#it’s been so long since I’ve drawn them

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[azrielsdove]

Fated Souls: Azriel Ending

Warnings: Angst, Smut, 18+

Read Pt.1 Here

***

You leaned against the balcony in shock, the cold shadows burning against your heated skin. You stared with wide eyes at Azriel, a fearsome figure in the doorway. Shadows ran menacingly around his body, his golden eyes flaring with rage.

“Lucien,” he began, glancing over at him. “Was it your name that my mate was just moaning? Is it her scent that remains on your hand?” Your heart stuttered in your chest, embarrassment flooding through you. Lucien looked exactly how you felt. Azriel moved closer to you, his eyes slowly taking in the evidence of exactly what you had been doing out here. The strands of hair that had fallen loose, your wrinkled dress, the hem of it resting on your thighs instead of the ground. “My beauty,” he murmured, reaching out his hand as if to caress your face. He stopped halfway, catching the unease in your eyes. A deep sigh left the male, the shadows calming as he called them back. “I believe you are due an explanation,” he began, nodding to Lucien as well. “Both of you.”

A wave of anger suddenly hit you, eyes narrowing at your supposed mate. “What is there to explain, Azriel? That you’re in love with Elain?” You scoffed. “As if we are not already well aware. What business is it of yours what I choose to do in my personal life?” You do not know what you expected him to say, but you certainly wouldn’t have predicted the sad look in his eyes.

“I fear I have gone about things all wrong.” He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “I owe you both an apology. I shouldn’t have barged out here the way I did. I just,” his jaw ticked as he looked to the sky, “I could feel you. Through the bond.”

You cocked your head at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “I do not understand. Feel me how?” You didn’t think he had even acknowledged the bond.

A deep flush crawled up his neck as he remained focused on the sky. “I could feel, your, uh, pleasure.” A jolt struck through your body, a sudden burn flaring in your abdomen. His eyes shot down to you, his hands clenching into tight fists. “It burned through me. I couldn’t control the anger.” He looked over to Lucien, wincing. “I’m sorry for the shadows.”

Lucien stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “You, uh, huh.” He paused as if he was thinking. “I’ve never, felt that. From Elain, I mean. So,” he coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “The two of you never, ya know…” he trailed off, waiting for Azriel to say something.

“Elain and me? No. No.” Azriel shook his head, laughing lowly. “This is what I meant when I said I owed you both an explanation. There’s been a rather extreme misunderstanding.” He raised his palms as if in surrender. “There’s never been anything between Elain and I. At least not from my side. I know in the beginning she felt drawn to me, but I wasn’t interested.” He looked over at you. “I already knew who my mate was.”

Your mind was racing. You weren’t sure yet if you could trust the Shadowsingers words. Too much pain still remained in your heart. “You’ve done nothing but ignore me since the bond snapped. I assumed you wanted Elain?” None of this made sense.

“I know. I was, for lack of a better word, a coward. A low-life, spineless, coward.” He looked ashamed.

Half of you screamed that he should be. That there was so reason for him to treat you the way he had. The other half of you, the half that loved him, wanted desperately to latch on to the hope that was beginning in your soul. “Az, what are you saying?” You asked slowly.

He stared at you for a long moment before speaking again. “I thought I wasn’t good enough. That perhaps your willingness to be with me was only due to the bond, and one day you would realize the mistake you had made. So I blocked it out. Apparently, too well.” He explained with a frown. “I didn’t feel any of your emotions until tonight. When you left the party, I noticed right away. And I had this awful, overwhelming sense of despair.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize it was you at first. It wasn’t until Rhys noticed something was wrong that he pointed out the possibility of it being your feelings.”

A pang of sadness hit you at his words. He watched you as if he knew exactly how you felt. Perhaps he truly did, if what he was saying were true. “I don’t, I don’t understand.” You chewed on your lip nervously, eyes flickering between Lucien and Azriel. “Why did everyone act so strange around me then? They’ve been treating me like something fragile, as if they knew you were only going to break my heart. Yet Rhys notices instantly when something is wrong with you?” Quite frankly, you were hurt. Not only by Azriel, but by your friends.

“Yeah, that would be my fault as well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told them to not let you know. I pushed it off when they tried to tell me that you were upset. I really thought you’d…stop caring.”

