#look how far i went for fear of losing you

[sturnsblogs]

July- C.S

Warnings- Cheating, Drinking, Pregnancy talk, Just a load of angst. be prepared to cry (:

I didn’t proofread bc i’m lazy.

You’ve been holding your breath for what feels like an eternity, counting to ten over every hurtful thing Chris says. The words hit you like daggers, but you swallow them down, forcing yourself to breathe even as they tear at the edges of your heart. His laughter rings out, hollow and careless, as he throws back another beer. You lay there in the dark, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, the cold sheets pressed tight against your skin.

Back then, it was different. You remember when everything felt so simple, so full of possibility. The world was bright when you were with Chris. You two would lie in bed, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The future seemed so clear, so close. You’d laugh about ridiculous things—like naming your future kids after characters from your favorite shows, or planning your honeymoon to a place neither of you could afford, but you swore you’d make it happen somehow.

You used to talk about getting a little house together—nothing fancy, but it would be yours. You joked about getting a dog, one of those goofy mutts with too much energy, and picking up pizza every Friday night for your “date nights.” You both dreamed of the same things: a life where the two of you could escape the chaos, find peace in each other’s arms, build a future that felt real, that felt like love.

You remember how his eyes would light up when you talked about the future. It was like nothing could break the bond between you, like you had something that was untouchable. The way he’d smile, his voice low and soft, when he said things like, “Yeah, we’re gonna make it. We’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

But then everything started to change.

It wasn’t immediate. At first, it was small things—just a couple of beers on the weekends, nothing more. You’d laugh, teasing him about how much he hated the taste of alcohol, how you never thought you’d see him drink. But the casual drinking became more frequent. And then it wasn’t just beers; it was whiskey, and tequila, and whatever he could get his hands on. And somewhere between those drinks, he started to slip away. The future you had imagined, the plans you once made, started to fade, like memories that couldn’t hold on any longer.

It was a slow decline, one you didn’t see coming. One night, after a few too many drinks, he didn’t even come home. You stayed up, waiting for him, your phone lighting up with missed texts, calls that went unanswered. When he finally stumbled in hours later, his eyes were glassy, his words slurring together, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he just sat down, numb to everything.

That night, you asked him, your voice shaking with the fear you didn’t want to admit, “Chris, what happened to us? We used to talk about the future, about everything we’d do together.”

He looked at you, but it was like he wasn’t really seeing you. His words were hollow, a far cry from the boy who once promised you the world.

“The future’s overrated,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “What’s the point in all that when everything just falls apart anyway?”

And that was the first time you realized he wasn’t the same person anymore. The person who dreamed with you, who looked at you like you were the answer to everything, was gone. Replaced by someone who’d buried himself in the bottom of a bottle, who didn’t want to fight for anything anymore. He wasn’t just losing himself; he was losing the love you had, too.

After that, it all spiraled faster than you could keep up with. Every time he drank, a little more of him disappeared. And the promises he made—the ones you both swore would last forever—faded with every drink he took, every day he chose alcohol over the future you’d once shared.

You tried to hold onto it. You tried to remind him of the dreams you used to have. You’d sit him down after one of his nights out, desperate to reach the boy who once was so full of hope.

“Chris, we had plans. You said we’d do this together,” you’d plead, eyes wide with the remnants of the love you were holding onto. “We promised. Remember?”

But his gaze was distant, almost empty. “That was before,” he would reply, his voice flat. “That was before life hit, before everything got complicated. It’s easier this way. Just leave it.”

You didn’t understand how someone who once looked at you like you were everything could suddenly be so cold, so distant. But as the days went on, you started to realize that maybe it wasn’t just the drinking. Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d always been this way, and you were just too blind to see it.

But even with all the signs, even with everything crumbling around you, you couldn’t walk away. You couldn’t leave him to drown in the mess he’d made of himself, even though you were drowning too. You thought if you stayed long enough, if you just kept fighting, maybe he’d find his way back to the person he used to be.

You still hold onto those memories. The future you dreamed of together. The laughter, the plans, the quiet moments where you swore nothing could tear you apart. But now, every time he comes home late, every time the alcohol drips from his words, it feels like that future was a lifetime ago.

And still, you stay. Because even though he’s not the man you fell in love with, you can’t seem to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll remember the boy who once promised you the world.

But every day, the distance between you grows wider, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re waiting for something that will never come.

It’s late again, and Chris has been gone for hours. You’re curled up in bed, your phone in your hand, staring at the screen like maybe he’ll text, maybe he’ll apologize, maybe he’ll come back to the person you both used to be.

But he doesn’t.

When the door finally creaks open, you don’t need to ask where he’s been. You can already smell the alcohol, the faint tang of weed lingering in the air. He’s been out—drinking, probably high. Your heart sinks, but you stay quiet. You’ve learned by now that no words will change anything.

He stumbles through the doorway, barely able to keep his balance, and you watch him with a heavy heart. He kicks off his shoes, throws his jacket carelessly onto the chair, and makes his way to the couch. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, with resentment, with hurt.

“Where were you?” you ask softly, though you already know the answer. You try to keep the edge out of your voice, try to keep the hurt from breaking through.

“Out,” he mutters, his voice thick and uneven. “What’s the big deal?”

You try to ignore the rising anger, the bitter taste of disappointment. But then you see it. You see the mark just below his jawline, faint but unmistakable. A lipstick stain.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes lock onto the spot, your heart suddenly thudding painfully in your chest. It’s not immediately obvious—it’s not the kind of thing he would notice, not the kind of thing he’d care about. But it’s there. And in that moment, everything you thought you knew about him, everything you thought you had, starts to unravel.

Your voice shakes as you ask, “Who… who did that?”

He looks at you, barely processing the question. “What?” he asks, as if he didn’t even realize what you were referring to.

“Who kissed you?” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You don’t want to ask it, but you can’t stop yourself. The thought claws at you, too painful to ignore.

