the bed dipped with the weight of a full-grown man as he sat behind you, inches away from your thighs. Unlike the other nights, you expected an icepack to be placed carefully on your skin. Instead, you felt something liquid and cold after something clicked open.

You hadn’t even noticed he had caressed your hair away, leaving the span of your back exposed.

Then hands burrowed into your skin, massaging away the shocking cold from the lotion that sat innocently on your nightstand. Simon was now digging his thumbs into the knots of your back and the nape of your neck, ignoring the hisses you let at the pressure.

If this was the way he would act whenever you bombarded him with a vulnerable question, you might do it more often.

“No,” he said after a few minutes, your mind already drifting to a calmer place.

“No, no one’s told you you’re bipolar?”

“No,” he answered gruffly. “You’re not allowed to pretend this didn’t happen.”

You kept your eyes closed despite your surprise as the pressure of his hands drifted downwards, avoiding your underwear, heading directly to knead your legs, your calves. The proximity of his thumbs between the apex of your thighs had you squirming.

“If you do, I’ll have to find ways to make you remember.”

You barely held the groan when his thumbs dug away into the sole of your feet. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“You be stubborn. I’ll keep finding ways to make you feel good.”

Despite your newly found relaxed state, you couldn’t fight the sensation pooling in your lower stomach. You might’ve drifted to sleep in this tender moment, but your mind kept wondering what else those hands could do. How much pressure could those thumbs do?

As he drifted upwards, he caught on your squirming, teasing gently as he kept massaging your thighs. Just as carefully, his fingertips brushed against the edge of your underwear.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He taunted but did nothing to hide the grave tone of his own lust. Not long after, his thumbs ‘accidently’ brushed against the cleft between your legs.

You bit your tongue, aiming to be stubborn and curious as to what he would do without guidance.

After he had enough, your underwear was tentatively pulled down to your feet. Then the hands that had been so through on relaxing you were now silently positioning you upwards to your parted knees, back arched as your torso laid placidly.

When he got you like he wanted, his fingers dug into your upper thighs for leverage, expecting you to run away. And that you did as a soft breath brushed against you before the slickness of a tongue delved into you.

You flinched instinctively at the sensation with a whimper, but he held you to him. He was no shy adventurer.

Simon had been teasing all night, and it seemed he was done playing games. His tongue, along with his lips, left nothing unexplored. His hands roamed along your flesh, issuing pressure to your lower back when needed to keep you arched enough for him. There were no tentative licks nor touches as he hummed into your folds, slick running down his chin.  

Thumbs splayed you open, and your whimpers rose into moans as he lapped at your clit with enough tension to make you gasp for breaths. Instinctively, you reached back, fingers latching into a full head of hair.

When you pulled, he moaned just as loud as you. That seemed to unravel him, his careful lapping now an intense suckling as he inserted one finger, then two. The hollow beneath your lower stomach now partially full. You were wet enough to accept whatever he had to give you.

When he dug down, aiming for your upper walls, you keened. He rubbed and rubbed, fingers so thick he had no problem hammering away into your g-spot repeatedly.

Now your moans were let out brazenly, gasping into the pillow as he did his best to burrow himself into your skin.

The shaking started on your calves, the tension rising upwards to your lower back. The sensation seemed to spur him on into a continuous pattern where he kept his mouth latched on you as your nerves coiled into and impending life-changing orgasm.

With a shock, your body spasmed with a silent scream, the soldier holding you tight through your tremors. Violent shock after shock racked through you until you managed to get some air in a keening moan. After seconds, Simon petting you lightly with his tongue and feeling every spasm, you laid back down placidly, all energy sucked out of you.

At the first flinch of overstimulation, he languidly let you go, barely letting his hands off your skin as he laid you flat on the bed.

He was out of breath too, but something told you it had more to do with the tent in his pants than lack of oxygen.

Owlishly, you looked back at him through the haze. As soon as he started petting your hair, you knew you lost whatever battle had been going on between you two.

Simon had done the impossible; proven he was going nowhere and that he was just as obsessed with you as you were with him.

And, as if nothing short of extraordinary had happened, his hands drifted lower to keep the ongoing massage as the remnants of your pleasured haze pulled you to sleep.

[pencil-n-pen]

here after reading your Spencer Reid fic. I was wondering if you could write Spencer x autistic!reader where r gets overstimulated and basically having a meltdown and Spencer like helps her ig? Idk if that makes since, but thank you!!

BUZZ

masterlist

anon you have no idea how excited i was to see this ask. i even showed my bestie. thank you sm for the ask !!

summary: police precincts are overwhelming. Spencer knows just how to help :)

cw: detailed depictions of a sensory overload, hurt/comfort

this is pretty short, sorry !!

i am autistic and will be drawing on my own autistic experiences and what helps me during meltdowns :)

۫ ꣑ৎ

The lights are buzzing.

It’s hard to ignore. The policeman/detective/whoever he is who’s filling the team in on the case smacks his lips in between sentences. This is equally hard to ignore.

The tag on your neck has moved up from a small itch to what feels like a small stab everytime you move your head.

The muscles in your neck jump and twitch in the urge to shake— to firmly overcompensate for the feeling, to establish equilibrium.

But you know where that goes. One shake becomes two, and then everyone’s looking at the FBI agent having “some sort of fit”. You squeeze your hand until your nails dig scarlet crescents into your palms and focus on the pain instead.

But it doesn’t work. The lights are still buzzing, and the guy has stopped talking but now everyone else is talking and it’s louder and all the conversations sound like the same volume, all digging sharp claws into your brain, right under your scalp.

Your entire body itches— absolutely writhes with the feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong, too much.

Your hands twitch and jerk at your sides. You’re to focused on stopping the rest of your body to stop them and it hits you all at once that you have to get out.

But you don’t know where you are in this precinct and you don’t know where to go to find quiet and not the bathrooms because what if someone flushes the toilet and did you bring your earbuds you can’t remember it’s loud and you have to get away—

A tall figure steps in front of you, effectively cutting off your field of vision save for a specific pattern of dark maroon gingham. It’s a button down, and a black tie, and a grey suit jacket.

Your skin itches marginally less now that you can’t see anything, and then large, careful hands slot in place over your ears, applying pressure just shy of hurting.

With the sound gone, or at least muffled, your lungs don’t feel quite as constricted, and your body feels less like an open, raw nerve.

You suck in a careful breath, and then another, and then another until you think you can probably pass for normal now.

You tap Spencer’s arm once, and slowly, as to not shock your rattled brain, takes his hands away from your ears.

“I have your earbuds. Do you want to go to their secondary briefing room? It’s nice. I scoped it out.”

He leans down when he says it, eyes searching your face but not making eye contact. He’s mentally cataloging your expressions to see if you’re still upset. You’re familiar with this process by now.

“Yeah,” You force the words out of your mouth like pulling teeth and he frowns a little. He always knows when you overcompensate.

He takes your right hand in his, squeezing intermittently to keep your focus on him and leads you through the precinct, expression and body language stating very clearly:

Stay away.

You stare at your shoes the entire time he leads you to the briefing room, skin prickling at the idea of how many people saw your not-well-concealed freakout.

You should’ve found this room faster, so you could’ve been alone and no one would have seen—

“Stop beating yourself up.”

You snap your head up to glare at him. “Stop profiling me.”

He’s standing next to you, still not trying to make eye contact, though your hand remains firmly in his.

He shakes his head, then reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of earbuds.

Emphasis on a pair, not your pair.

You stare at where they lie innocently in the palm of his hands. “Those aren’t mine. Mine have a chip right there from when I dropped them getting out of the car.”

“I saw a pair when I was out the other day so I got them. So you’d have a backup. They’re the exact same make and model.”

You blink, unable to tear your eyes away from them.

He bought them. For you. Because sometimes you forget your earbuds and can’t get to them in time. Because he knows you prefer earbuds bc they’re more casual and subtle than noise cancelling headphones. He bought them.

He pushes them towards you again, and you give in, because who can say no to that? It’s easy from then to plug them into your phone and start up the playlist of music you have saved for these specific situations.

He steers you to one of the tables in the back, turning the lights off as he goes, and tucks you both, side by side, into the two chairs in the furthest, quietest corner.

His hand never leaves yours.

ʚɞ

[webslingingslasher]

Hey, j! an u do nerdy!Peter and Angel being scared she's using him?

*a/n: nerdy!peter has finally been released from his cage. he missed you all very much.

'and what do you do for him?'

you've been thinking about it for days. peter's softly snoring on your left but you can't sleep, tossing and turning, looking down every so often at your ring finger and feeling the same gut punch you have for the past seventy two hours.

your friend's cousin just moved to new york to follow her dreams, she's nineteen and full of life. she also very innocently asked a question that sent you tumbling down a whirlpool. you all met up for brunch, you even went the extra mile and snuck her a mimosa to show how friendly the city would be to her- but then she had to ask about your ring.

it's a new addition, you just got used to the weight and sparkle but anytime someone asks, you're shoving it in their face and bragging.

'that's a big ass diamond!'

'i know! i couldn't believe it when he asked me... i kept asking him if he was sure.'

of course you had to spill all the proposal details, your friend's cousin awwing at the right moments before doubling down with a congratulations. it was a nice moment that led into other conversations, somehow falling back on rent prices.

'it's fucking crazy out here, i don't know how you guys do it. how much do you pay in rent?' your friend shared her monthly rent, you stayed quiet, her cousin was looking at you for an answer.

'ew. you think i pay rent?' you flashed your ring again, giggles fell around the table, the topic moved on. someone mentioned a restaurant, you chimed in to say it was amazing, that your fiance took you there for your last anniversary.

'god damn, the cheapest thing on the menu is two hundred bucks! i looked it up and a glass of wine was like eighty dollars, that's crazy!'

'hmm... peter splurged on a bottle.' there was a chorus, the girls loved hearing that. you shrugged at your humble brag. when you have a good man, you want everyone to know. little comments got brushed under the table, nothing major until the bill came.

you offered to pay, the two girls with you excited with your generosity. 'ah, don't thank me, it's on peter.' you slid the credit card to the end of the table, your friend's cousin put the final nail in the coffin.

'okay, okay, you gotta tell me. so, he buys for your friends, he pays the rent, he buys you super expensive dinner, you have a rock on your finger... and what do you do for him?' she laughed, your friend laughed, you laughed. it was funny. until you couldn't come up with anything you give him back.

now it's been three days and you're watching peter sleep, feeling more and more guilt creep in by the minute. you don't deserve the things he's given you. you're not sure if curling up to him makes you feel better or not but he's warm and your eyes are finally feeling heavy.

---

'good morning, angel.' peter made you breakfast and while your heart fills with adoration, you have to fight the urge to frown. he does everything for you and you can't even make him breakfast?

'good morning.' you're still tired, you weren't able to sleep in either. rest hasn't come easily to you, peter's been noticing it too. 'i felt you moving around last night.'

'i couldn't sleep. i finally dropped off around three.' you sit at the kitchen counter and rest your head on your hand, peter kisses your forehead, the oven timer goes off. he made cinnamon rolls.

'was anything keeping you up? you've been a little quiet since you had lunch with your friends.' he knows something's off, he's just not prying it out of you yet. 'i don't know, i couldn't get my mind to turn off i guess.'

you're staring at your ring again, peter serves you the middle roll. it's the best one. he splurged on the ring, he pays for the rent, he pays for every date, he buys for your friends, he gives you the middle cinnamon roll and you... and you...

'i know i don't have to tell you this, angel, but just in case... you can tell me anything. even if it's something you don't think i want to hear.' peter's thinking it's something about your friend or work, something that doesn't really pertain to him but if it's weighing on you, it should weigh on him too.

'i know.' you reach for your breakfast, the shine of your diamond stops you. 'how much did you spend on my ring?' peter's looking at your ring too, a sly smile crosses over his face.

'that's for me to know and you to never find out.' he's not saying it because it was cheap, you know it wasn't. you wouldn't care if it was, the fact he got down on one knee and asked you to be his forever was enough to say yes, even if he did it with a ring pop. but you've been scrolling and trying to do your own investigative work and what you've found makes you feel like you don't deserve it.