You pressed your palms into your eyes hard enough to see stars, shaking your head in disbelief. “Gods, Az, you are so stupid.” You dropped your hands, too many thoughts racing through your head to make any sense. “You’ve left me to suffer, for what? Your own insecurities? What have I ever done to make you think i’d ever treat you in such a way as you have treated me?” You wanted to scream, to cry, and to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “And what about Lucien, hm? Is Elain going to creep around the corner and profess her love to him while explaining this was all just a big misunderstanding? No, I cannot do this. Not right now.” You began walking off the balcony, a scarred hand wrapping tight around your wrist, halting you. You looked down at where his skin touched yours, trying to ignore the butterflies that were betraying you in your stomach.

“Wait, please,” Azriel pleaded, eyes lined with tears. You paused, almost conceding to his touch.

No. You couldn’t.

You pulled your arm from his grasp. “I need time, Azriel,” you said softly, turning and leaving before you could change your mind.

***

A few weeks had passed since the night on the balcony. You’d avoided Azriel since then. You were not sure how to feel about it all. The damage done to your heart felt nearly irreparable.

You sat on the top of a rock over the mountain lake you frequented, letting the flats of your feet dance on the water. You leaned back on your palms, closing your eyes and turning your face towards the warm sunshine. It was calm here, a peaceful place to work through your thoughts. Could you trust Azriel? Did he still deserve the rights to your soul?

You wanted to scream that no, he didn’t. The sorry excuse of his “confidence” doesn’t negate the harm he had caused. At the same time, though, you still felt drawn to him. The sincerity in his words that night was hard to ignore. You knew you should talk to him again, but it was still too hard. That night with Lucien was the first time you had felt anything other than pain in ages.

Just to find out all the pain you had felt was for…nothing? You groaned, kicking the water in frustration and falling to lay on your back. This was all so ridiculous. It should’ve been simple. Azriel is your mate, the two of you should’ve celebrated the match. He never should’ve hidden away from you for fear of rejection. You did not understand how that made sense. By pushing you away what did he expect would happen?

Males, you thought, sighing deeply. You focused on the warm stone beneath your back, the cool water on your toes. How were they so foolish? And then there was the matter of Lucien. You could not deny the way he made you feel out on that balcony. Your skin became hot as you remembered how he kissed you, how he touched you. You could curse Azriel into a thousand lifetimes for interrupting before you experienced the delicious orgasm you knew Lucien would have delivered.

You didn’t even realize the way your hand had slipped beneath your short dress until you felt your fingers teasing your thighs. You chewed on your lip, pausing your movements. Was it wrong, to please yourself on the thoughts of another male? Your mind was swimming, and you desperately needed a release of some kind. Your fingers moved, tempting the trim of your underclothes. Your breathing came quickly as desire pooled through you, the need increasing with every second. The memory of Lucien’s lips on your neck was your tipping point, your hand sliding under the soft fabric.

You tilted your head back as your fingers circling your clit, a slow breath falling from your lips. You teased yourself, enjoying the small shocks of pleasure pulsing through your body. You thought of Lucien, of how well he worked your body. You thought of his teeth grazing your skin, his black hair tangling in your fingers, his scarred hands.

No. You were imagining Azriel. Your fingers sped up at the realization, as if they were encouraging you to keep thinking of your mate. This wasn’t the first time you had touched yourself to the thought of him, but it was certainly the most intense. Your back arched off the stone you lay on, your free hand coming to rest upon your throat, applying light pressure. You moaned softly as the burn in your abdomen flared, heady pleasure taking control. “Oh, Azriel,” you breathed out, fantasies of him taking you playing in your mind. You felt a cool breeze blow over your heated skin, tracing your body as if it was sent there to do so. It moved down your body, wrapping itself around your wrists and thighs. Almost as if-

You shot up abruptly, eyes opening wide to take in the shadows around you. They didn’t shy away, the ones on your thighs working their way up. Your body shook with the frustration of another denied orgasm. You knew he was there. That he had been watching. Listening.

“What do you want?” You asked, the question coming out weaker than you wanted. He moved out to where you were, slowly sitting down next to you. You refused to look at him, focus still on the shadows that were getting dangerously high. “How long have you been here?”

He swallowed, and if you had looked at him you would’ve seen the flush in his neck and his blown pupils as he watched his shadows on your skin. “I just, I wanted to, to talk. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” his words came out rushed, like he was struggling to speak correctly. “I know you come here, and it was a nice day so I thought you might be here so I came to check and then when I saw you I realized what you were doing and I knew I should walk away but then,” he took a deep breath after his run on sentence, clearly unable to think. “Fuck, then you said my name.” Heat flared through you again at the confession, twisted desire about him watching you coursing through your veins.