He shrugs, a smug expression playing on his lips. “Some girl,” he says dismissively. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Some girl?” You scoff, the chest tightening. “Is that really what you’re going to say?”

He groans and throws his head back, eyes squinting like the world is too much for him right now. “Don’t make it a big deal, alright? I’m just having fun.”

“Fun?” You laugh bitterly, the sound full of disbelief. “This is what you call fun now? You can’t even look me in the eye. You just… you just keep getting worse.” Your voice starts to rise with each word, each realization cutting deeper than the last. “You don’t even care anymore. You’ve changed, Chris. You’ve completely changed.”

His face hardens, the drunken haze vanishing for a split second as he sits up, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” His words are sharp, defensive. “I could be out with anyone, doing God knows what, but I’m here. With you.”

“With me?” You scoff, the anger bubbling over now. “You’re here, but you’re not really here. I’m just the one you come back to when you can’t find anyone else. You’re barely even present, Chris. You’ve checked out.”

“I’m just trying to live,” he spits, his voice bitter. “You think you’ve got it all figured out? I’m doing the best I can, alright?”

“You think this is the best you can do?” You laugh again, but this time, the sound is hollow, bitter. “You think this is the best you can offer me? I’ve been holding onto you, holding onto this lie, waiting for things to get better. But they’re never going to get better, are they?”

Chris stands up now, stumbling a bit as he faces you, his jaw clenched tight. “What the hell do you want from me? I’m doing the best I can! I’m trying to have fun. I’m trying to live my life. You’re the one who’s stuck in the past!”

You feel the anger, the frustration, the hurt welling up inside of you, but something else is rising too—something that’s been eating away at you for days, for weeks, that you’ve kept hidden for so long. It breaks through your chest, your voice trembling as you finally say it:

“I was pregnant, Chris.”

The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. His expression shifts, but not in the way you expect. At first, it’s just confusion. His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out. You continue, unable to stop now that it’s out in the open.

“I was pregnant,” you repeat, the truth stinging with every syllable. “I was going to have your baby, Chris. But I couldn’t do it. Not with you like this. Not with you… not even caring. I couldn’t raise a kid in this mess.”

His face freezes, the words catching in his throat. It’s like you’ve hit him with something he wasn’t ready for, something that makes the air between you thick with tension. For a second, he just stands there, trying to process the confession, but it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I—I didn’t know,” he stammers, his eyes searching yours, but you don’t know if it’s guilt, shame, or something else entirely. “You… you should have told me. We could have—”

“No, Chris.” You shake your head, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. “You don’t get it. I couldn’t tell you, because I knew you weren’t going to be there. I knew you’d leave me to do it alone. You’re so wrapped up in yourself that you didn’t even see what was happening.”

His eyes flicker with something—regret? Anger? You don’t know, but it only fuels your words further.

“I couldn’t raise a child with someone who doesn’t even care about me. And now, I’m here, still trying to make sense of everything, and you’re just getting worse. You’re turning into someone I don’t even know anymore, someone who would rather throw himself into a bottle than face the truth.”

You step back, the tears finally slipping down your face, as you breathe heavily, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. The broken promises. The wasted love. The future you’d dreamed of, now gone.

“I thought… I thought we were supposed to be a team,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “But now, I don’t even recognize you. And I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

Chris stares at you, his face unreadable, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, suffocating and thick, until finally, Chris speaks, his voice low and strained.

“I… I didn’t know,” he repeats, his words barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know you felt like that. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you interrupt, cutting him off, the hurt too much to bear. “Well, you didn’t care to know, did you?”

You stand there, staring at him, the weight of everything pressing down on you. His desperate eyes meet yours, filled with regret, filled with a hope he doesn’t deserve anymore. You feel it, the ache in your chest, the part of you that wants to reach out, to hold him, to tell him that it’s okay, that you can fix this, but you know it’s a lie. You can’t fix this. Not anymore.

Chris falls to his knees, his hands outstretched in front of you like a man begging for his life. “Please, baby. I love you. I’ll change. I’ll stop drinking, I’ll be the man you need. I swear, just don’t leave me.”

Your heart shatters, but your voice doesn’t waver. You don’t let the vulnerability show. You can’t. “You don’t get it, Chris. I’m not the person you knew anymore. I’ve been waiting for you to change, to see me, to be the man I thought you could be, but I can’t wait for that anymore. I can’t keep sacrificing myself, my future, for someone who’s too lost to care.”

He shakes his head, tears in his eyes now, his voice breaking. “I swear, I’ll fix it, I’ll fix everything. Please, just don’t leave me like this. I’m sorry. I need you.”

You swallow hard, the tears threatening to spill over, but you refuse to let them fall. This is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, but it’s the only thing left. “You don’t need me, Chris. You need a life that doesn’t include me in it. And I need a life that doesn’t revolve around waiting for you to wake up and realize what we had.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, his hands outstretched, his voice pleading, “Please, baby. I don’t want to lose you. I love you, and I love us. We can make it work. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

You feel your heart shatter into a thousand pieces, because a part of you—desperate for him to understand, for him to change—wants to believe him. Wants to fall into his arms and feel like everything could be okay again. But deep down, you know it’s too late for that. The man who had dreams with you, who promised you a future, has already left. He’s been gone for so long, and you’ve been holding onto a ghost, hoping he’d come back.

You take a step back, shaking your head, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “I can’t, Chris. I can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t just erase everything with a few words, a few promises. It doesn’t work like that. I wanted to be a family. I wanted us to build something together, but you’re not the person I thought you were. You’re not the person I need.”

He looks up at you from his knees, his eyes raw and desperate. “I’ll change. Please. I’ll stop drinking. I’ll be there for you. I swear on everything, I’ll be the man you need.”

Your voice cracks as you take another step back, the tears falling faster now. “You don’t get it. You don’t just change because you say you will. You’ve shown me who you are, and I… I’m not the same person anymore. I’m not the person who can wait for you to get better, Chris. I’m not the person who can live in this mess anymore. I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who’s here. Now. Not someone who’s pretending everything’s fine while the world falls apart.”