'how much money do you make every month?' you have an idea but you don't have a specific number and you need a dollar amount. peter looks at you funny, probably because your question came from left field. 'why do you want to know?'

'because i'm going to marry you and i want to know your finances.' it's a cheap shot around the truth, peter knows it too. 'alright, well, we'll talk about that when we get there. we haven't even talked about the wedding yet.' you told peter you wanted a couple months to bask in the fiance glow and you'd start planning when you got bored of it, he had no problems with it.

'i think money is a great starting point, how else am i supposed to know our budget?'

'tell me how much you want to spend and i'll let you know if it's possible.' you don't want a numbers game but you'll play. 'ten thousand?'

'yes.'

'twenty?'

'yes.'

he has to draw the line somewhere, you're going to find it. 'fifty?' he laughs through a bite of icing, you feel like you still haven't scraped the barrel. 'if you can find a way to blow fifty grand on a wedding, sure.'

you're not pushing it any further, you have a feeling that no matter what you said, peter would tell you it's doable. it's frustrating and the only thing that eases you is the sweet, sticky pastry in front of you. 'you'd tell me if you were broke, right?'

'hey,' peter puts his cinnamon roll next to yours. 'you've never had to worry about money before, you don't need to now, either. is that what you're worried about? our wedding budget?' it's not but you'll take the bait, you're tired of talking in circles.

you take too much and he'll never admit it.

'yeah.' you're looking at your ring again, you're not hungry anymore.

'don't worry about it, angel.' peter kisses your temple. 'i'll take care of you.' you know he will. that's why you feel so bad.

---

you might not be able to do much but you can pay for dinner.

'i want to go out for dinner.'

peter's on board. 'ooh, date night. whatcha thinking?' you blurt his favorite place, he's extra excited now. 'double yes, six or seven?'

'six thirty?' you think his eyes have stars in them. 'i love when you meet me in the middle. six thirty it is, i'll reserve a table right now.' you grin, your plan is already rolling into motion.

his favorite dinner and when he leasts expects it, you're going to put your card down instead. it'll be your treat tonight. even if it's minor, it'll make you feel better.

at least you thought. dinner was excellent, the conversation was even better- you felt more connected to him tonight than you had in the past week. the second the bill came, you scrambled for it.

'oh, do you want to guess the total?' it's a small game you've both come up with, you each take a guess at the number to see who memorized the prices best. 'nope, i'm paying for this one.'

'cute. pass it over, angel.' he thinks you're playing, you refuse to hand the check back to him. 

'it's on me tonight.'

'then pay with my card.' you shake your head, 'i'm using mine. dinner's on me, i mean it.' peter's uncomfortable but he's playing nice in public. 'no. give me the check, please.'

you hold it with a vice grip, he would have to pry it from you. 'i'm paying, peter.'

'no you're not. you don't pay for me, that's my job.' you grit your teeth in frustration before easing into a smile. 'not tonight, petey. let me take over.'

'not happening. give me the check.'

'no. i'm paying.' you won't let him win this one. you need this, you need to feel useful for something. 'angel, seriously, hand it over.'

'no.'

'i always pay, let me see it.' that's more than enough reason to keep it from him. 'exactly, let me get this one this time.' peter looks at you dead on, he's not budging. 'no.'

'you're not paying for this no matter what, peter. i wanted to treat you to dinner and i am.' he sighs, you know he's about to gentle parent you into giving him what he wants but you're prepared for it and you won't give in.

'go ahead and pay for it, i'm just going to send you the money for it.' your mouth parts, you didn't expect that curveball. 'if you do, i'm sending it back. double.'

'i'll block you from sending it back, don't test me.' you buffer in the silence, peter tries to grab the checkbook from your hands, you slide it underneath the table. 'i'm paying and you're not reimbursing me. got it?'

you have your card ready, the second you see the waiter you'll hand it over before peter can think about reaching for his wallet. 'you're not paying and that's final.'

'no, i'm paying and that's-'

'are we ready with the check or do we need some more time?' you grin at the waiter, he came right on time. you hand over the bill and your card, peter's card is outstretched with yours. the waiter looks between the two with an awkward smile, you push yours further out- peter opens his big mouth.

'don't take her card. use mine.'

'i'm capable of buying you a dinner!' your waiter's caught in the middle and on everything in you, you swear he went with peter because he's a man. 'use mine.' your waiter takes peter's card and swiftly leaves the table.

you're defeated. you slump back in your seat with crossed arms.

'i told you i was paying.' he's happy about it. the one thing you thought you could give him, he just took from you. you don't know if you're more mad at him or yourself. you blankly stare at the wall across from you. you stare at it when peter's card is returned, you stare at it as he signs the receipt, you stare at it while he asks if you're ready.

you move in silence. you have nothing positive and nothing negative to say. you feel beat down. 'and what do you do for him?' nothing. not even pay for a god damn dinner. peter swings his arm over your shoulder, you shrug it off a block down.

'wanna get some ice cream?' you shake your head. you don't want to force another expense on him. 'oh c'mon, you love something sweet after dinner. how about that chocolatier place next to the apartment?'

you think he can sense you're upset. 'i'll let you pay. how about that?' he knows you're mad about it and offering you to pay for a cupcake instead of a full blown dinner sounds like he's giving you peanuts.

'can you go to may's?' he looks confused. 'why? what's at may's?'

'hopefully you. unfortunately we live together and i don't want to be around you right now.' you can shut him out of the bedroom but it sucks knowing he's right there... probably doing something for you that he won't let you return the favor on.

'you're kicking me out because i didn't let you pay for dinner? that's a little extreme.' your guilt comes out as anger, it's not his fault but it is. 'no, peter, you're the extreme one. i'm supposed to marry you and you can't even let me buy you dinner? i'm going home, don't follow me.'

of course he's following you. 'this is a really stupid thing to argue over.'

'yeah, it is. so why are you?' if he thinks it's so stupid why wouldn't he just let you pay? couldn't he tell how much you needed it? 'i'm not fighting with you, angel. i just don't know why after five years buying me dinner is a hill you want to die on.'

'because! you, you- ugh! go to may's, i'm done with you.'

peter's been with you long enough he knows when to back off. 'fine. you win. i'll hang with may for a couple hours but i'm not sleeping there.' if he thinks that means anything to you, he has another thing coming. 'i'm locking the bedroom door, you can sleep on the couch.'

'are you-'

'serious? deathly. thanks for dinner, peter.' you made sure to end the argument on how it started, just in case he needed to ask himself how he got in his position. you take off into a small crowd and arrive home by yourself.

the small adrenaline rush you had settled, all you can think about is your fiance. he bought you dinner and you yelled at him. he paid for a meal and you kicked him out of the home he pays rent for. even when you're trying to do the right thing you failed.

you stare at your ring, think of peter's confused face and start crying. once you start, you can't stop. every negative thought and feeling you've harbored comes pouring out- you're nasty and you don't deserve peter.

and you damn well don't deserve his ring. not an expensive one. you're not worthy of it, you've given him nothing in return. turning the hall for your bedroom, you fall on your shared bed and feel worse thinking about how peter bought the new mattress.

he's tailored the last four- basically five years of his life to you and your wants and needs and you can't think of a damn thing you've given in return. you sob, your tears are salty and you're happy peter isn't there, if he was, holding you would make everything worse.

this was a private breakdown, the kind where you feel like you're about to throw up from crying too hard. you gasp for air, the ring on your finger feels choking. you rip it off your finger and slam it down on the nightstand, you can finally breathe. tears are still racing down your cheeks but you can think clear, everything screams that you need to tell your fiance.

you need to tell peter that you're not okay because now you're treating him like he isn't okay. and it's all because of the ring. you can try and cope with everything else but a two carat diamond on your hand was too far. you have the ring but no wifely duties, you just watch peter tend to your every need and feel more and more useless.

it feels good to cry about it. you feel less like a monster. you sniffle and catch yourself tearing up about it over and over, you squeeze your eyes shut- you think you fall asleep crying.

---

the tv is on when you wake up. the bedroom is dark but you can see a peek of light under the door, a soft candance of sound follows with it. peter's home and even though you didn't lock the door, he's respecting your space.

your ring is still on the nightstand. you have to give it back. and apologize to the person you love most. you hesitantly grip the gem in the palm of your hand, it feels heavier than normal, you're not sure if you're doing the right thing.

but you see that peter's still awake and folding the laundry you left in the dryer. you've never felt more sure. you don't deserve the ring. you don't deserve him.

'i thought you were down for the night.' you check the microwave for the time, it's a little after eleven. you're not sure how to tell him, seeing him fold your socks sends a pang to your heart. you hold out your hand, he does it back, your engagement ring falls into his palm.

'i don't want it.'

panic. instant, fucking, panic. 'what do you mean you don't want it? the ring? me? engagement? are you breaking up with me?' peter's chest rises and falls rapidly, all of a sudden your panic is matching his and you're crying again.

'angel, you really need to talk to me right now. why is your ring not on your finger? what does 'i don't want it' mean?' you shake your head, peter's trying to be the calm one but he's failing.

'why the fuck did you give me your ring back?'

you whimper, it sounds like you just got shot. you did the wrong thing. you keep messing up. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll just-' you try to take it back, peter's hand closes around it. 'no. you don't give me your ring and tell me you don't want it just to take it back.'

'i didn't mean it, i swear i didn't mean it. i want it back!'

'you meant it enough to give it back! what the hell is happening?' you went too far, you're not sure how to take it all back. 'give me my ring back, peter!' you're fighting with him for it, it's a lost cause but you're not giving up.

'you can't walk up to me after a fight, tell me you don't want the ring and start crying and beg for it back when i question you. no, you're not getting it back.' you're trying to pry his fingers off it, struggling more and more with each passing second.

'you've been weird for the past week. are you getting cold feet? do you want to call off the engagement? i'm at such a loss right now, why the hell would you give me your ring back?' you're in a panic, everything is crumbling at your fingertips.

'because i don't like it!' peter stops fighting as hard, you gasp for air the second it's back on your finger. it feels like a bandaid on the situation but it's better than nothing when you're preparing for war.

'you don't like the ring?' he sounds sad. really, really sad. 'that's okay, angel. i wish you would've said something sooner but we can pick something else out.' you can't let him be this kind when he's sad. the truth has to come out.

you sit next to him on the couch and lay your head on his shoulder, sometimes hard things are easier to say if you're not looking at him.

'i love the ring, peter. i really do. i just don't deserve it.'

even if you missed wearing it for a few minutes, you feel ashamed looking at it. 'why wouldn't you deserve it?' you chew on the inside of your cheek, you don't know how to explain it without him brushing it off. you have real, valid concerns about the future you have with him.

'you're gonna think it's stupid.' you're soft spoken.

peter matches it. 'maybe. but tell me anyway.' you take a deep breath and close your eyes, the story spills out. it starts last week at brunch, you give him the side comments that fell into your internal crisis.

'-and when she asked 'what do you do for him' i couldn't think of one thing. so i kept thinking about it and i don't have anything. i use you, peter. you pay for the rent, you buy me anything i want, you make dinner all the time, you clean the dishes, and you gave me a big ass diamond i don't deserve. i don't deserve you.'

peter leans his head back against the couch, a deep breath follows. 'and when i refused to let you buy me dinner, it was the final straw.' it was a very small, fine straw but he didn't know the load you were carrying- of course it all fell apart right there.

'i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i just don't want you to wake up one day and regret it when you realize i don't do enough in return.' that's the biggest fear you have. the unspoken one that kept haunting you, that one day ten years from now, you'd wake up to an empty house with a pack of divorce papers.

'you're right, angel. i think it's stupid.' you restrain from telling him off, you're glad you did. 'but it doesn't sound stupid to you, so, as the person who asked you to marry them, do you want to hear why i think you deserve it?'

you nod against his shoulder. 'please.'

'because it's you. that's why you deserve it. you have had my back every day for the past five years, like, you're solidly in my corner. and i've never had that from another person before. if i have to cancel something for spider-man, you tell me not to say sorry for it. when i forgot my cheat sheet for my third year midterm, you ditched your class to bring me it. when i was sick a couple months ago, you called out of work to take care of me. when i helped may move in her new furniture, you were there before i was. you pack me lunch every day, with a note and every day when i come home i get greeted with an 'i missed you' and a kiss.'

you hope if you stay quiet he'll keep going. he does.