“I see,” you responded, the shadows now tracing so lightly over your underwear you may be imagining it. “Are they, are you, doing this?” You asked, unsure what you wanted him to say.

“They move as they wish sometimes,” he admitted, “but I can tell them to stop.” He leaned closer to you, tucking his hand under your chin to bring your face to his.

Gods, you wanted to tell him to make them stop. You knew you should. It was the right thing to do. You had so much left to talk about, after all. Yet you knew you were done for when you looked into his eyes. They were full of need, for you. Your gaze darted to his mouth, taking in the full lips you had imagined on yours more times than you could count. “Az,” you whispered, the shadows slowly applying more pressure.

“Yes?” He asked, voice quiet. You reached out one hand and grabbed on to his shirt, pulling him closer. He gently moved you to lie back down on the still warm stone, his hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other rested upon your waist. “Tell me what you want.”

You gasped as one of the shadows began circling you, a slight vibration with its movements. “Azriel, I need you to kiss me.” You had barely gotten the words out before his lips locked on top of yours. The bond soared inside of you as he kissed you, his lips moving against yours as though he were painting this moment into his mind.

You cried out as the shadow increased its pace, rocketing you towards your peak. Azriel smiled against your lips, pulling away to kiss down your jawline. His hand traveled down to meet the shadow, his fingers tracing your entrance. “I want to hear you scream for me,” he said, slipping two fingers in. You arched up against him, mouth open in a silent yell as pleasure began to overtake you. He worked his way down your neck, biting and the sucking the skin as he went. Marking you as his.

His fingers began to move inside of you, curling deliciously. You moaned loudly at the feeling, legs starting to shake. “Yes,” he murmured against your skin, playing your body as if he had studied his whole life for it. You dug your nails into his shirt, toes curling as your orgasm began to take over. Your head shot back so hard it cracked against the stone, stars shining briefly in your eyes before being overshadowed by raw pleasure. You screamed his name as your body rocked under his touch, vision blacking out. Azriel helped you through it, prolonging the feeling until your body went slack under his touch.

The loss of his shadows and his fingers left you feeling empty, your blurred vision trying to focus on him. “That,” he said, pressing another kiss to your lips, “is easily in the top five moments of my entire life.” You smiled weakly at him, catching your breath. He helped you sit up, leaning your body against his. “Shit!” He cursed, his hand touching the back of your head lightly. It was then that you felt the throbbing pain, gasping as it shot through your skull. “You’re bleeding!” You felt worry and fear rush through you, two emotions you certainly didn’t have the capacity to feel right now. It was only after a moment that you realized they belonged to Azriel.

“I’m fine,” you assured, waving him off. “S’fine.”

It was decidedly not fine, considering the way you slumped over in his arms the next second.

***

You woke in a warm bed, a thick blanket covering your body. You winced at the sore spot on the back of your head, opening your eyes slowly. You tried to take in the room around you, confused about what happened and where you were. You stilled as you realized someone was sitting in a chair by your head, his golden eyes filled with worry.

“Azriel?” You asked, moving to sit. You hissed as a jolt of pain shot through you, Azriel moving to gently lay you back down.

“Easy, easy. Madja says you split your skull almost completely in half,” he explained. Split your skull? What was he talking about? Why was he here? He must have read the confusion on your face, a sad smile coming across his. “Do you remember any of it?” He asked quietly.

Any of it? You racked your brain, trying to recall the last thing you remembered. You could feel the water on your toes, your back on the warmed rock. You were doing something, but what was it? Was someone else there? Was Azriel there?

All at once it hit you, the memories flashing before your eyes in rapid succession. A blush covered your cheeks, embarrassed by the whole thing. “Oh Hel, i’m so sorry Az.” You would’ve buried your face in your hands if you could if the action wouldn’t cause you pain. You almost wanted to do it anyway.

He chuckled, pulling your hand into his. “None of that, now,” he said, “If anything I am the one to be sorry. We never got to have our talk.”

You sighed, looking down at your entwined hands. “Why would you be so worried I wouldn’t want you? And why on everything did you think ignoring me would help?”