You turn to walk away, but he reaches out, grabbing your wrist desperately. “No, no, please. I can fix it. We can fix this. We can still be a family, please.” His voice cracks, and the desperation in it makes your chest tighten.

“Please, just give me one more chance. I’ll make it right. I swear, I will.” His grip on your wrist tightens, his eyes begging you to stay, to not leave him in the mess he’s created.

You pull your wrist away, shaking your head, the tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this, Chris. I can’t keep waiting for someone who’s not here. I can’t be with someone who’s so lost, they can’t even see me anymore.”

You take a step back, and for a long moment, Chris just stares at you, his face crumpling in anguish. But the truth has already sunk in. You know you’ve made up your mind. He’s not going to change, and you can’t keep pretending that things will be different.

You give him one last, lingering look, your voice barely above a whisper, but full of finality. “You can pack your bags in the morning.”

His face falls, the words breaking him, but you don’t wait for him to speak. You don’t wait for him to beg, to plead any longer. You walk toward the stairs, each step heavy with the weight of the decision, but also with the relief that it’s finally over. You don’t look back as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Please,” you hear him whisper from below, his voice broken. “Don’t leave me. I love you.”

But you don’t respond. Instead, you close the door behind you, leaving him standing in the dark, the broken pieces of a life that no longer fits scattered around him.

And as you sit in the silence of your room, you know that, for the first time in a long while, you are finally free.

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PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THIS WORK AND MARK IT AS YOUR OWN. YOU MAY USE FOR INSPIRATION BUT DO NOT TAKE.

A/N- This is extremely angsty. i’m gonna just go cry in a hole now.

Requested by @mylittled0ve <33

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @mylittled0ve @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

only took me a decade to figure out the doctor was trying to stop clara from dying by saving ashildr

[displayheartcode]

sorry to be back on my series 9 of dw madness. it will happen again.

[sakuraszn]

A BOXERS STRUGGLES !

ft. boxer!katsuki bakugo x f!reader

summary: Bakugo is fiercely dedicated to becoming Japan's number one boxer, but he faces inner conflict when he starts developing feelings for someone. His fear of distraction threatens his rise to the top, creating tension between his personal life and his aspirations. As their relationship deepens, he learns to balance his love for her with his desire to succeed in boxing. [wc: 5k]

The gym stank of sweat and blood. The air was thick with the sounds of fists pounding heavy bags, the rhythmic shuffle of footwork against the mat, and the sharp commands of coaches drilling fighters into champions.

This was Katsuki Bakugo’s world. The ring was his domain. The roar of a crowd? Just white noise. The only thing that mattered was the moment his fist connected—the instant he proved, without question, that he was better.

His opponent staggered back, legs wobbling. His ribs were bruised, his breath shallow. He was still standing, barely, but Bakugo could already see it in his eyes.

He was finished.

Aizawa’s voice rang through the gym. “Stay sharp, Bakugo.”

Katsuki Bakugo stood in the center of the ring, fists clenched in his taped-up hands, his breath controlled despite the fire burning in his chest. His opponent for today’s spar was already on his knees, clutching his ribs, coughing through the pain.

“Get up,” Bakugo growled, shaking out his fists. “I ain’t done with ya’ yet.”

The other fighter grimaced trying everything in his power to rise, but before he could, the coach called it.

“That’s enough, Bakugo!” His trainer, Aizawa, sighed from outside the ropes, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you to spar, not destroy.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue and turned away, grabbing a towel from the corner post to wipe the sweat off his face.

“If he’s too weak to take a hit, he shouldn’t be in the ring,” he muttered, stepping out of the ropes.

“That ‘weak’ fighter you just knocked out was ranked fifth in the region.”

“Then I guess I’m already top four.”

Aizawa exhaled through his nose and shook his head lightly, but there was the ghost of a smirk in his otherwise impassive expression. Bakugo had talent—raw, explosive talent that had propelled him through the rankings faster than anyone had expected. But he had a fatal flaw.

He fought like a man trying to bury something.

Something he was afraid to lose.

Bakugo exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he looked down at his fallen opponent. It wasn’t personal. It never was. The guy had stepped into the ring knowing what he was getting into. If you weren’t ready to fall, you shouldn’t be fighting.

“Damn, man!”

The sound of Kirishima’s voice cut through the noise before Bakugo felt a heavy arm slap against his back. “That was sick! You dropped him like a sack of bricks.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue, walking toward his corner to unwrap the tape from his hands. “Tch. If he went down that easy, he shouldn’t have been in the ring with me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re a beast.” Kirishima laughed, leaning against the ropes. “Which is exactly why you need to come out tonight. We’re celebrating.”

Bakugo shot him a glare. “The hell we are.”

“C’monnn, man! You’ve been tearing through the ranks like crazy. People are talking. You’re undefeated, making a name for yourself, and you’ve got fans.” Kirishima smirked. “I mean, how many guys get this far at our age?”

“I’m not doing this for a goddamn party,” Bakugo muttered, tossing the used tape into the trash.

Kirishima groaned. “Bro. You never do anything outside the gym. You don’t even celebrate your own wins.”

Because there was nothing to celebrate. Winning wasn’t the goal—it was the standard.

Bakugo was going to be the best boxer in Japan. That wasn’t just some damn dream or some nice idea to hope for. It was a fact. Something inevitable. And if it wasn’t inevitable, then he just had to train even harder than before.

There was no reason to slow down.

No reason to waste time at some party.

But Kirishima was still looking at him, hopeful as ever, and Bakugo knew the bastard wouldn’t shut up about it.

He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Fine. But I’m not staying long.”

Kirishima cheered. “Hell yeah!”

This is a waste of time.

Bakugo knew it. He knew he should be in the gym, working on his footwork, watching fight tapes, doing something, anything, to get ahead of the competition.

But he ignored the voice in his head, just this once.

Plus, was the worst that could happen?

The party was loud. So agonizing loud.