'that's something i can't repay you for. but i can take care of you and make your life easier, and that makes me feel better about it. you give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, if anything you deserve a bigger ring.'

peter bragging about you made you feel a lot better. he thinks you give him more than enough, it's just in a different way. 'if we're being honest, the money stuff makes me a little uncomfortable, i feel like you're spending too much on me.'

it was never about the wedding or the ring, it was about how much you think you're really worth. 'that's where all the questions came from?' you nod, peter shifts around, you end up curled in even closer to his side.

'i just don't want you spending more money than you have to just because you think it's your job to provide for me.'

'if we're being honest, i have something to tell you.' your fears are true, you put peter into crippling debt. 'i wasn't sure how to tell you and you were going to find out eventually but... remember that trust fund my parents left for me that i got when i turned twenty one?' it's worse than you thought. he never got one, did he?

'yeah?'

'i don't know why i lied but i got a lot more than i actually told you.' you slowly raised your head up to look at him, he's nervous for your reaction. you're still processing what was said.

'peter, are we rich?' you watch his hand teeter back and forth, your jaw drops open. 'i was stressed out for an entire week about you paying rent and now you're telling me we have money?!'

you gasp, would you be able to accomplish every new yorker's dream? 'do we have house money?' peter corrects you quickly. 'okay, woah, calm down, we're not millionaires... but yes, we do have a down payment on a house money.'

you've been bamboozled. 'then where's the house?'

'wedding first, house second. whatever's leftover from the wedding we can put down on a house.' that made your decision real quick. 'courthouse. i want a three bedroom.'

'we can have a wedding and a three bedroom, i promise. once we get married it becomes our money and we can spend it however we want. but until then it's my money and i'm gonna make sure you get a wedding out of it.' you'll accept it but it still doesn't feel even.

'i just feel bad that you do everything and i barely do anything to repay you.' now that you noticed it you're not sure if you'll be able to notice it. 'what does do everything mean to you?'

'you pay the rent, you pay the bills, you pay for all our dates, you clean the dishes and cook dinner five night out of the week-' you point to the mess in front of you- 'you fold our laundry.'

'we already talked about rent and bills, that conversation is over. i pay for our dates because you buy the groceries, in case you forgot.' you might've. 'if you pay for it when we eat at home, i should pay for it when we go out. the other stuff is household chores, i live here, i should do those things. i make dinner because we have to eat, i clean dishes because they need to get washed, i fold the laundry because half of it is mine. do i really need to tell you how you do way more than me around here?'

it doesn't feel like you do so... 'yes.'

'you wash our sheets once a week and remake the bed, you make the bed every morning, every sunday you plan out our dinners and go shopping. i've never touched our vacuum, actually, i don't think i've ever adjusted a pillow on this couch either. you decorated for christmas and halloween, you're definitely the only one who's ever cleaned the shower and don't think i haven't noticed how since you've moved in i've never, not even once, run out of deodorant or toothpaste. i help with some stuff but you're the one that makes this a home, angel.'

you do all those things. and support peter with everything in you.

you do deserve the ring.

'so i really earned the wifey title?'

'more than earned. you were made for that role... in a non misogynistic way, of course.' you grin, you can't wait to marry him. 'i can't believe i didn't think i did enough. i'm kind of awesome around here, aren't i?'

'you're the reason we're able to run the routine so smoothly, all i do is keep the lights on.' you raise your eyebrows, 'maybe you're the one that doesn't deserve me.'

'you're probably right. that's why i gotta use the free rent ruse to trick you into staying with me.' you play gasp and show off the best piece of jewelry you'll ever be gifted. 'and you trapped me with a diamond.'

'if i keep you focused on the sparkle you won't notice my con man ways.' he must see you lost in the little rainbows. 'well, it's working.'

'good. let me know when it starts to wear off, i'll get you a bigger one.' you know he's joking but you don't want a bigger diamond, you like this one. it's perfect because it's the one he picked out for you.

'you know, sometimes bigger isn't better.' 

[honeyjynxxed]

It hurts to not be trusted, to feel the need to hide an intrinsic part of yourself from everyone even in your own home but...well... It technically isn't anything new to Danny. He's been hiding his powers from everyone except his closest friends since he was fourteen and he doesn't know why four years later he expected anything to be any different.

Attending Gotham University was fine, his tuition being almost entirely covered by the Wayne STEM scholarship. Meeting Tim had been nice even if he was a little weird at times and was probably going to become a ghost way too quickly from all the caffeine he consumed but hey who was Danny to judge? So when the dorms had flooded and Tim offered to let Danny crash at his place until things were settled again he hadn't really thought too hard about accepting. It took two weeks for him to start regretting that decision. He'd thought that when Tim offered he meant his apartment but no he'd meant Wayne Manor...with the entire rest of his family popping in and out on a regular basis. Apparently it was closer to campus, Alfred's cooking was better than quick breakfast every morning, etc etc. All excuses that Danny had taken at face value because he wanted to trust Tim, he wanted to believe that his friend was being genuine in his offers and his words.

Of course things could never be that simple. At first it was small things, lingering gazes, the hushed conversations, whispers that stopped as soon as he entered a room. Which fine, he was essentially a stranger entering a family home, there was going to be things they couldn't say in front of him. He could understand that but then... it just kept getting bigger. A near oppressive silence that followed him around the house, his personal items turning up missing only to be found left out in common areas he wouldn't have left them, questions about his family and friends and life before Gotham. Even Tim didn't hang around him in a casual manner anymore and it just....all of it just hurt. The only two people who seemed to still treat him with any sense of normality was the butler and Tim's older brother Jason but seeing as Jason avoided the manner like the plaque meant he was left with Alfred. So when he couldn't find an excuse to be out of the manor he was with the older man helping wherever he was allowed to.

"I just...I like Tim or I guess I liked hanging out with him and being friends with him. I just wanna go back to that time, before everyone started acting like I'm gonna....gonna.... I don't know murder someone in their sleep!" That's where he was now in fact, helping Alfred with the laundry and lowkey ranting to him about what everyone was doing. "I mean I can't be the only one in this house with secrets, I know Tim isn't entirely honest with me about what he does that has him sneaking into this manor super early in the morning and i know he lies about his injuries and where they come from but do you see me question him? No! Cause I trust my friend." Danny huffed as he folded another pair of sweatpants. "And I thought he trusted me...Well at least the dorms will be fixed soon and I can get out of his hair. I'm sorry to dump all this on you Alfred, I know how close you are to them."

The butler simply hummed, set down the perfectly folded dress shirt that Danny honestly didn't know how he had gotten that giant stain out of, before turning his entire body to address him straight on. "Would you like me to say something, Master Danny?"

Danny fought back a cringe at the title as he always did. "Ah no you don't need to do that Alfred and I already said you don't gotta call me that either. I'm not here permanently after all." He scratched at the back of his neck absentmindedly as he spoke, not liking the full force of Alfred's attention. "Anyway, how have you been? I didn't get back in time for dinner last night but I know you tried out that new recipe you were talking about. Did it turn out alright?"

And that was that. Danny felt bad about ranting later and made up for it best he could by helping out extra around the manor but Alfred didn't bring it up again so he thought he was fine, safe even. He pushed the conversation from his mind, forgetting about it so effectively that he almost didn't even notice when the others began to act...different. Not worse, definitely not worse, but definitely different. Still, he kept with his usual tactics of staying out of the house as often as possible and when he was there, disappearing to do chores quickly. This routine continued for perhaps another week after his conversation with Alfred until his was, for all intents and purposes, ambushed by none other than Damian after getting back to the manor from his classes for the day. "Follow me...Danny." The boy had muttered before swiftly turning and his heels and walking away. Danny was shocked for a moment, faltering before hurrying to follow. Damian never called him Danny, usually Fenton or Daniel if he had to use his first name, never Danny.

Follow Damian led him to a living room with- Oh no. Here it was. They were going to confront him about being a Halfa and hand him over to the GIW. Danny froze in the entryway, eyes hopping from Dick to Bruce to Damian and finally settling on Tim. That probably hurt the most, seeing Tim sitting there and realizing that his only friend hadn't been a friend at all. This must've shown on his face because not even a minute after setting his gaze on Tim was the boy jumping up from the couch and making his way toward Danny, stopping when he flinched back and took a step away from the entry. "Wait Danny! This isn't... We aren't going to hurt you."

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from stepping any further back and he looked up to see Alfred standing behind him. "Please, allow them to explain, Danny." And later he wouldn't be able to explain why he listened, only that deep down in the depths of his very core he knew that Alfred wouldn't let them hurt him. So he did, he entered the room and sat down.

Tim, as the only was standing, was the first to speak. "I'm sorry. We- I haven't acted like a good friend to you. I brought you here under false pretenses, I questioned you, I took your stuff, I-..." He seemed to cut himself off, his fists clenching at his sides. "What I did was wrong and you have every right to want nothing to do with me. I violated your trust, I didn't respect you or your belongings and I'm sorry. If you have secrets they are yours, to share or not share whenever you're ready."

And on it continued. Damian spoke, Dick spoke, Bruce spoke. They all apologized one after another. They said the only reason why Jason wasn't there was that he hadn't participated in any of it. That the first conversation he'd had with Danny had been enough and he didn't see a reason for their suspicions. "Jason said if you don't want to be here anymore you can stay with him. I would understand if you want that Danny. I'm so sorry for how I acted." Tim was the one who took lead, it seems after being the first to speak the others were fine with letting him continue to do so.

All in all, Danny didn't know how to feel. "I trusted you." It was the first time he'd spoken to Tim in weeks now. "You were my first and only friend since moving to Gotham and I thought that was genuine. Then I come here and you and your family treat me like some....some dangerous criminal! I just..." Danny wasn't ashamed to hear tears in his voice and he could barely get out all he wanted to say. "I think I'm going to take Jason up on that offer. Maybe if I'm out of your home you won't feel inclined to search for possible skeletons in my closet."

It hurt to say and the crumpled expression on Tim's face hurt even more but Danny just wasn't ready to forgive him yet. Sure Danny had been betrayed before but this hurt on a level that he couldn't articulate. Still, when no one said anything after that he left the living room and headed up to his room to pack. If he heard Tim actually start to cry then he ignored it, just like all the times he's sure the boy ignored him crying himself to sleep.

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

I tried to write fluff I swear officer, I don't know how that angst got there! I might tie this into the other WIP I wrote for Tim x Danny but I know if I do it will lead to me lowkey abandoning the Tomarry work I'm writing on Ao3.

Who knows though, I might just end up writing for both at the same time lol

Dp x dc fluff prompt

Danny, for whatever reason, is stuck with the batfam, and they're getting suspicious of him. But before there's any big reveal, before Danny feels pressured to act, Alfred steps in.

Alfred puts his foot down. He tells the bats that the boy is here to be safe, to be loved, and to be protected. Snooping on this would be a huge invasion of privacy, and other than just having powers, Danny hasn't done anything to warrant questioning. "He will come to you when he's ready"

Just a fun story of them doing their best to have Danny be comfortable, and slowly, Danny just casually starts using his powers. No one questions it. No one bothers with it. Danny has powers, so what?

Sure, they get curious sometimes, but Alfred said no snooping.

You can have the official reveal go however you want.

This prompt is very basic, but i just wanted a sweet and simple one.

[gyaruhana]

Do you write for hyun ju? Cause i have this idea where she and reader are dating and in the mingle game, we saved young mi and took her place in dying hehehehehe thats all tyy

Hyun-Ju/Player 120 - Sacrifice

Synopsis: you sacrifice yourself to save Youngmi.

A/N: sad sad sad idea ughh

Warnings: angst..

From the moment you stepped foot in this hellhole, death had been looming over your shoulder.

If it were up to you, you would've left after the first game. Sure, money was an issue but you valued your life more than you valued money. Even if the sum was 45.6 billion won, you didn't want to risk your life so carelessly. Besides, there were 455 other people who you'd have to compete against. You didn't see the odds being in your favor.