He looked ashamed, clearing his throat before speaking. “I do not know. I was so scared when I felt the bond snap. You know how desperately I have longed for that connection. And it was you, and I was overjoyed.” His eyes met yours, sadness rimming them. “I still am. Happy it is you, that is. You were everything I ever wanted. Beautiful. Powerful. Kind.” He gave your hand a squeeze, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Why would you want to be tied to someone who was damaged?”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking over his words. Your thumb traced the scarred skin of his hand, a strong desire to both kiss him and slap him coming over you. “Azriel, you are a fool,” you stated. “All I ever wanted was you. I do not care how the skin on your hands looks. I have never thought twice about it, aside from the fact that what was done to you was needlessly cruel.” You brought his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a thousand moons now. Perhaps Rhysand should seek a new Spymaster if you could not even notice something as blatant as that,” you teased.

Azriel laughed, leaning forward to bring his head closer to yours. “Perhaps he should,” he agreed, nose brushing yours. “I’ll love you for the next thousand suns, if you will let me. I’ll spend them on my knees, worshipping you with every breath. You are the water in the ocean, and I am but the fish that calls you home. There is no me without you.” Your heartbeat was erratic with his words, tears pricking your eyes. “You do not have to accept the mating bond, not now and not ever. I will be overjoyed to live my life simply in your presence, every moment with you a gift.”

You pressed your forehead to his, ignoring the slight pain that accompanied it. “Kiss me, you sappy thing.” He laughed, kissing you with all the love and adoration he couldn’t yet voice. You sighed into the kiss, enjoying the way the bond sang. You had half a mind to serve him a cracker right there, ready to commit to him fully.

But it was not the right time. You winced in pain when you moved too quickly, Azriel pulling away from you instantly. “Alright, enough of that.” He said, helping you get comfortable again. “There will be plenty more opportunities when you’re healed,” he continued, winking at you. “Although, perhaps we will stick to soft surfaces for the time being.”

***

ahhhhh i hope you all love this as much as i do!!!!! i had SOO much fun with this little duo endings piece!! let me know if you’d like more of this in the future!. love yaaaaaa

[milkfordragons]

Will Graham's psyche: what's true and what's false.

Empathy disorder? More like killer-empathy disorder, since Will only ever connects with killers, or, in rare cases, with victims who stir something personal in him (like Peter). The show presents Will as highly empathetic, yet this remains one of its greatest deceptions.

Will never truly empathizes with anyone who hasn’t killed or doesn’t possess the latent capacity for it. His empathy is entirely selective, drawn only to those he already perceives as reflections of himself.

What Will actually engages in, more than anything, is Verdrängung (repression in the psychoanalytic sense). He does not lack awareness of his own violent urges; rather, he buries them under layers of moral justification, allowing himself to indulge in them under the guise of righteousness. His role as an investigator grants him a socially sanctioned outlet for his fantasies, transforming them into something not just acceptable but *honorable*. This is why, when Hannibal suggests he quit, Will so forcefully asserts, “I save people!” He clings to that rationale, not because it’s true, but because it keeps his self-image intact.

And yet, why didn’t he quit? He had more than enough reasons—moral, emotional, even physical...but he never did. How much of the blame can we really place on Jack Crawford? At what point does Jack stop being a selfish manipulator and become just another one of Will’s scapegoats? Will doesn’t leave because he lives for this. He is obsessed with the euphoric sensation that his overactive imagination provides when he immerses himself in the mind of a killer.

For those unfamiliar, what Will is actually doing is a form of self-hypnosis. He’s not gifted with it (he is with an active imagination) he has trained himself, evidenced by his use of an induction method (the pendulum). This isn’t some innate ability; it’s a learned skill. He explicitly states that he is well-versed in psychology and “knows all the tricks,” so it’s not surprising that hypnosis is the one thing he allows Hannibal to perform on him. Unlike traditional talk therapy, which he resists, hypnosis is effective in his concept.

Will had likely been fantasizing about killing for a long time, which explains his career choices. Becoming a cop offered him the opportunity to kill while maintaining moral superiority. When he claims he was “unable to shoot” and subsequently quit, the question arises: was he truly incapable because he’s a good guy, or was it something else? A failure to act not out of moral hesitation, but out of something more physiological, as a man who cannot perform sexually when too overwhelmed by the anticipation of actualizing his fantasies?

Observe his expressions as he emerges from his crime scene inductions: rapture, exhilaration. He is high on the experience. His repression is so severe that his desires manifest in his dreams, yet even there, his reactions betray him—he doesn’t wake in terror, but in euphoria. “I’ve never felt more alive,” he confesses after killing Randall Tier. That wasn’t fear or disgust speaking...it was pleasure.