The bass from the speakers thumped through the floors, shaking the walls of the packed apartment. People were everywhere, drinking, laughing, talking too damn much. Some of them he recognized—fighters from the gym, people from the local boxing circuit—but most of them were just randoms.

“Here.” Kirishima shoved a drink into his hand.

Bakugo took one look at it and scoffed. “I ain’t drinking that shit.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Man, at least pretend you’re having fun.”

Bakugo didn’t respond. He was already regretting this.

He didn’t belong here.

This wasn’t his world.

He was about to leave when Kirishima perked up, eyes lighting up as he spotted someone across the room. “Oh, shit! She actually came.”

Bakugo barely glanced over. “Who?”

Kirishima grinned. “That girl I told you about—(Y/N).”

Bakugo finally looked.

You weren’t flashy like some of the other girls here. You weren’t trying to be the center of attention, weren’t draped over some guy’s arm, weren’t looking at him like he was some kind of goddamn celebrity.

You were just sitting there, talking to a friend, nursing a drink in your hand. You didn’t even seem all that interested in the party at all.

And somehow, that was the first thing that made him notice you.

Kirishima nudged him. “She’s cool. I think you’d actually like her.”

Bakugo scowled. “Tch. Since when do you set me up with people?”

“I’m not setting you up,” Kirishima laughed. “But seriously, man. You need to talk to people who aren’t trying to punch you in the face for once.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. He wasn’t here to meet people. He was here to get Kirishima off his back, and then he was leaving.

But then, as if you could feel him looking, your gaze flicked over to his.

And you smiled.

Not in an over-the-top way. Not in that annoying, flirty, “I’m just here for the fighters” way.

Just a simple, amused smile. Like you knew something he didn’t.

And for some stupid, infuriating reason, that was enough to make him stay a little longer.

You didn’t approach him first.

That was the second thing he noticed about you.

You weren’t like most people who came up to him at these kinds of events—all wide-eyed admiration and empty compliments. You weren’t trying to impress him.

If anything, you were unimpressed.

And that… bothered him.

So when Kirishima finally dragged him over to introduce you, Bakugo was already in a foul mood.

“(Y/N), this is Bakugo,” Kirishima said, grinning. “Bakugo, this is (Y/N). She’s cool, I swear.”

You gave him a once-over, raising an eyebrow before smirking. “Yeah, I know who he is.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Tch. That so?”

“I’ve been to a couple of your fights.” You shrugged. “You don’t let them last very long, huh?”

He scoffed. “Why the hell would I?”

You tilted your head. “I dunno. Wouldn’t kill you to put on a show for once.”

Kirishima snorted. “Damn. She’s got you there, man.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this—like he was just some guy instead of a rising champion.

But you weren’t mocking him.

You weren’t flirting, either.

You were just… talking to him.

And for the first time in a long time, Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t sure how to respond.

This was bad.

This was exactly the kind of distraction he couldn’t afford.

The next day arrived as Bakugo got out of bed, the sunlight streaming through his window, casting a warm glow across his room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the day ahead. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, he could still feel the weight of the events from the previous night lingering in his mind, making it hard to focus.

Bakugo didn’t do distractions.

He trained. He fought. He won. That was it.

He didn’t waste time at parties, didn’t fuck around with meaningless shit like relationships or making friends outside of the gym. There was no point. The only thing that mattered was getting stronger.

So why the hell had he stayed at that party longer than he intended?

Why the hell had you stuck in his head?

It pissed him off more than it should have.

It wasn’t like you had done anything special. You weren’t drooling over him like most people who recognized his name. You weren’t trying to get something out of him. You weren’t even acting impressed.

You were just… there.

And for some stupid reason, that was what made him notice you.

Tch. Whatever. It doesn't even matter anymore.

He wasn’t gonna waste time thinking about some random girl.

So, as usual, he threw himself into training.

The gym was empty except for the steady rhythm of his fists pounding the heavy bag. It was late—so late that even Aizawa had already left for the night, trusting Bakugo to lock up when he was done. The only sounds that filled the space were the heavy thuds of leather meeting flesh and the occasional creak of the building settling around him.

His body ached, but it wasn’t enough. The burn in his muscles was a reminder of how hard he was working, yet it only fueled his determination. He needed more. More speed. More power. More control. He needed to push himself past his limits, to go beyond what he was yesterday. Each punch felt like a step toward a higher version of himself, a way to stave off the ever-looming fear of being left behind.

Because if he didn’t—if he slowed down for even a second—someone else would catch up. The thought danced tauntingly in the back of his mind, an insidious whisper that he couldn't shake off. He refused to let that happen; he wouldn't allow anyone to inch ahead of him.

So he fought harder, faster, his focus narrowing like a predatory gaze. The world beyond the gym faded, blurring into insignificance as he lost himself in his routine. He was so absorbed in his relentless pursuit that he barely noticed when someone else walked into the gym. The door creaked softly, almost lost in the noise of his efforts, and he instinctively increased his intensity, a faint flicker of curiosity stirring deep within him. Who would dare interrupt his sanctum?

“Jesus. Do you ever go home?”

His fist stopped mid-swing.

He turned, scowling, only to find you leaning against the doorway.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” he snapped.

You shrugged. “Kirishima told me you’d still be here. Thought I’d stop by.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Tch. Don’t you got somewhere better to be?”

“Probably,” you said easily, walking further into the gym. “But this is more interesting.”

That threw him off. Most people didn’t stick around after his fights. Not unless they wanted something.

But you weren’t asking for anything.

And that was what made you dangerous.

He grabbed his water bottle and took a long sip, trying to ignore the way you were watching him.

“You train like you’re running from something,” you said suddenly.

He nearly choked on his water. “The fuck did you just say?”

You leaned against the ring, arms crossed, studying him with an expression that was way too goddamn knowing. “You fight like there’s something chasing you.”

He scoffed. “Tch. You don’t know shit about fighting.”

“I know about people,” you shot back.

His jaw clenched.

Because that was the problem.