Fortunately, you managed to make a nice group of friends who you grew to trust through each passing game. You grew closest with a trans woman by the name of Hyun-Ju. You were honestly surprised to make such a good friend here of all places but you were certainly glad you did. Hyun-Ju provided you with much needed comfort and your conversations always filled the quiet air after a particularly challenging game.

Strangely enough, you didn't feel as scared when she was close by. Even though you watched so many people die, you didn't fear you'd be next when she was around. You knew she'd keep you safe and you'd gladly return the favor.

That's how you're here now.

The game was mingle and it involved making groups based on the number called out before the timer runs out. Things had gotten a little messy as Youngmi had accidentally been knocked down while running behind them. Of course, Hyun-Ju realized this after stepping in the room when there was little time left on the clock.

She ran out to try grab Youngmi when someone else barged in, pushing her back and telling her there wasn't enough time. You looked at Hyun-Ju's distraught face as she tried to move past and get out to help Youngmi. It was a rather reckless desperation but Youngmi was important to her. A friend who she cared for.

You glanced toward the timer and read the clock. 6 seconds left.

Without another thought, you pushed past them and opened the door before grabbing Youngmi and helping her up. You didn't waste any time in pushing her in the room before closing the door behind her knowing that you couldn't stay when they already had enough people in the room. On que, the door locked and Hyun-Ju immediately went to it, banging on it desperately.

"What are you doing? Why would you do that?!" She yelled angrily as she looked at you. Hyun-Ju wanted nothing more than for this door to burst open. She would've pushed that guy out for you. She didn't want you to die - not like this. Not when you were one of the few people who actually showed her a shred of empathy and kindness.

"Hyun-Ju, it's fine. I'm fine," you say reassuringly. While you were scared that death would soon take you, you put on a brave face for her. Even as tears formed in both your eyes and hers. "I'm sorry," Hyun-Ju spoke and you quickly shake your head in disapproval. She had no reason to be sorry. This was your choice.

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. This was my decision. My decision, okay?" you speak with a smile that didn't match the fear and worry in your eyes. "You're still going to win that money and go to Thailand, yeah? For me?" you speak and Hyun-Ju couldn't help but let out a choked sob at your words.

"..Yeah," she responded with a nod as she averted her gaze for a moment to compose herself. "Good," you say before the sound of footsteps comes closer to you. You turned around and were met face to face with a guard holding his gun to your face. The sight immediately made Hyun-Ju panic as she started banging on the door again and yelling again.

"No! No!" Hyun-Ju cried out but her cries were quickly cut off by the sound of a gunshot. Some of your blood splattered on her face leaving her in a stunned silence as she came to terms with what just happened. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door as she cried. She was upset and angry. You were supposed to live. Not die like this.

But it was too late now. You were dead, and you were never coming back.

[thepitlanepress]

NEVER TOO BUSY FOR YOU –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: i like to think im the sweetest person alive so this is written for my girl nadsies while she isnt having the greatest day ever. just a short lil fic bc im working on the smau pt2 and some other ones ;)

you dont like bothering oscar when he's at work. its a weird thing you have, one that oscar's tried getting out of your head on more than one occasion. does it stick? no.

the cramps you had been feeling for the entire day had made it almost impossible to move, so you weren't exactly able to reach your phone to tell oscar either.

that is a fact you use in a later argument. which by the way doesn't work.

so when the door to your apartment swings open and you hear your boyfriend's voice, you nearly flat out start crying. its so nice to hear a comforting sound.

"sweetheart?" oscar calls out for a second time when you don't reply, even talking feels like too much right now. you hear some shuffling around and then the soft footsteps as he walks down the hallway.

"hey, baby," he murmurs when he enters the room, coming to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. his hand comes to rest on your back rubbing slowly through the duvet. "how are you feeling?"

a noncommittal grunt escapes you and you wince in pain as another wave of cramps hit you like a train. fuck periods actually.

oscar sensing your situation quickly, he gets up and places a quick but soft kiss to your forehead before walking back out to the kitchen promising to be back soon. you stay awake for a little while but eventually the sounds of him moving around, and the soft clinking of dishes quickly puts you to sleep.

it was a comfort knowing someone else was home with you.

some time later you feel a dip in the bed beside you, two arms wrap around your waist and pull you into their warmth.

"hey you," you whisper.

"hey you," he whispers back his hand drawing circles on your skin. "are you feeling better after that nap?"

"sort of," you sigh. "mainly im-"

"hungry?" oscar guesses, you can hear the smile in his voice and you slowly sit up, cautiously testing different positions before finding one that doesn't make you feel like you've been shot.

you look over at oscar who has turned away bringing a tray of snacks over from the bedside table. it has all your favourite snacks, chocolates, your phone and a warm cup of tea.

"i called mum, while you were asleep earlier," he said almost nervously. "and asked her what type of tea to use because i was worried and wanted to help and she said to use-"

you shut him up by placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth "its perfect thank you osc," you settle back against the pillows - and him, okay mostly him. his arms are wrapped around you as you soak in the quiet afternoon, the soft sound of the show you had playing on your computer earlier the only noise in the room.

"why didn't you call me?" his voice rumbles through you.

"i didn't want to bother you while you were at work," you look down to the cup of tea in your hands and realise now that you probably won't be winning this conversation. there is no one who cared more about you than the man currently wrapped around you. he would drop anything in a second for you.

hence why you didn't call him. he cant be distracted from work. its so important to you.

but he won't take that as an answer.

"you know i always have time for you, sweetheart, i'm never too busy for you. you're my number one priority. always."

the cramps didn't seem so bad after that.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° please don’t ruin this for me

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series!

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — eita otoya x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, SPOILERS FOR the NEL arc, goes from childhood to NEL, mentions of cheating ( both otoya and reader ) , slight nsfw ( mentioned but not explicit ) , slight playboy otoya, miscommunication, longest thing i've ever written, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — Whether you were together or not, you'd always been eita otoya's. And he had always been yours, no matter what.

The first time Otoya told someone you were dating, you were seven years old, sitting on the swings during recess, kicking your legs back and forth as he proudly made his announcement.

“We’re in love, duh,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand, warm and slightly sticky from the juice box he just finished, was firmly holding yours.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah! We’re gonna get married and have a big house and eat candy for dinner every night.”

Your teacher, overhearing the conversation, sighed as she handed back your coloring pages. “That’s… nice. But please sit down now.”

It was silly. Just one of those things kids did after watching too many fairy tales and dramas.

But a week later, Otoya made a big show of breaking up with you during lunch.

“I don’t wanna marry you anymore,” he declared, arms crossed like he had thought long and hard about this decision.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Fine, because I don’t wanna marry you either!”

The kids sitting around you both let out a collective, scandalized gasp, as if they were witnessing a tragic romance unfold before their very eyes.

You didn’t speak for the rest of lunch. Both of you sat in exaggerated silence, chewing your sandwiches in a way that made it very clear you were upset.

For about five minutes.

Then Otoya nudged your arm. “Wanna play tag?”

“…Yeah.”

And that was that.

You were still best friends, still inseparable, still attached at the hip.

That was how it always was. No matter what happened, Otoya always found his way back to you.

Until one day, he didn’t.

By the time you both entered junior high, the jokes about dating slowly faded away, replaced by real relationships.

Just never with each other.

Otoya had girlfriends now. A lot of them.

It wasn’t surprising—he was easygoing, charismatic, and could make anyone laugh. Girls naturally gravitated towards him.

What was surprising, though, was how effortlessly he let them go.

None of his relationships lasted long, but he never seemed heartbroken. If anything, his exes didn’t even seem bothered by their breakups. He’d flash them a lazy grin the next day in class, crack a joke, and just like that, everything was fine.

You never once saw him cry over a girl.

And for the first time since you’d met him, you were just his friend.

There were no more playful declarations of love, no more jokes about getting married.

Maybe you’d outgrown all of that.

Or maybe, just maybe, it had stopped feeling like a joke.

The first time you kissed Otoya, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

It was an accident.

Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

It was late. His soccer practice had run long, and he had shown up at your house afterward, climbing through your window like he always did, flopping onto your bed like he owned the place.

You had been talking about everything and nothing at all, laughing over some dumb inside joke, when suddenly, he leaned in.

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he closed the space between you, pressing his mouth to yours in a way that was soft, slow, and entirely too familiar—like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

When he pulled away, he grinned lazily, his voice just above a whisper.

“That was your first kiss, huh?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “…Yeah.”

His expression softened. “Guess we just made a good memory together.”

That was how it started.

A kiss turned into two.

Two turned into nights spent tangled in sheets, your hands in his hair, his mouth tracing patterns against your skin.

When you finally gave yourself to him completely, he had laughed against your collarbone and murmured, “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Good friends did this, apparently.

Good friends walked home together after his soccer practices, hands lazily intertwined.

Good friends fell asleep in the same bed, limbs tangled like it was natural.

Good friends still slept together—even when Otoya had a girlfriend.

And everyone thought you were dating.

But you weren’t.

At least, not officially.

Then one day, one of Otoya’s nameless girlfriends pulled you aside after school.

“You need to stop hanging around him so much,” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly. “It’s pathetic how you just follow him around like a lost puppy.”

You blinked, startled. “I—”

She scoffed. “You really think I don’t notice? Every girl who dates Otoya knows about you. We all know we’re just fillers until you decide you actually want him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure she was wrong.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Maybe this wasn’t normal. Maybe, in trying to feel something, you had hurt people in the process.

So you stopped.

No more late-night visits. No more whispered secrets.

And strangely, Otoya didn’t stop you.

You thought maybe he’d notice. That maybe he’d say something.

But if he did, he never said a word.

And the girls beside him kept changing.

The first few days without Otoya were… strange.

You told yourself it was normal—people drifted apart all the time. This was just a natural part of growing up, right?

But the silence was loud.

There was no more tapping at your window late at night, no lazy texts asking what you were doing, no sudden arms slung over your shoulders as he teased you about some random thing.

It was quieter.

At first, you thought you were the one keeping the distance, that it was your choice. That if you ever wanted to hear from him, all you had to do was reach out.

But weeks passed, and you didn’t hear a word.

No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

Then, one afternoon, the realization came crashing down in the most mundane of ways.

You were in the school bathroom, washing your hands, when a girl burst into the stall next to you, her voice thick with frustration.

“He just left for some soccer training camp—‘Blue Lock’ or something! Didn’t even warn me,” she cried, sniffling.

Your stomach dropped.

“What?!” one of her friends gasped. “Wait—like Otoya? He’s gone?!”

The girl let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Just poof. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye.”

Your breath caught.

The cold water from the sink ran over your fingers, but you barely felt it.

He left?

He left?

Your mind raced. There was no way that was true. Otoya wouldn’t just go without saying anything. Right?

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you scrolled through your messages.

His name sat there, undisturbed, with your last conversation from months ago.

And suddenly, it hit you—

You hadn’t noticed.

He had vanished from your life, and you had been so convinced you were choosing the distance that you didn’t even realize he was already gone.

You gripped the edge of the sink, feeling sick.

This was Otoya. The boy who had been with you since childhood, the boy who was always by your side. How had you not seen it?

Had he even wanted you to notice?

The thought made your chest ache.

Because if he had, he would have said something, wouldn’t he?

And yet—he hadn’t.

He had left without a word.

Without a goodbye.

Like you didn’t matter at all.

Blue Lock was exhausting.

Physically, mentally, emotionally—it took everything out of him. But Otoya thrived in chaos, so he never let it get to him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But sometimes, in the rare quiet moments between matches, when the adrenaline faded and there was nothing left to distract him, he’d find himself scrolling through his phone, staring at your contact.

The urge to text you was unbearable.

Should he?

Would you even care?

He thought about the last time he saw you—the way you had started pulling away, the way you had stopped looking for him.

Had you already decided he wasn’t worth keeping around?

That thought made something bitter settle in his throat.

Maybe this was for the best.

Maybe, if you had wanted him in your life, you would have noticed he was gone.

So he locked his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and pretended it didn’t bother him.

That you didn’t bother him.