This is why he becomes obsessed with killing Hannibal. Who else could he kill with his bare hands and still be perceived as the hero? The slayer of monsters? But Hannibal is not just any killer, he is the embodiment of Will’s own pleasure in causeless violence, the mirror of his most unthinkable desires.

Will represses (Verdrängt) Hannibal because to acknowledge what Hannibal represents, the raw, uninhibited joy of destruction, would be "too ugly a thought": that beneath the mask of righteousness, Will Graham does not simply understand monsters.

He is one.

When someone embodies a repressed individual's unconscious desires, their presence can trigger a crisis within the repressed person, forcing those buried impulses toward the surface. Freud describes repression (Verdrängung) as a process that doesn't eliminate desires but merely pushes them out of conscious awareness. However, when an external figure appears who openly embodies what the repressed person has spent their life denying, this creates a destabilizing effect.

The repressed individual may react in several ways:

Fascination and Obsession: They may feel inexplicably drawn to this person, seeing them as magnetic, intoxicating, or even fated. The unconscious recognizes a mirror of its own buried desires.

Rationalization and Projection: Instead of admitting their attraction, they might intellectualize their feelings, attributing their obsession to external factors ("I need to stop them," "I want to help them", in Will's case Abigail) or projecting onto the other person the very desires they refuse to own ("They're trying to manipulate me").

Moral Struggle and Hypocrisy: They may position themselves as morally superior or in opposition to the person, as if their role is to tame, punish, or save them. This dynamic allows them to engage with the repressed content while maintaining a socially acceptable self-image.

Compulsion to Destroy or Merge: In extreme cases, the person may oscillate between wanting to destroy the "other" and wanting to become them. The embodiment of the repressed can be seen as both a threat (because they expose the truth) and an object of desire (because they represent a forbidden completeness).

Will's relationship with Hannibal is a textbook case of this. Hannibal embodies Will’s repressed desires: violence without guilt, freedom from moral constraints, indulgence in his own darker nature. Rather than directly acknowledging this, Will frames his obsession as a battle between good and evil, between law and chaos. But his actions betray him: every choice he makes pulls him closer to Hannibal rather than away. His repression ensures that he cannot admit his true motives, even to himself, so he continually recasts his pursuit of Hannibal in socially acceptable terms—justice, survival, necessity—when in reality, he is drawn to him because Hannibal is his repressed self made flesh.

[nameless-jamie]

hi <3 love your fics, they bring me joy!

was wondering if i could request a PA fic where y/n is iron deficient and overworks herself and faints at work, and jamie is naturally quite concerned for her.

Drabble - The Irony

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, mentions of fainting, iron deficiency

A/N: Hi I don't know much about iron deficiency, but I hope this drabble is good enough! Thank you for the request! This is just a small imagine-like situation.

Jamie Tartt wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

Sure, when he and Y/N first started dating, they’d tried to keep things professional at work—quick kisses before morning meetings, teasing glances across the pitch, stolen moments when no one was looking. But that phase hadn’t lasted long. Subtlety just wasn’t Jamie’s style.

Now, everyone at AFC Richmond knew they were together. Jamie’s arm slung around her shoulders in the break room? Normal. Jamie stealing sips of her coffee during meetings? Annoying, but expected. Jamie yelling, “Oi, love you, babe!” across the pitch before training? Classic.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Because Y/N was slumped on the floor of the Richmond office, her clipboard abandoned beside her, and Jamie’s heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. He was just casually walking into her office when he saw her unconscious body sack down to the floor.

“Oi, someone get a medic or somethin’!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. His pulse hammered in his ears as he cupped her face, her skin cool and pale beneath his fingers, he was in shock. “Babe? Babe, c’mon—can you hear me?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parting in a soft, confused murmur. “Jamie…?”

“Yeah, I’m here, love. I got you,” Jamie promised, brushing damp strands of hair away from her forehead. Behind him, footsteps pounded down the hallway, but he didn’t look up. His entire world had narrowed down to the girl in his arms.

“What happened?” Rebecca’s sharp voice cut through the air as she approached, heels clicking against the tile.

“I dunno! She was standin’ there one second and then—” Jamie’s throat tightened. “Then she weren’t.”

“She fainted?” Higgins asked, kneeling beside them with a frown.

“Yeah! Why’re we all standin’ ‘round talkin’ about it? Someone call a bloody doctor!”

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered weakly, attempting to sit up. Jamie’s arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her steady.

“Yeah, no. Don’t think so,” Jamie muttered, his brows drawn in frustration. “You scared the shit outta me, babe.”