You weren’t looking at him like a fighter. You were looking at him like a person. And that threw him off. It wasn’t just the intensity of your gaze; it was the way you seemed to see him—past the tough exterior, into something deeper.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

You didn’t go away after that initial encounter. Somehow, you kept showing up—at the gym, at his fights, infiltrating his thoughts at the most inconvenient times. You’d sit on the sidelines, a calm presence amidst the chaos, watching with that same unreadable expression that both intrigued and frustrated him. You didn’t fawn over him. You didn’t try to flirt or get his attention. You were just… there.

And no matter how much he tried to ignore you, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were gradually unraveling him.

“Yo, you good, man?” Kirishima asked after a particularly exhausting sparring session, wiping sweat from his brow.

Bakugo scowled, his irritation simmering just below the surface. “The fuck kind of question is that?”

Kirishima smirked, a knowing light in his eyes. “I dunno, dude. You’ve been off lately. Like, you’ve been extra agitated every time (Y/N) is around.”

Bakugo’s fists tightened into balls at his sides, his heart racing. “Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima just laughed, unfazed. “Bro. You’re so obvious.”

There was nothing obvious about it, at least that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, every time he caught a glimpse of you cheering for him—your lips curled into that soft smile, your eyes sparkling with pride—he felt something shift inside him. Something he wasn't prepared to confront.

It was maddening how a simple presence could ignite a fire in his chest.

He cursed under his breath, pushing the thought aside. There was nothing to even talk about, nothing to feel. Because whatever this was—whatever you were doing to him—he wasn’t gonna let it get in the way.

He refused to let his heart get tangled in the mess of feelings he didn’t understand. But deep down, a part of him wondered if perhaps being a fighter meant more than just throwing punches. Perhaps it meant fighting for something—or someone—worth it.

So, as always, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He trained harder.

And harder.

And harder.

Like he could beat the thought of you out of his head.

Like he could make himself stop wanting something he wasn’t supposed to have.

But no matter how hard he tried…You were still there.

And that was the real problem.

After that night, things… shifted.

He stopped avoiding you. Stopped pretending you didn’t exist.

You still weren’t pushing to be in his life, but somehow, you were just there—closer than before.

And maybe… just maybe… he liked that.

A little too much.

Recently, You started showing up at the gym more.

You never interrupted his training, never got in his way, but he could feel you there. Could hear the way you’d tease Kirishima when he dropped a weight. Could hear your voice in between the rounds of his sparring matches.

And you wanna know the worst part about it?

He started looking forward to it.

“You’re getting better,” you said one day, watching him hit the pads with his trainer.

He wiped sweat from his brow, smirking. “Tch. ‘Course I am. I’m not some weak-ass rookie.”

You rolled your eyes. “Never said you were. But you used to just go for the kill every fight. You’re starting to actually think in the ring.”

His smirk faltered.

Because that was true, too.

He fought like a ticking time bomb, each punch a detonation of raw power that sent shockwaves through his opponents. His reputation was built on pure brute force, but recently… everything had shifted.

He was evolving.

Taking a breath.

Learning the game.

Maybe it was because, for the first time, he had someone whose opinion actually mattered to him.

Shit.

This was spiraling out of control.

It wasn’t just in the ring anymore.

You started showing up in his life outside the gym, too. After every match, you’d be there, thrusting a water bottle into his hands before he could even catch his breath.

“You’ve got to hydrate, dumbass” you’d tease, rolling your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And hell, he found himself addicted to the way you called him a dumbass with that playful grin.

Then there was that one night when Kirishima dragged him to a late-night diner, and there you were—totally unexpected.

But instead of bailing like he usually would, he took a seat next to you in the booth. He picked at his food, captivated by your animated argument with Kirishima about something ridiculously trivial. When you nudged his arm, asking for his take, he found himself responding.

Because he wanted to.

Because you were a blast.

Because, for just a moment, fighting faded into the background.

That’s when things got really complicated.

The real trouble started the moment he stopped denying it.

When he started craving your presence.

When he caught himself stealing glances at you when you thought he wasn’t looking.

When he realized your laughter was now his favorite melody.

And then the late nights came, when he lay in bed wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you were up to.

Did you think about him, too?

Oh hell.

He was in deep.

And he had no idea how to navigate this storm brewing inside him.

Bakugo didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.

Scratch that—he knew.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

For weeks now, he’d been stuck in his own goddamn head, trying—and failing—to pretend that you weren’t the reason his focus was slipping. Every training session, every sparring match, everything just felt… off. It had gotten worse.

Everything about you messed with him.

The way you chewed on your lip when you were thinking, lost in a world that felt miles away. The way your voice softened when you spoke to him, just a little, as if he wasn’t the disaster everybody painted him to be. The way you looked at him—eyes bright and curious—like he was more than just his fists, more than the explosive temper that often burned those around him.

And now? He couldn’t fucking stand it.

Because he wanted you.

Badly.

And it was driving him insane.

“So,” Kirishima said, leaning against the locker room bench, arms crossed with that unnerving spiky smile plastered on his face. “You gonna tell her, or are you just gonna keep making that face forever?”

Bakugo scowled. “What fucking face?”

Kirishima smirked wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “The one you’re making right now. The ‘I’m a grumpy volcano that’s about to erupt’ face.”

With an annoyed grunt, Bakugo yanked off his gloves, throwing them into his locker as if they were the source of all his problems. “I ain’t makin’ a face.”

“Dude.” Kirishima exhaled dramatically, rolling his eyes. “You like her. It’s painfully obvious. You get all weird and broody whenever she’s around.”

Bakugo turned his back, trying to hide the heat blooming in his cheeks. “I ain’t broody.”

Kirishima ignored him, shoving his hands into his pockets with a casual confidence that only aggravated Bakugo further. “And she definitely likes you, too.”

That made him freeze.

His fingers tightened around the straps of his gloves, heart hammering in a way he really didn’t fucking like. The thought of you returning his feelings stirred something inside him—a mix of fear and hope that twisted his stomach into knots.