That the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness, but just another part of the game.

And in the end, he never pressed send.

You didn’t even know why you were here.

Well. That was a lie.

You knew exactly why you were here.

It wasn’t for the game, and it sure as hell wasn’t for Japan’s future in soccer.

You just wanted to see him.

Even after everything, after months of silence, after the way he had left you behind without a second thought—

You still wanted to see him.

The moment the match started, your eyes found him instantly.

Otoya was different.

Stronger, faster, sharper.

But more than that—he belonged here.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe this was why he never looked back.

Because he didn’t need to.

The game was intense. You barely processed the score, the plays, or the tension in the stadium. All you could do was watch him.

And then, it was over.

Your breath was unsteady as you weaved through the crowd, pushing past people, trying to make your way down to the field before you lost sight of him.

And then—

You saw him.

Standing there, laughing, his expression relaxed and carefree as he spoke to a red-haired girl.

She was smiling, leaning close.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

You stopped in your tracks.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. Otoya had always been like this, right? Easy. Charming. He moved on from people without a second thought.

And yet, it still hurt.

Because while you had spent the last few months feeling his absence like an open wound, he didn’t even look like he missed you at all.

Your hands curled into fists.

You weren’t going to do this to yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away, not looking back.

And this time, you swore—

You were really going to leave him behind.

Time did what it always did—it moved forward, dragging you along with it whether you wanted it to or not.

You went to university. You got good grades. You found new friends, new routines, new ways to keep yourself busy.

And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that you had moved on.

You weren’t the same girl who spent sleepless nights staring at her phone, hoping for a text that never came. You weren’t the same girl who walked away from that stadium feeling like she had lost something she didn’t even realize she still wanted.

You were fine.

And you had a boyfriend now.

He wasn’t Otoya—he wasn’t playful or reckless, didn’t make your heart race with a single look—but he was steady. Reliable. Safe.

And for a while, you told yourself that was enough.

But then came the nights when you found yourself alone, flipping through channels until you landed on an FC Barcha match.

And every single time—without fail—your eyes found him.

Eita Otoya.

Older now, sharper, wearing that signature smirk like it had never left his face.

He moved across the field like he owned it, like he was made for this. And watching him, you felt the same ache in your chest that you had buried for years.

You were fine.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But if that was true, then why did it feel like your heart stopped every time you saw him on the screen?

The night Otoya came back, it was supposed to be simple.

You had movie plans with your boyfriend. He was supposed to come over, bring takeout, sit next to you on the couch, and pretend not to notice when you inevitably got distracted by your phone halfway through.

But when the knock came, and you opened the door—

It wasn’t him.

It was Otoya.

And he didn’t say a word.

He just stepped inside, grabbed your face, and kissed you.

Your heart stopped.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing—

But your body betrayed you.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer as his hands found your waist. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like he was trying to make up for every lost second, every wasted moment spent apart.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like he was oxygen, like you had spent years trying to convince yourself you didn’t need him—only to realize, in this moment, that you still did.

That you always did.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was lower now, rougher, like he had spent years trying not to say those words. “You don’t even know how much.”

You felt dizzy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think—

“What the fuck is this?”

You froze.

Otoya’s lips left yours, his gaze flicking over your shoulder.

And there, standing in the open doorway, was your boyfriend.

The takeout bag in his hand was slipping, forgotten, as his face twisted into something between disbelief and rage.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

Otoya didn’t move.

Didn’t look guilty.

Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just blinked lazily, like he was barely interested in the whole situation, and then—

With absolutely no hesitation—

He walked to the door and shut it.

Right in your boyfriend’s face.

Then, just as easily, he turned back to you, smirking.

“You don’t need him,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your jaw. “You have me now.”

And when he kissed you again, you let him.

Because the truth was—

You had always been his.

slight comeback but really just bc i had to get this out of my brain

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 3 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You stepped into the church, and just as expected, all eyes turned to you. Whispers rippled through the mourners, but you ignored them, adjusting your sunglasses. If they were waiting for a display of grief, they’d be disappointed.

Beside you, Bucky muttered under his breath, low enough that only you could hear. “This is a waste of time.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered back, “Didn’t you promise Mrs. Walls you’d be nice to me?”

Bucky flashed a peace sign. “I did. And for two hundred grand.”

Behind your shades, you rolled your eyes again. At least they hid your complete lack of sympathy. Dolly had been your manager for years, yet even now, as you stood at her funeral, she felt like nothing more than a former coworker.

The guests took their seats, and the murmurs continued around you.

“Poor Dolly. Such a tragedy.”

"Looks like she has forgiven Dolly, which is why she attended the funeral."

You didn’t feel the same. This felt like attending a distant relative’s funeral out of obligation. And the man sitting next to you wasn’t exactly helping. Ever since the money had hit his account, Bucky had toned down his usual sarcasm, making it easier to keep up the act of being a couple rather than explaining that he was just your bodyguard. You were relieved, too—it meant you didn’t have to sit beside Jack.

Jack. Your ex-fiancé.

You could feel his gaze burning into you from across the room. He was watching, observing, like he was trying to piece something together. Maybe he was just surprised to see you here with another man. A bitter laugh almost escaped you—he was such a good actor, no wonder he had won an Oscar. But behind the golden statue and the dazzling smile, he was nothing more than a gambling addict. You’d dodged a bullet.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was even here.

For the cameras, you answered yourself. The funeral had drawn some big names, and Jack never wasted an opportunity to get photographed.

Behind you, another hushed conversation caught your attention.

“You know, I saw a detective talking to some of the guests.”

“Wow. Not surprised. She owed money to the mafia.”

Your fingers clenched around the hem of your coat. So the rumors were true.

The funeral carried on, a few more speeches, some people crying—none of it stirred anything in you. When the service ended and the crowd began to disperse, you finally came face-to-face with Mr. Vert.

The CEO of your music label looked as sharp as ever. Slicked-back hair, tinted shades, a black trench coat. He had the presence of someone who was always ten steps ahead.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, his tone unreadable.

You gave him a tight smile. “When the boss calls, I answer.”

Mr. Vert smirked slightly, then shifted his gaze to Bucky. “So, this is him?”

“Yup. The one and only,” Bucky replied casually, hands in his pockets.

You weren’t sure why, but watching the two of them standing side by side gave you a strange feeling—like there was some kind of similarity between them. That was weird.

Mr. Vert adjusted his shades before turning to leave. “Guard her. Twenty-four seven.”

Bucky gave a small salute. “Of course.”

As soon as Mr. Vert walked away, you turned to Bucky, arms crossed. “Do you even know who that was?”

Bucky shrugged. “The guy who paid me?”

You exhaled sharply. “You’re seriously living under a rock.”

“Yup. My roommate is Patrick Star.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Before Bucky could come up with another sarcastic remark, you spotted someone familiar in the crowd—Selena, Dolly’s assistant.

Unlike you, Selena looked absolutely devastated. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she clutched a crumpled tissue in her hands. She wasn’t just Dolly’s assistant—she had practically worshiped her, running after her every demand.

You walked up to her carefully. “Hey, Selena.”

She sniffled and glanced at you, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe she’s gone… I—I don’t even know what to do now.”

Selena, her shoulders slumped and eyes filled with worry, looked at you. "Since Dolly’s gone, can I work with you? Until I find a better job?"

You paused for a moment, then gave her a soft but firm nod, offering her a reassuring smile. "Of course. And don't worry, you can stay as long as you want."

Selena’s posture softened as a hint of relief washed over her. She bowed her head slightly, her voice quieter now. "Thank you."

Bucky, standing nearby, watched the exchange before leaning in and muttering, “Wow. You do have a heart.”

You shot him a glare, but Selena let out a small chuckle. It wasn’t much, but at least for a second, it seemed to lift some of the weight off her shoulders.

Selena raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Uhm, who is he?”

Bucky grinned and leaned back slightly, his arms crossed. “Her boyfriend.”

Selena’s eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting slightly. “Him?” she whispered, clearly not expecting that.

“Buck!” You snapped, giving him a look that could kill. You asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you never intended to blurt it out, especially not in the middle of a funeral.

You quickly grabbed Bucky by the arm, pulling him toward the door with a firm tug. He stumbled slightly, but you didn't care. “Let’s go,” you muttered under your breath.

As you reached the door, you turned to Selena, your tone softening. “Take care, Selena. And again, don’t worry. You’ll be fine here.”

Selena nodded, her expression grateful, though tinged with sadness. "Thank you... really."

📷📷📷📷

Back at your penthouse, you kicked off your heels and exhaled in relief. The weight of the funeral, the awkward stares, and the conversation with Mr. Vert were still fresh in your mind. You weren’t sure what exhausted you more—the event itself or dealing with Jack and Bucky in the same room.

Bucky let out a low whistle as he stepped inside, hands in his pockets as he glanced around. “Damn. Nice place.”

Then his eyes landed on the wall lined with awards. He walked over, scanning the gold plaques, framed records, and shimmering trophies. “Impressive.”

For some reason, hearing that made your face heat up. You turned away, pretending to straighten a book on the coffee table.

Before you could respond, the doorbell rang. You sighed, already having a bad feeling about who it could be. Reluctantly, you made your way to the door and opened it.

Jack.

You let out another sigh, but still stepped aside to let him in. He wasted no time, immediately reaching out to pull you into a hug. You pushed against his chest, trying to create distance, but he only held on tighter.

“Jack, stop—”

Before he could tighten his grip, a hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

Bucky stepped between you, laughing. “Are you guys fighting over a toy?”

Jack looked furious, straightening his suit. He considered himself tall, but standing next to Bucky, he looked almost average. The shift in his posture made it clear—he hated losing.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you? And why are you glued to her?”

Bucky smirked. “I’m her new boyfriend.”

Jack’s expression turned into one of pure disbelief. His eyes darted back to you. “Him?”

You didn’t answer. You just crossed your arms and watched.

Jack scoffed, stepping closer again. “You know I’d never hurt you, baby.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Those words used to make you melt. Now, they were the last thing you wanted to hear.

Jack sighed, softening his voice. “Can we pretend we’re okay? Please?”

You stayed silent.

“You painted yourself as a forgiving person at Dolly’s funeral,” he continued. “Can’t you do the same for me?”

“Why?” you asked, unimpressed.

Bucky, who had been casually scrolling through his phone, let out a short laugh. “He wants you to be his beard,” he said, not even looking up. “There’s a rumor he might be the next lead in that spy franchise.”

Jack’s lips pressed together before he finally admitted, “That’s right, man.”

Bucky scoffed. “If you get the role, I’m definitely not watching the movie.”

“Buck…” You shot him a warning glare.

Jack bristled. “You don’t think I could pull off playing a spy?”

Bucky shrugged. “You don’t exactly scream espionage material.”

Jack clenched his jaw. “What do you know about acting?”

Bucky tilted his head, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Then he smirked. “You’re right. I don’t.”

The truth was, he didn’t need to act like a spy—he was one, or at least something dangerously close. But he wasn’t about to explain that to Jack.

“For crying out loud!” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “Can you two stop?”

You huffed “Fine. I’ll let the paparazzi take our picture.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, relieved.

“But we’re just walking to grab coffee. Nothing more.”

Jack hesitated. “Can I at least give you a side hug? Or a quick peck?”

You shot him a sharp glare.

Jack sighed dramatically, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. No touching.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving you alone with Bucky, who was still grinning.

You exhaled. “I need a drink.”

Bucky stretched his arms behind his head. “I need a raise.”

You rolled your eyes. This was going to be a long day.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

You poured two glasses of whiskey, sliding one across the counter to Bucky. He caught it effortlessly, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. You leaned against the kitchen island, staring at the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bucky let out a low chuckle. “Him?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

“You have low standards if you went for a guy like that.”

You scoffed. “Go to hell, Bucky.”

He smirked, tilting his glass toward you in mock salute. “Seriously, why are you helping him?”

“It’s just a picture,” you said, taking a slow sip of your drink. “After that, nothing. This kind of thing is common. A little media stunt to push someone up the search rankings. He needs something to work the algorithm in his favor.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “So it’s all fake, huh? No wonder entertainment’s one of the biggest fronts for money laundering.”