“Language,” Rebecca warned absently.

“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. “But she did.”

“I just—I’ve been a little dizzy lately. It’s not a big deal,” Y/N mumbled, cheeks heating as she realized half the office was staring.

“Not a big deal?! You collapsed!”

“It happens sometimes…” she admitted hesitantly.

“It what?” Jamie’s voice shot up an octave. “Since when?”

“I don’t know—off and on? My doctor said it’s just iron deficiency. I’m supposed to take supplements, but I forgot—”

“You forgot?!”

“I’ve been busy!”

“Babe, what’s more important—your work or, y’know, bein’ conscious?”

“I—”

“I swear, if you say work, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Jamie—”

“No, don’t ‘Jamie’ me!” His eyes were wide, his breath coming too fast. “You’re runnin’ ‘round takin’ care of everyone else—makin’ sure I show up to stuff, keepin’ track of all my interviews, dealin’ with my schedule—and you don’t even stop to take care of yourself!”

The room fell awkwardly silent. Rebecca cleared her throat and exchanged a glance with Higgins.

“…We’ll, ah, give you two a moment,” she said, ushering the others out of the hallway.

As the crowd dispersed, Y/N slumped against Jamie’s chest, her pulse still fluttering against his palm. His hand rubbed slow circles against her back as his breathing gradually calmed.

“Hey,” he said, softer this time. “You scared me.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…” Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his jersey. “Because you’ve got enough to worry about with matches and training and—”

“Don’t,” Jamie cut her off, his voice rough. “Don’t act like you gotta handle everythin’ on your own. Not when I’m right here. This won't work if you don't let me take care of you once in a while, Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes prickling with unexpected tears. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze—blue eyes searching hers with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected.

“I just…” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Jamie exhaled sharply, like she’d punched him in the gut.

“You’re not a burden,” he whispered. “You’re—you’re the reason I don’t show up late to everythin’. You're the reason I even show up here. And you're the reason I smile everyday.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Besides, pretty sure Richmond’d fall apart without you. But don't tell Higgings I said that.”

Y/N sniffled and nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

“Still,” Jamie added, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek. “If somethin’ hurts, you gotta tell me. Yeah? You're my girl now.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Jamie pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly like he was afraid she might disappear. His hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he whispered against her temple:

“Swear to God, if you faint again ‘cause you forgot to take a bloody vitamin, I’m gonna start followin’ you ‘round with a spoon and feedin’ you spinach.”

Despite everything, she let out a watery laugh.

“There’s my girl,” Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Later that night Y/N sat cross-legged on Jamie’s couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Jamie hovered nearby, eyeing her with a level of suspicion usually reserved for rival players.

“Did you take your iron pill?” he asked for the third time.

“Yes, Jamie.”

“And you ate dinner?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Proper dinner? With, like, protein and veggies and—”

“Oh my God, yes!” She threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a grin.

“Just checkin’!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But his smile faded slightly as he stepped closer, his eyes softer now. “I mean it, though. You gotta take care of yourself. I can’t—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have you keelin’ over again. Gave me a bloody heart attack.”

“You won’t,” she whispered.

“You better mean that,” Jamie muttered, flopping down beside her. After a beat, he added, “Still gonna carry spinach ‘round, just in case.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head, but Jamie caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips—and he figured that was enough for now.

[jitters-art]

hair tuck

[hollie-artz]

Gruvia💙

[podsn]

Anyways I’m reliving my glory days and realizing I have free will so I drew some Aralyn in the big 2025. I feel like I’m 16 again.

[gaylittleguys]

War of the Coprophages went like this right

[shepscapades]

Posted to Twitter for the first time in 5 years /silly DSFGNFGB So here’s my atttempt at a more finished piece, inspired by Doc’s newest episode :D

Actually recorded a short timelapse for this one too, so that’s below the cut :D

[marimbles]

my guys:)

[jellyfishsempai]

You were the sun and I was crashing into you

[sundowncryptid]

Felt like drawing some cats so have some warriors art

[soleilsketches]

so, i’ve been rewatching young justice with my friends,

[swordmaid]

art trade piece for @a-chaotic-dumbass and it’s their oc ros helping jaime with his hand 🫡 🤲

[ashwithane]

behold: my first colored sketchbook drawing in (i believe) over a month

[coloringthebanner]

in case y’all were wondering, i am capable of drawing the losers as they actually are

it’s just not as fun as drawing them as girls