He forced a scoff, trying to mask the turmoil. “Tch. You don’t know that.”

“Bro, she watches your fights like she’s trying to figure you out. No one stares at someone that much unless they’re either obsessed or in love.”

Bakugo clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling up.

Love.

No.

That wasn’t what this was.

It couldn’t be.

Right?

Kirishima leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I’ve seen the way she lights up when you walk in. When she cheers for you, it’s like she’s rooting for a hero.”

He paused, letting his words settle into Bakugo's mind, each one weighing heavier than the last. “You could have something real, man. But if you just keep pretending it’s nothing—”

Bakugo cut him off, spinning around with a fierce glare. “Shut it! I’m not in the mood for your sappy bullshit!”

Kirishima raised his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. You can’t keep running away from this. It’s like you want to explode but you’re holding it back. Just tell her how you feel!”

But the thought of putting himself out there, of opening up, felt like a different kind of explosion—one that terrified him. A battle he wasn't sure he could win.

“What if I…?” His voice trailed off, the whisper fragile, almost foreign to him.

“What if you what?” Kirishima pressed, leaning in closer, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern.

“What if she thinks I’m a total loser?” Bakugo shot back, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

Kirishima chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s been right by your side through everything. Trust me. She sees you. The real you. Not just the angry guy who blows stuff up.”

And in that moment, all Bakugo could do was stare into his friend's earnest eyes, the wheels turning in his mind. He felt the pressure build within him—not just the pressure of his own chaotic thoughts, but a surge of longing that was hard to ignore.

“What if I try?” he muttered, almost to himself.

Kirishima’s face split into a grin. “Now you’re talking! Just think about it. Taking a leap like this can lead to something incredible. And who knows? You might just find that she’s waiting for you to make a move.”

Bakugo took a deep breath, gripping his locker. The thought of finally breaking free from this never-ending cycle of confusion was both terrifying and exhilarating. But deep down, he knew he couldn't keep pretending anymore.

With every passing moment, the desire to grab you by the shoulders and confess everything grew stronger. He would have to face his fears—head-on, just like he did in every fight.

“Alright,” he growled, determination erupting within him. “I’ll do it.”

As Kirishima gave him a confident nod, Bakugo felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that accompanied every fight—but this time, it was for something much more important than just victory. It was for you. The challenge had been accepted, and he was ready to stop being the broody, angry guy everyone expected him to be.

Bakugo would fight for this, and he wouldn't back down. Not now, not ever.

Kirishima nudged him with his foot. “Dude, just confess already. It’s not like she’s gonna reject you.”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.

Confess?

He wasn’t that guy.

He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t romantic. He didn’t have a way with words.

And what if he messed it up?

What if you looked at him differently?

What if—

Kirishima snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Oi. Stop thinking so damn much.”

Bakugo growled. “I ain’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, you ain’t thinking, whatever.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Just tell her.”

Bakugo let out a long, frustrated sigh.

Fine.

Fuck it.

If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it his way.

Finding you wasn’t hard. You were always around the gym, watching his fights, teasing him after sparring sessions, lighting a fire in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand.

And just like always, there you were—sitting on the bench outside the gym, scrolling through your phone, waiting.

Waiting for him.

His stomach tightened at the sight.

He shoved the feeling aside and made his way toward you, stopping just a foot away.

You glanced up, a bright smile breaking across your face. “Oh, hey! Good fight tonight. You didn’t completely destroy the guy in the first round this time. Progress.”

He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the slight tremor. “Come with me.”

You blinked, surprised. “Uh. Okay?”

You stood, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t argue when he began to walk away—leading you down the dimly lit street. The hum of the city buzzed around, cars thudding in the distance, the faint flickering of a streetlamp overhead matching the anxiety in his chest.

Finally, he stopped near an empty park, hands still deep in his pockets. The air felt electric, charged with anticipation and the weight of everything he was about to say.

You tilted your head, your curiosity making you even more breathtaking. “So… what’s up?”

He exhaled sharply, staring at the ground like it held the answers to all his questions.

Fuck.

Why was this so hard?

He could beat the hell out of seasoned fighters, could take punches that would knock most guys out, could bleed for his dream—but standing here, he felt utterly paralyzed.

His hands curled into fists with frustration.

Then, finally—

“I like you.”

Silence.

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

Slowly, you blinked.

“…Wait. What?”

His jaw clenched. “You heard me.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, transforming your face into a canvas of joy. “I think I did. But you might have to say it again.”

His eye twitched. “I swear to god—”

You laughed, the sound like music ringing through the night.

It irritated him and thrilled him all at once, making his heart race faster.

You crossed your arms, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Okay, let’s pretend I didn’t already know that. Why do you like me?”

His stomach flipped, twisting in a whirlwind of nerves.

“Tch. The hell kinda question is that?”

“A very fair one.” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him to explain the impossible. “C’mon, Katsuki. If you’re gonna confess, do it right.”

His face burned hotter than a raging flame.

This is a mistake.

Why the hell am I doing this?

But he was already in too deep.

So, fuck it.

He took a tentative step closer.

Then another.

Until you were right there, just inches away, your teasing expression faltering as you realized the gravity of the moment.

His voice dropped lower, rough yet full of depth. “I like you because you don’t take my shit.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes wide with surprise.

“I like you because you don’t look at me like everyone else does.”

Your breath hitched, and he noticed the way your lips parted slightly.

“I like you because you’re in my goddamn head and I can’t get you out.”

Your gaze flickered down to his mouth, and he saw everything shift in your expression, a mix of surprise and something he dared to hope was desire.

And then—

He kissed you.

Hard.

It was a surge of emotion, raw and unrefined. All teeth, heat, and a desperate need, as if the world around them had vanished and there was only you and him in that moment.

This wasn’t some innocent little crush.

This was him breaking.

Breaking down walls that had stood for too long, walls that had been built to keep everyone—and everything—out. But you had found the cracks, slipped through them before he even realized what was happening, and now—now—he was caving.