You frowned. “What?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. “Entertainment is a money-laundering business,” he said casually, like he was talking about the weather. “And movie directors? Most of them are very late virgins who use their power as an excuse to throw orgies.” He wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting as fuck.”

Your stomach turned at the thought. “How the hell do you know that?”

Bucky took another sip, watching you over the rim of his glass. “I’ve seen things you don’t wanna know, girlfriend.”

There was something in his tone—something that made you uneasy. A dark knowing, like he had lived a hundred lives before this one.

Bucky took another sip of his drink and leaned back against the couch, watching you. “By the way, you still haven’t asked what I do for a living.”

You shrugged, twirling the glass in your hand. “To be honest, as a singer, private shows paid me more than being on TV. And through those gigs, I met all kinds of clients.” You exhaled slowly. “Some things are better left unknown.”

Bucky observed you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. He had seen enough people in this business who preferred to turn a blind eye to the world’s ugliness. You weren’t naive—you just chose not to dig too deep.

“You,” you added, glancing at him over your glass, “give me the feeling that ignorance is the best answer.”

Bucky smirked. “I’m impressed.”

🌅🌅🌅🌅

The piercing sound of your phone ringing jolted you awake. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the name flashing on the screen.

Mr. Vert.

You answered with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Put me on speaker,” he ordered.

Frowning, you sat up and did as he asked. Bucky, who had crashed on your couch, rubbed his face and stretched, watching you curiously.

Then, Mr. Vert’s voice came through, calm but firm. “Jack’s dead.”

Your breath hitched.

“He was thrown from the 12th floor. Landed on a car.”

For a moment, your mind went blank. Jack? The same Jack who had just been in your apartment last night? The same Jack who had begged you to help him?

Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“Therefore,” Mr. Vert continued, his voice unwavering, “I want your bodyguard with you at all times.”

You swallowed, your pulse hammering. This was no longer just a media game. Someone was dead. Someone you had spoken to only hours ago.

Bucky, on the other hand, leaned back against the couch, arms folded, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“This,” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone, “is getting more interesting.”

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If you enjoy my stories, feel free to check out my masterlist. I’ve also written some original works that you might find interesting.

They are available on Kindle:

Arrogant Ex-Husband: A novella.

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[shorthaltsjester]

i feel like a whole lot of the conversation around different party’s goodness would be . uh. mitigated by people taking seriously the notion that nice, kind, and good are not synonymous, and that when someone makes a claim that the mighty nein are good it does not require that they are nice or even kind. i would wholeheartedly agree that bell’s hells are probably more ‘nice’ in terms of politeness, but I think it’s also quite comedic that the party that’s celebrated for it’s alleged punk qualities is now being defended for its… niceness? sure okay 👍 very punk rock, so is bells hells the specialist guys to exist because they don’t care about society’s ideas or because they do? anyway, emphatic good does not mean nice, and in fact in the canon text caduceus asked the hells to make the kind decision and the hells have hmmmm very much not done that

[chuusheartattck]

HAUNTED

Chapter 8: Suspicions

All twelve of you guys have always visted Ei and Yae’s little cafe. It even had a bookstore attached which was of course ran by Yae.

Despite Scaramouche’s protests, it became a little hang out spot for you guys. At first, Ei seemed a bit scary but that’s just how she is. She can be cold towards Scara but their relationship has gotten better since you guys started hanging out. It was heart warming to see.

Your group were occupying two different booths. Across from you sat Lumine, Cyno and Yanfei. You were sat on the edge of the opposite side. Next to you sat Heizou and Hu Tao.

The other booth sat the rest of your friends, all lost in their own conversations.

When Heizou came back from his little mission, he came back with a drink. He wasn’t planning on getting anything but he didn’t want to look awkward in front of the girl and her boyfriend.

“What did you get?” You eyed his drink.

Heizou shrugged and slid it over to you, “Some new matcha thing. You can have it.”

You took a sip and it was surprisingly good. The bakery always has high quality matcha.

“Soo..” You began, “Do you think they know anything?” You pointed your head in Ei and Yae’s direction. They were busy helping a customer.

Yanfei gave you a stern look, “Give it a rest. We’re here to forget about school.”

She was right, this was supposed to be a nice hang out to forget about the troubles of school. All the weird shit that has been happening.

So why do you feel the sudden urge to ask Ei and Yae if they know anything about it? They graduated so they must know something.

“No, no Y/n is right,” Heizou chimed in. “They probably know something. What if they’re like some badass detective couple?”

“Is that one of your fantasies?” Hu Tao giggled.

Heizou gave her a disgusted look, “You don’t know anything about my fantasies.”

“Nobody wants to know,” Lumine deadpanned. “Anyways, Y/n just ask them. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You took this as a sign to call them over to your table.

“You two graduated from Teyvat University right? What do you guys know about its..reputation?” You were hoping your question wasn’t too weird.

It was only for a split second. One tiny moment that wasn’t caught by any of you. It was caught by Heizou instead.

A small glance between the both of them. Almost a “why are they asking us this?” look. A concerned look.

Yae was the one who responded, “My college days were fun! The parties were more lively than nowadays. There were strange occurrences but it has gotten more publicity in the recent years.” She smiled warmly at you.

“Did you party with any ghosts?” Cyno asked in a light tone.

Yae chuckled, “Not that I know of. You know who was a party animal?” She turned to Ei, “This one! Did you know that-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Ei nudged her arm and shot her a nasty glare. This earned a small laugh between all six of you.

“Ahem,” Ei cleared her throat, “You shouldn’t worry about those rumors for now. You should enjoy the college life while you can. Poking your noses where it doesn’t belong will only give you trouble.”

“I know. I know. I do have one more question though. Did you guys know someone named Rhinedottir. Her son Albedo goes to the school now.” You were hoping for some sort of answer that could lead you further along in your investigation.

Again, Heizou noticed the small look between Ei and Yae. He didn’t want to bring it to your attention and instead kept quiet. Perhaps they’re hiding something.

“No,” Ei said bluntly, “I don’t recall knowing someone of that name.”

You sigh in defeat. This investigation was going to be difficult. It may take all four years of university to come up with something.

Heizou on the other hand was lost in his thoughts. The strange looks at one another could’ve meant nothing. Maybe they were annoyed at you for asking questions. However, he couldn’t shake off this feeling that it meant something. He doesn’t want to cause you anymore stress. For now, he’ll keep it to himself.

A loud gasp could be heard from the other table. You turned your head to see Xiangling looking at her phone in a panic.

“Are you okay?” Yanfei called out from your table.

“No!” Xiangling groaned. “I just realized I have an assignment due in an hour. I totally forgot!” She quickly got up from the table, gathering her personal belongings.

“Well there’s my cue. I got a ride with Xiao, Xiangling and Hu Tao,” Heizou motioned for you to let him and Hu Tao out.

Cyno stretched out his arms and yawned, “I should probably get going to. I have an early class tomorrow and it’s getting late.” He looked towards the window and the sun was already setting. He turned to Lumine and Aether, “You guys cool with that?”

They nodded since the three of them all carpooled together.

“Should we go as well?” Kazuha asked as he got up from his table. He drove you, Scaramouche, Yanfei and Navia to the bakery.

You all nodded and got up from your respective tables. Your entire group thanked the two ladies and started to make your way out of the bakery.

The sunset casted a beautiful pink and orange tone in the sky. It was the kind of sunset that had everyone looking at it in awe. You just knew people were going to post it on their Instagram stories.

You noticed Xiao next to you. He took out his phone to take a picture of the sunset. The golden rays gave him a sun kissed glow onto his skin. It highlighted his features quite nicely.

When he was done, he turned his attention towards you. His beauty made you a bit flustered.

“Is there something on my face?” He asked.

“No. I just didn’t take you as someone who takes pictures of sunsets,” You replied.

Xiao looked down on his phone, “I don’t. I’m usually more into sunrises but the sky looked pretty so why not.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You stay up for sunrises?”

“When I can’t sleep then I usually do,” Xiao responded. “You should try it sometime.”

“I think I’d fall asleep before I’m able to.”

“I’ll just wake you up then.”

You two stood next to his car. He took out his keys to unlock his car to let Xiangling, Hu Tao and Heizou inside.

“See you later,” He waved goodbye before hopping into the drivers seat.

Lumine quickly ran to your side and nudged your arm. Totally being obvious about it.

“There goes your man,” She whispered.

You hit her arm back to shush her, “He’s not my man!” You whispered yelled.

“Not yet,” Lumine gave you a mischievous smirk before heading into Aether’s car.

You rolled your eyes playfully and walked to Kazuha’s car.

You got into the backseat next to Yanfei and Navia while Scaramouche sat in the passenger seat. The three cars started to pull out of the parking lot and onto the road.

The road that led to the place where you were dreading the most.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: SHES BACKKKKKK i’m hoping you guys didn’t forget about me :( sorry for being mia i lowkey lost the motivation to continue but i got some of it back! please lmk if you guys like this story so i can stay motivated. also please give me any theories you have about this story!! i enjoy reading them/giving hints about whats yet to come! i’ve also been watching the og teen titans so maybe i’ll start writing for them too 🤫 lmk if you guys are interested in that as well!

Synopsis: Friends start their first year at Teyvat University. The school that is known for its paranormal activity. The group doesn’t truly believe the rumors until they start to experience how frightening the school can be. What happens when the friend group investigates the truth of the hauntings?

Taglist: @morgyyyyyyy @state-of-grac3 @trulyylee @jellichuu @practicoi @yuminako @eyshamuun @kunikuzushis-darling @heartsforni-ki @lalalaloveallmydays @animeobsessed56 @samyayaya @lloovvv @adepticiaoo @cherrysnows @miisamores @strayharmony943 @xionri @kazumiku @bethleeham @sukisprettyface @jayzioxx @kaikaidenkai @js-a-silly-little-guy @jiminscarmex @i-am-me-and-you @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @brideofbriar @floweringanna @miy-svz @vitanye @kunislettrs @ik33ponmakinc00ki3s @yurisukhsm

[mooniema]

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Kang Sae-byeok x reader hcs

pairing ; Sae-byeok x f!reader

summary ; just some hcs of mine of what a relationship with Sae-byeok would be in a world, where she never participated in the games

warnings ; none, but she might be a little ooc idk

a/n ; I love her soooo much, I still can´t accept her death

This is my first post and my first time writing so sorry if its ass

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Before your relationship:

At first it was really hard to talk to her

No matter what you did or how much friendliness you showed, she barely answered you. Just nodding or giving you short answers without really trying to get a conversation going

After some time she started opening up to you, slowly starting to ask you about your day and greeting you, when she sees you

She began to hang out with you, when you asked her to. Before she always refused your request to hang out, because she didn't have the time

After hanging out, she began to spend more and more time with you, slowly becoming your friend and after that it took her little time to figure out her growing feelings for you

Realizing her feelings, she began to distance herself, not wanting to get you involved with the dangerous parts of her life

But you didn't give up and it ended with confessing your feelings to each other during a heated argument and a long talk afterwards, where also she told you more about her situation and she realized, that she can't keep you away from her

In your relationship:

You started dating quickly after confessing and as your first date she took you to a nice restaurant (she worked extra hard to be able to pay for you both) and afterwards you two watched the stars and listened to music

In public she is still rather quiet and she isn't a fan of pda, but you know it's just, because she is a more private person and she will still hold your hand if you want it

In private she is a lot more open, because she feels more secure and safe and she is a lot more talkative and teasing

She is protective as hell, always walking next to the street so you don't have to and having her pocket knife in case someone tries anything

She is the "wear what you want, I can fight" type of girlfriend

She doesn't hesitate to threaten someone, who makes you uncomfortable, doesn't matter if it's with icy stares and a hand on your shoulder or with cold words and her pocket knife

She knows you can protect yourself, but she would rather deal with them on her own instead of making you deal with creeps

She is just scared of losing you too, after losing her dad and still not being able to bring her mum to South Korea

And especially with her pickpocketing and the people she associated with in the past, she wants you to be safe no matter what

She trusts you and doesn't get jealous often, but if she does get jealous, she will seek out physical contact like cuddles once you are at home and alone

The first time she took you to visit her brother, you two bounded very quickly and when she watched Cheol and you spending time together, she knew she wouldn't let you go

When having arguments, she often gets kind of harsh and mean and she knows that

So before letting her emotions get to her, she distances herself from the situation, telling you that she needs time for herself to think

If she notices, that she was in the wrong, she'll apologise to you, coming home with your favorite sweets and talk it out

If she is in the right, she'll calmly talk to you, trying to get her point across without starting a new argument

Her main love languages are acts of service and quality time

Acts of service:

She isn't good with people and she never really had trusted anyone as much as she trust you so she isn't good with her words and touch

She also thinks actions speak more than words and that shows in your relationship

Doesn't matter if its tying your shoe laces, going out at night to get you your favorite snacks, bringing your favorite drink everywhere so you stay hydrated or holding your bags, when you want to go shopping, she got you covered and will do that stuff without you having to say something

Will also definitely nurse you back to health when you are sick

Expect her to be in the kitchen making you a soup, while cheol stands beside you in a little doctor outfit, making sure you don't move unnecessarily

Quality time:

She loves spending time with you

Doesn't matter how small it is or what you two are doing, as long as she is with you she is content

That doesn't mean, that she doesn't have preferences on what you twonare doing though

She prefers the quiet dates like walks together, movie nights, cooking together and stuff, which is not in public

She just prefers having privacy with you so you two can be yourselves and openly talk

She also enjoys just being together, while doing different things, just basking in each others presences

But in general she'll be fine with whatever you pick, doesn't matter If its an amusement park date or studying together on your couch

As long as its with you, she'll be happy <3

Physical touch:

She isn't used to being physically affectionate to anyone, but her little brother m but she really tries

It took her some time to get used to it, first hesitant to initiate any physical contact, but now she'll gladly hold your hand in public and often initiates kisses and cuddles in private

She is not big on pda, but in private she can be really touchy

Her kisses were slow and feather light at first, afraid of pushing your boundaries, but now they are deep and passionate, although still soft

Her touch is tender, she knows you are no fragile doll and can take a more firm grip too, but she wants to treat you with the utmost care

When making out, she is not afraid to litter kisses on your neck and collarbone or leaving marks, often flowing more passionate and slightly possessive in heated moments

Gift giving:

She really enjoys giving you gifts, little tokens of her love for you

Sadly she doesn't have the money to spoil you like you deserve

Thats why she often works harder for planned gifts and dates

She refuses to buy herself stuff unless she really needs it, but loves buying you and Cheol things with her money

The gifts don't have to be expensive, just something she saw you looking at, while being in town

For you, she'll also attempt to learn how to make handcrafted gifts like paper flowers with Cheol

And if she notices any pretty stones, while being outside she makes sure to bring them to you

Words of affirmation;

She has never been good with words, but for you she tries her best

She is not good at expressing herself through them while chatting, but she makes sure to leave little notes full with "I love you"s and little reminders to drink and eat

Her words are normally rather blunt and her tone is rather cold, but with you her voice becomes a lot softer

After time, it becomes easier for her to reassure and comfort you and she is really glad because of that

First, she was really awkward during those moments

[aiura-stan]

(on Gay Hairo being canon)

-True, there’s no evidence that Hairo isn’t gay. You got me there… that’s certainly an Implication in that one chapter, considering Saiki’s reaction.

That said, his ass always being out is not *inherently* gay. I don’t see anything that points to the gag being consistently associated with sexuality in any way. (other than Saiki’s occasional comment.)

(on Saiki’s ‘hypnosis’)

-I feel like we have this same conversation every so often; I apologize in advance if I’m just repeating myself, lmao.

‘Hypnosis’ is his ability to make people look like someone else in canon. I used that word the wrong way, didn’t I. Sorry.

It is separate from ‘mind control,’ which I keep confusing it with, which Kusuo used to make things like his pink hair and limiters normal. He also used it to make it normal for students to have jobs, and to make anime tropes such as quicker healing, the ‘ton’ to the back of the neck effective, and destruction of property quickly fixable (I don’t get that one tbh.)

Yeah, come to think of it, ‘hypnosis’ in the sense of making someone else ignore him, is fanon. You’re right.

That said, Kusuo has a lot of weird perception altering powers. He can use hypnosis to make people look like each other, he can cause an auditory hallucination of music (presumably with his telepathy), he can use mind control to make people believe that things are normal (which in turn somehow changes the world itself.) For whatever reason, people do not notice the year repeating itself again and again as he periodically rewinds time. I can’t find it but I swear somewhere in the manga (is it the anime?) there’s a scene where a guy thinks to himself that Saiki’s limiters are strange, and we are told that he rationalizes it away due to Kusuo’s powers. (presumably his ‘mind control,’ which begs the question, if he actually permanently changed their perception of reality, why should they have to rationalize at all?)

I thought it was somewhere in the early chapters but couldn’t find it when I looked. Argh. But yeah I think that’s why I keep confusing the two. Because at one point, there’s some weird implications due to this one guy reacting to Kusuo’s limiters.

(on Teruhashi’s power to make people ‘fall in love w/ her on sight’)

-Yes, I agree “parasocial relationship” comes closer to what Teruhashi inspires in her followers and the men around her.

(on Saiki being affected by Teruhashi’s beauty)

-Okay, I can see where you’re going with the Teruhashi affecting Saiki point, now. I made some incorrect assumptions about what you meant by that sentence.

I think Teruhashi’s good amounts to being nice. Even though they are often done with ulterior motives, her actions have kind effects at least, if that makes sense.

I mean? It seems to improve their behavior, at least whenever she is around? Like the gag with Rifuta, who asks two boys to walk her to the cafeteria, and they start fighting, but they make up and agree to do it together when Teruhashi chastises them for it. So she’s like their external conscience.

After she leaves… debatable. haha. But I do think she has some sort of power that basically amounts to “make people behave as though they are their best selves due to her beauty” while around her specifically. (Which… I don’t know how I feel about that. But that’s what I think.) And Kusuo isn’t affected by that, because he has his own internal moral compass that he basically refuses to compromise on.

Yeah… after she leaves, I’d say they’re back to stumbling around in the dark, morally speaking. She’s still very much doing good, but even though her sphere of “good” is limited to when she is personally involved. I think that’s part of what makes her ego so bad. Because she truly thinks people can only be their best selves when she is around. Which is why she likes Saiki, because her presence doesn’t effect his actions or morals in the least.

That would definitely be interesting! I wonder how he lost his vision… what was able to injure Saiki’s eyes? At the volcano scene he is pushed to his absolute limit, so maybe it’s some natural disaster like that.

I'm not a fan of soulmates in romantic fiction because it's basically arranged marriage with extra supernatural noncon/dubcon elements.

However, in the Saiki universe, the soulmate connection seems to lack pretty much all of those problematic elements.

We have to do a little extrapolating from what we see in canon since this aspect of Aiura's powers is not covered in detail, but:

Soulmates do not seem to be guaranteed to ever meet, considering the fact that Aiura specifically looked up her soulmate and that one guy who was linked to someone in a remote African village that would almost certainly never cross paths with him.

Being with your soulmate is completely optional, otherwise Aiura wouldn't bother providing relationship scoring and just tell each person to go find their soulmate. This allows for a lot of narrative opportunities to explore why someone would consciously choose to not be with their soulmate, and also opens up the door for polyamory.

Soulmates do not instantly fall in love, and are not forced to stay in love by any supernatural powers. Aiura didn't think anything of Saiki until he flawlessly saved Yumehara's life like 10x in a row, and Saiki certainly didn't fall for Aiura right away either. They fought over their values strongly enough that it would've been a breakup if they'd ever been together.

Soulmate status just seems to indicate particularly good chemistry, and like the rest of Aiura's powers, is purely informational and not determinative. Presumably soulmates have the highest possible compatibility scores, and it's kinda cool that it seems guaranteed there's at least 1 person out there who will jive with you, but also plenty of other people you can connect with to various degrees.

With Saiki and Aiura specifically, it's shown that Saiki can change the future Aiura sees as soon as he hears about it. It may even be possible for him to change the soulmate determination, and he certainly could've used Time Leap to fool Aiura into thinking someone else was her soulmate if he was really opposed to the concept. She had scryed it recently, so the butterfly effect shouldn't be a challenge.

But they do work so smoothly together with their powers complementing each other, and Saiki is kind of a lonely romantic tsundere at heart, so it makes sense that he would let the soulmate thing play out and yet test the connection by pushing Aiura away as much as possible.

Actually, considering that Saiki can't control people's actions directly (and that he sucks at trying to control people indirectly), the strongest noncon/dubcon force in the Saikiverse shockingly appears to be Teruhashi's beauty.

The only male character that doesn't seem at all affected by Teruhashi's powers is Hairo, most likely because of his heavily implied homosexuality. Women attracted to other women are also impacted by her power, as seen with Aiura.

While Saiki says that married people aren't affected by Teruhashi, Kuniharu does actually show several signs of being affected by Teruhashi, and so does Kumagoro.

All affected people instantly fall in love with her on sight, no exceptions.

Critical thinking ability appears to drop precipitously when it comes to her, with her fans accepting that she had a secret child with Saiki despite being in school with her every day and that she can just choose not to poop for a week. More effective mind control than anything Saiki can do tbh.

The instant Saiki loses some of his powers, he starts being affected by Teruhashi's beauty.

The narrative supports Saiki's theory that Teruhashi is literally favored by God and can affect reality just by hoping for something. The implication that God is (physically??) attracted to Teruhashi and does whatever she wants is.... yikes on several levels. If she asks for someone to love her, do they get a choice in the matter??

Anyways, there are way more elements of noncon/dubcon with Teruhashi ships than there are with actual canon soulmate mechanics in the Saikiverse and that's just such a wild choice by the author lol.

Truly subverting tropes!

[polyamorousmood]

It's not exactly poly-related, but I don't know other blog with life advices, so. Maybe you have an idea what to do with frustration from being the one "normal" between your friends and partners? I'm only one without any confirmed diagnosis (we have consensus that something definitely not right there, but no one can be sure if this an adhd or chronic tiredness or I'm just born this way etc). And in practice it means that I'm the one that should adapt to everyone's quirks. I'm the one that will make decisions when no one else can. I'll be cleaning because everyone's too depressed, I'll offer comfort when someone's triggered, I can't drop my work no matter what because everyone else disabled and can be unemployed for years, etc. Don't get me wrong, I like be the one that's stable and can help, I thrive on being useful. But also sometimes it's horrifies me that I don't have any room for error, not in small things (because what can be a small thing for me can badly trigger other person) and definitely not in big (because no one would be there to pick things up). I'm working two jobs now and still mostly the one that usually cleans and cooks and thinks about things like what we will gift to that or this friend and how to pay our credit card etc. And I understand that I'm in this position because others literally have it worse! But I'm at the point where small adjustments in plans makes me see red and it's not great for everyone. No I'm not utterly underappreciated and sometimes people drops "it must be hard for you" or "you probably disabled too I don't know how you handle it so well" into conversation, but it's not like words help when I literally need for people to just deal with at least some shit. Also yes I have some control freak tendencies but they are built on the experience thst people *won't* do shit or will do it incorrectly and I'll need to redo it anyway, so I can't just "let it go". No one there malicious and I *want* to be good and accepting friend and partner. I just really tired and don't know what to do.

yeahhhh you don't really go here [insert Mean Girls gif] I mean maybe you do but this isn't the thing I'm here for blah blah so no offense, but you're not getting my best, here

See a therapist, work on ✨️boundaries✨️

No one is going to die if the dishes go unwashed a couple days longer than they should. Having someone to lean on when triggered is really nice! But panic attacks do pass on their own sooner or later. They'll be okay if you don't intervene on half of them. It feels bad and shit - I PROMISE, I get it - but I spent 6 months being 24/7 support for a suicidal person, and (aside from ensuring physical safety) me being their didn't usually help them out of the really bad moods any faster! And sure, maybe it spirals a bit with other people in the mix. That shit happens. It's okay.

Secodarily. Look at life structures and CHANGE THEM.