Your fingers fisted into his shirt, desperate, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough. And fuck, that was all the encouragement he needed.

He growled against your lips, something raw and almost dangerous, his hands gripping your waist in a vice, holding you there, pinning you against him like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the goddamn earth.

You gasped, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss—hungry, reckless, all-consuming. It was messy, all teeth and heat and the undeniable, electric pull between you both.

He wasn’t thinking anymore.

He was just feeling.

You tasted like something dangerous. Something he couldn’t get enough of—like a match striking against gasoline, igniting something deep inside him that had been waiting to burn.

His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and he let out a shaky, almost desperate breath against your mouth.

More.

He needed more.

The feeling of your body against his, the heat of your skin seeping into him, the way your nails raked up his back, sending a sharp shudder through his spine—it was fucking addictive.

He had been starving, and now that he had this, now that he had you, he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to stop.

Your lips moved in sync, perfectly, like you had been waiting just as long for this—like you had wanted him all this time, too.

And when you moaned softly against him, he damn near lost his mind.

His hand slid up your back, pressing against the curve of your spine, holding you impossibly close, swallowing the sound like it was his—because it was.

You were his.

And the realization hit him harder than any punch he had ever taken.

By the time he pulled back, panting, his forehead pressing against yours, he could feel your breath against his lips—shaky, unsteady, just as wrecked as he was.

You looked up at him, lips swollen, eyes dazed, and fuck, he had never seen anything more perfect.

He smirked, but it was different this time—softer, but no less intense.

“Tch. Told you,” he muttered, his voice rough from the weight of everything he had just let go.

You exhaled, blinking up at him, breathless but grinning, and shit, that smile—that goddamn smile—made something inside him snap all over again.

“Okay. Yeah. That was definitely a confession.”

He huffed a laugh, his chest still heaving. “Damn right it was.”

And when you reached up, tracing your fingers along the sharp edge of his jaw, tilting his face back down to yours, he knew—he fucking knew.

There was no going back from this.

The world could go to hell, the entire damn boxing circuit could collapse, and he wouldn’t care.

In that moment, with the stars shining overhead and the world spinning just for them, Bakugo felt something shift inside. No longer just a fighter or a hot-headed boxer—he was yours.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

Mine, he thought, and he knew he was ready to face whatever came next—together.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid of wanting.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

art creds: gsony24

[lost-romantique]

The Evolution of Blitzø’s Character Growth- Stolitz (Season 2.5)

Blitz starts off "When I See Him" not wanting to think about the complexities of his and Stolas' relationship, so he decides to focus on the one thing he does know: sex.

In "When I See Him" Stolas and Blitz are meant to be never on the same page, even going as far as to have Blitz only sing-talk as opposed to Stolas' Disney-esque style of singing.

He goes out of his way, excitedly looking forward to the sex they'll have afterwards. He's only thinking about the sex.

Full Moon happens and Blitz is hurt and betrayed, as he genuinely has no idea how to process the confession.

Beginning of Apology Tour Blitz attempts to win Stolas back, only for it to end horribly as he self-sabotages the fuck out of everything he has, refusing to let go of the mask he wears.

Later on...

Blitz is heartbroken to hear Stolas sing, and his admission, "I don't think you meant to hurt me because I don't think it meant a thing at all" destroys him.

He tries to make it right with Stolas (who is drunk), apologizes to him, lets go of the mask he wears, only to end up ultimately giving up and letting Stolas go in the end.

A month passes and Blitz has essentially given up on life, driving his business to the freaking ground...

One thing is for sure, he feels a lot of regret for what happened with Stolas, and has essentially given up on being with him.

A lot of shit happens to Blitz in Ghostfuckers as the trauma that he's kept buried for fifteen years is forcefully pried open with a wrench.

Only for Millie to be the one to save Blitz in the end...

Episode ends with major character development for Blitz as his mask falls off, and he promises to butt out of the M&M relationship, and as he subtly admits and acknowledges his feelings for Stolas....

What's beautiful about the Stolitz Duet in Mastermind is that it perfectly shows Blitzø’s character growth...

How Blitz went from initially thinking only about sex in regards to his relationship with Stolas....

How Blitz was never once was on the same page with Stolas in their first duet together...

Only to now be able to perfectly harmonize with Stolas in regards to their deep feelings for one another...

Stolas admitting that he sees Blitz as his shining light that taught him to be his own person...

To Blitz admitting that he sees Stolas as the key to his heart that he's kept locked up for years...

For them to finally sing in perfect harmony as they admit their genuine undying love for each other.

And when the fear of losing Stolas permanently, hits Blitz like a motherfucking truck...

He's finally... finally able to let go of his mask around Stolas as he does what he can to comfort him after he lost everything.

Showing the small bits of romantic intimacy that he couldn't reciprocate back in Apology Tour.

Blitzø Buckzo, you make me fucking sick... how dare you be this fucking soft and cute and tender and loving. This man is fully aware that Stolas is still angry at him, but he doesn't care, he's just happy to have his birb back.

[trulyumai]

belittling the reign

synopsis: the people began to doubt Geta, and in return, so did members of the senate. The emperor began to act wildly, his temper just a reach away. It all came crashing down when a man of the senate brought the empress up and how she would fall with the emperor.

pairing: Emperor geta / empress! reader

Warnings: Violence, anger, choking, death. Protectiveness/Possessive.

The room was dim, save for the flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. Geta sat at the long table, his goblet half-full, eyes fixed on the dull gleam of his dagger. He had been deep in thought, tired from the endless political maneuvering of the Senate, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his silence.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered—Marcus, a senator known for his sharp tongue and sharper ambitions. Geta didn’t look up as the man approached, choosing instead to swirl the dark wine in his cup.

“Geta,” Marcus began, his voice oozing with false politeness. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

Geta grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disdain. He knew this man all too well—his visits were never without some form of scheming. Marcus circled the room slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he moved closer.