They can't do the dishes? Not even with a stool to sit on and video playing on their phone? Nobody can? Well then FUCK dishes, this is a paper plate household now!!

Youre the only one who can cook? Maybe like, full meals. But someone there other than you can handle fucking frozen pizzas and a kitchen timer, or microwave meals. Stock up. Stock up on snacks that require no cooking - eating those as a meal a couple times a week won't kill anyone.

80% of household shit can be made much easier in this way if you just adjust your standards a bit

I mean no disrespect at all for anyone disabled. But the vast majority of disabilities still allow you to contribute something at least sometimes.

Quite frankly, if i were in your shoes, I'd pick a couple chores I know a couple others can help with and make a group announcement I won't be doing those anymore -- ever. If they don't get done, it's their problem now, you're sorry, but you're burnt out, and you can't help them if you have a mental break.

And that last part is true, so I'd do this sooner rather than later.

Either way, I feel for you and your whole group. It sounds less than ideal for everyone, and I hope you can find something more easily sustainable soon

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

Aspen wakes, and Rolan is not by her side. He was in quite the state last night after hearing what happened. Cal and Lia had been kidnapped along with the others. Aspen rushes out of the tent to see if he's at the table. No sight of him.

"Karlach! Where's Rolan???"

"I don't know!"

"Wyll???"

"I haven't seen him, not since he learned his siblings got captured."

"Shit. I'll be back. Someone follow behind at a distance just in case."

Aspen grabs her gear and runs out into the shadows. She heads toward Moonrise and tries to connect with Rolan's tadpole to see if he's near. She feels the faintest stir and heads in the direction of the pull. Nearing a bridge, she sees him. Cornered by shadows with nothing but a torch. A single damned torch. Aspen rushes over to him and blasts the shadows with light, causing them to disintegrate instantly.

"Rolan! What in the nine hells were you thinking!?!"

"Gods damn it all! I can do nothing right! Not a damn thing!"

"What the fuck are you talking about??? What are you doing out here alone?"

"I was looking! For Cal and Lia."

"Why alone?! We were literally going to head to Moonrise at first light!"

"Because I do everything alone! I don't need you to swoop in and save me every damn time, you know. You always do this! You come in and try to help people who are doing just fine on their own, always doing things nobody asked you to do!"

"Ohhh I see, so I was just supposed to sit there in camp, worried sick, while you prove to yourself that you're some big tough guy who can handle himself against an ENTIRE cursed land with nothing but a fucking torch?"

Rolan huffs and crosses his arms. Dropping the torch at his feet.

"I didn't ask for you to come find me."

"I would have found you regardless! Either alive or by running into my beloved as a shadow-cursed corpse. Do you have any idea how much that would destroy me? Destroy your siblings? The people who care about you??"

"Fine, fine. You win. I'll head back. I know when I'm outmatched."

"Oh for the love of-"

Aspen takes a breath and steps closer to Rolan. She looks at him and tries to study his expression. Creases of worry and self doubt line his face. This wasn't about saving Cal and Lia, it was about being able to save himself, should the need arise, and he failed.

"We're both heading back, you're grabbing your gear, and we're saving your siblings. And then, when that's done, we're going to have a long conversation about self reliance verses self sabotage. Deal?"

*sigh* "Deal".

Aspen turns to walk back when Rolan grabs her arm and pulls her into a hug. He shudders and buries his face into her shoulder. Tears threaten to escape from his eyes as he holds her tight.

"Gods below Rolan. Don't ever do that again, understand?"

He nods.

"I love you. Whatever you think you need to prove to yourself or me is not needed. You don't have to do this alone. None of us do."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. It was irrational and irresponsible. I can't save my siblings if I'm dead" He laughs.

"You were gonna just storm the cult's headquarters with nothing but the clothes on your back and a torch?? For as brilliant as you are, you can be so stupid sometimes."

"Yes, yes I know. Let's not rub it in."

Rolan lets her go and she holds his face in her hands. Tears finally start pouring down his cheeks and she wipes them with her thumbs. She kisses his nose, then his cheek, then his lips. Then presses her forehead against his.

"I love you too. By the way."

"I know. But it's nice to finally hear you say it."

[tannedalien]

"CopChase" Part One

A Pro hero Deku x Police Officer! Reader

sypnosis: reader is a police officer and has been working on a mission with number 1 pro hero deku. she finds herself getting distracted everytime shes alone with him and your conversations with the green haired man are getting so full of tension you feel as if you're about to burst. what ever will happen nyehehehe

this is inspired by the music "CopChase" by the Get7 Brass Band. its like, supa good

warning: Deku is an adult and all characters are aged up for obvious reasons.

You swing open the door to your shared apartment, sniffing the damp air of the room. The smell of take out and candles being shoved down your air waves gave you a nauseating headache. Your room mate, Fumiko, must've got food before you came back home. You noticed an untouched bag of chinese take out with your name written on the top next to the microwave. You smiled weakly, atleast someone still does nice things for you.

You're a new and uprising cop in japan, you started 2 years ago but you've had your name plastered on media due to the fact you have a quirk you could've easily became a hero with. Your quirk is alot like miruko's, you have bunny like features. You're able to jump and sprint at ridiculous rates and your ears are able to hear everything.

You had a mission not to long ago that resulted in alot of casualties from the villains, eventually, the hero's had to step in. That would be the first time you ever met the Number one hero, Deku. Hes alot bigger in person, a lot buffer than you had imagined.

This encounter eventually led to Deku working with your precinct alot more than you had anticipated. You believed hero's had a... different.. way of dealing with legal matters. Usually jumping into situations head first without thinking. Things like this is what get you into a lot of trouble and having to fill out forms just because some rookie hero didn't listen to you was NOT going to be your evening's event.

You placed your bags on the floor inside your room and threw yourself onto your bed, your face suffocated into your white sheets. Your feet ache from walking all day but you was too tired to even take off your shoes. You sighed angrily into your mattress, trying to get a little of your emotions out before clocking into your bed for the night.

"Long day huh?"

Fumiko's said coming from your bedroom door frame. You stayed laying stomach down on your bed, responding with an annoyed groan.

"I get it, grumpy pants.. now come on! Let's get them shoes off."

Fumiko comes to sit next to you on your bed as you roll over onto your back so you could look at her. She bends down and starts working on your boot laces as she tries to yank them off your feet making you giggle.

"I'm guessing you saw the posts on twitter then?"

You said, rolling your eyes at her. She giggled in response.

"yep! i gotta say, they got a pretty good angle of you eyeing Deku up. I've never seen you look at something with so much seduction in your eyes"

She mocked, making her tone more playful, insinuating there was something more going on with you and the number one hero in all of japan.

"shut up"

You rolled your eyes, playfully pushing her away from you. She rolled onto her stomach, propping her shoulders up with her forearms.

"But seriously though, Mr Akimitsu is going to murder you when he sees them photo's"

Ahhh yes, your boss, Mr Akimitsu. Before working with Deku he had strictly warned your entire team to treat the hero like an equal and to not stare or ask any questions that wasn't about the mission, after all, you where all meant to be professionals. However, during a mission you had early this morning, you was caught red handed, staring at deku. The paparazzi took this moment to take a photo and blast your name through the tabloids and the media, titles like "bunny cop catches feelings for japans no.1 hero!" and "Y/N, The Rabbit of Tokyo, Caught eyeing up Pro Hero Deku this morning!" where plastered all over everyones phones.

You where more than embarrassed, mortified even. You had worked with Deku on many missions before and you still have many missions upcoming, would this make everything awkward? You'd usually apologise to him and say its the media making things weird but you dont even have his contact details, so your stuck with this lingering anxiety until your next mission.

The next morning, you dragged yourself out of bed, your muscles still aching from yesterday’s events. You barely had time to register the dark circles under your eyes before your phone buzzed aggressively on your nightstand.

Mr Akimitsu: Meeting. 8 AM sharp. No excuses.

You groaned. Of course. You weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be let off the hook that easily. Fumiko, still half-asleep in her bed across the room, mumbled something incoherent before rolling over. You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before getting ready.

By the time you arrived at the precinct, the atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards you, whispers bubbling beneath the surface. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react. It wasn’t until you pushed open Mr Akimitsu’s office door that the real tension hit you.

“Sit,” he said, barely glancing up from the papers on his desk. You obeyed, trying to keep your expression neutral.

He finally looked at you, his sharp eyes scrutinising your every movement. “Care to explain why you’ve been making headlines for something other than your police work?”

You swallowed hard. “Sir, it was—”

“I don’t care what it was.” His voice was calm, but the weight behind it made you straighten your back. “We have been working with Pro Heroes under strict guidelines. You, Officer L/N, were given clear instructions. This,” he gestured towards the tablet on his desk, an article open with your face plastered next to Deku’s, “is the opposite of professional.”

You winced. “Sir, I wasn’t—”

“I don’t want excuses. You’ve got another mission today, and guess who you’ll be working with?”

Your stomach twisted.

“Deku,” he answered for you, leaning back in his chair. “You’re going to be shadowing him on this case, and I don’t want to hear any more about this nonsense from the media. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

You left his office, your head spinning. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Not only did the media have a field day with your so-called crush, but now you had to work with the man himself while pretending none of this ever happened.

You barely had time to breathe before you felt a presence behind you.

“You ready for today, Officer Bunny?”

You froze. That voice. That stupidly recognisable, slightly amused voice. Turning around, you came face to face with Pro Hero Deku himself, arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather some semblance of composure as you straightened up. Deku stood there, towering over you with his trademark green hair slightly tousled, his hero suit making him look even more imposing than you'd remembered. He was clearly used to the media circus that followed him, but you had no idea how to handle it now that you were a part of it.

“I… uh…” You cleared your throat, your palms suddenly clammy. “Good morning, Deku.”

He smiled, his expression friendly, though there was something in his eyes that made you wonder if he had seen the photos, too. You couldn’t be sure—he probably got bombarded with attention all the time—but his relaxed attitude made it clear he wasn’t about to let the media hoopla faze him.

“You’re all set for today?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at your uniform. His voice was warm, professional, like any other day.

“Yeah, just… just got the briefing from Mr Akimitsu.” You rubbed the back of your neck, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Seems like I’m stuck with you for the day.”

He chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound that was completely disarming. “I wouldn’t say ‘stuck’. We’re a team today, right?”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. Was he pretending not to know? Or was he genuinely unaffected by the fiasco? Either way, you didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more nervous than before.

As you made your way to the mission room, you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence seemed to command the room. Heroes and officers alike gave him respectful nods, some even going out of their way to speak to him briefly. But he kept it professional, nodding politely but never lingering.

“We’ve got a suspect holed up in a warehouse down by the docks,” Deku said, showing you the mission details as you both sat down at the briefing table. “Looks like a high-profile gang operation. We’ll be going in with backup, but it’s mostly a recon mission for now.”

You nodded, absorbing the details. But you couldn’t ignore the nagging thought that kept running through your mind: What did he think of the photos?

“Hey, uh, Deku,” you began, trying to sound casual. “About those photos… I know it’s probably nothing, but…”

He looked at you, his green eyes kind but unreadable. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got my own share of paparazzi to deal with, so I’m used to it.”

You exhaled, a weight lifting from your chest. “Thanks. I just… it wasn’t intentional, you know?”

He smiled again, a little softer this time. “I get it. The media can be a bit... persistent.”

Before you could say anything else, the door to the briefing room opened, and your team filed in, ready for the operation. Deku stood up, giving you a quick nod.

“We’ll catch up later. Let’s focus on the mission now, yeah?”

You nodded, suddenly realising how much better it felt to have him not making this awkward. Maybe you could do this. Work with him, without it being weird.

But as you followed him out of the room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission—this entire day—was only just the beginning of whatever strange dynamic had been created between the two of you.

It wasn’t just the photos anymore. It was the tension, the unspoken words, the way he smiled at you like he could see straight through your nerves.

But for now, you were a team. And that’s all that mattered.

You only hoped you could keep it that way.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD CARRY THIS ON PLEASE I WORKED SO HARD

I do encourage that everyone goes and follows my TikTok and joins my discord. I want friends pls