“You know, it’s funny,” Marcus continued, his tone casual, though laced with something more sinister. “There’s been a lot of talk in the streets lately. The citizens are starting to wonder how much longer Rome will have to bear the burden of a violent ruler.” The man let out a chuckle, it reverberated through the room and Geta swore his fingers shook with an emitting anger.

The emperor’s eyes flicked upward for the first time, meeting Marcus’s gaze with a steely intensity. The senator smiled, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“They say,” Marcus went on, “that there will soon be a new emperor. A man who leads not with blood, but with wisdom. One who doesn’t lose himself to rage every time a senator dares to speak out. The people... they’re excited, Geta. They’re waiting for the day Rome is free of your wrath… Maybe Caracalla would be a better fit?”

Geta’s grip tightened on the goblet, the muscles in his arm tensing as he fought to contain his growing anger. “You tread on dangerous ground, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and cold.

Breath in. Breath out. Remember your wife, the sweet laugh, those little dimples that littered your face when he told a good story.

But Marcus was undeterred. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and smug as he whispered, “Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful. People don’t fear you anymore, Geta. They’re waiting for your death. And when it comes, oh how they’ll cheer. Finally, a ruler worthy of the Empire will take your place.”

A dark laugh escaped Marcus’s lips, but it was quickly cut off by Geta’s sudden movement. In a flash, the emperor had risen from his seat, standing tall over the senator. Marcus stiffened, but continued, confidence seemed to block the mans rational fears. “What will your pretty little wife do when you’re gone, I wonder? Maybe she’ll find solace in someone with real power.”

That was the last mistake.

Geta’s fury ignited like a wildfire, burning through every shred of control he had left. Before Marcus could react, Geta’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The senator’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing uselessly at Geta’s iron grip.

“You dare threaten my wife?” Geta growled, his voice trembling with rage. His face was twisted in a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he squeezed tighter. “You think you can speak to me of death? Speak to me of weakness?” He spat the words with venom, his grip tightening as Marcus’s face turned pale, then purple.

The senator’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in silent pleas for mercy, but Geta’s rage was far beyond words now. He lifted Marcus off the ground, the senator’s feet dangling as he struggled weakly. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as Geta’s expression darkened with each passing second.

“You thought you could replace me? With my own brother?!” Geta whispered, leaning in close to the dying man’s ear. “There will be no one else, dear Marcus.  I am Rome, hm? I. Am. Rome.”

Marcus’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still. Geta held him there for a moment longer, the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, before finally letting the body fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Geta’s ragged breathing. He stood over Marcus’s corpse, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his rage. Slowly, he lowered his hand, twisting and turning the jeweled rings around his fingers while wiping the sweat from his brow. His gaze dropped to the dead man at his feet, his heart still pounding in his chest, though calmer now.

A twisted calm, one born of violence.

“Threatening my liege. My Wife,” Geta muttered to himself, stepping over Marcus’s body as he made his way toward the door. “They will all burn before I leave the throne.”

-

The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering flames of the torches casting long, distorted shadows along the stone walls. Geta’s breathing was still ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as he moved through the empty corridors. His hands, still tingling with the memory of squeezing the life out of Marcus, twitched at his sides. Sweat clung to his brow, slicking his skin and making his tunic stick to his chest.

He could feel the weight of what he had done. The senator’s limp body, the satisfaction that had come when his struggles ceased. It was a different kind of battle—one where no soldier could see him, and no one could speak of it.

Yet, the thrill of victory felt different this time. It wasn’t the fight he was used to. He wasn’t on the battlefield, brandishing his sword, earning the respect of his men. This victory had been personal, quiet... but more satisfying than he could have imagined. Marcus had been wrong—there would be no new ruler. Not while Geta breathed.

He thought of the senators who whispered behind closed doors, plotting to strip him of his power. He thought of the citizens who questioned his rule, who had dared to entertain the idea of another emperor, a more peaceful one. And now he thought of those who might still move against him. They had made one fatal error—they underestimated his resolve, his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect what was his. He had been lenient for too long.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he neared the door to his chambers. The weight of his actions, the violence he was still capable of, burned beneath his skin, but as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the tension seemed to soften.

There, lying in the massive bed, was his wife—your form draped in blankets, the soft rise and fall of your chest showing the example of a  peaceful slumber. You were so..  completely unaware of what he had just done, unaware of the thoughts that now consumed him.

Geta stood in the doorway for a moment, simply watching. His wife had been the one constant in his life, the anchor to his rage. You had calmed him when no one else could. 

His breath still came in short bursts, his chest tight with the remnants of his fury. Slowly, he approached the bed, his legs heavy beneath him as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He collapsed beside you, the bed creaking under his weight. He was slick with sweat, the heat of the earlier confrontation still radiating from his body. He exhaled deeply, his muscles sagging as he sunk into the mattress.

His wife stirred slightly, your hand brushing against his arm as she mumbled something incoherent in sleep. Your touch was soft, gentle—so unlike the violence that had consumed him only moments before. For a moment, Geta considered waking you, telling just what had transpired, but no. You didn’t need to know about the bloodshed, the threat to their life. You didn’t need to carry the burden of his thoughts.

But in the stillness of the night, with his wife sleeping so peacefully beside him, his mind churned with plans. He would not be overthrown. He would not be replaced by anyone who dared to dream of ruling Rome in his stead. Geta would seek out the usurpers, one by one. He would find every senator, every noble, every conspirator who dared question his rule, and he would deal with them the same way he dealt with Marcus. There would be no mercy.

His wife shifted again, pressing closer to him, your hand now resting on his chest, and for a brief moment, the thoughts of violence faded. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her warmth, the way your perfect body curved against his.

But even as his breath steadied and exhaustion began to pull him into sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: no one would threaten his reign. No one would ever threaten you again.

And when the time came to deal with the rest of them, Geta knew, deep down, he would not hesitate. Rome was his. And he would destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

[hoe4hotchner]

Helloooo, how are you?I want to make a request about Aaron. Where he and the reader are almost dating but he doesn't feel ready, so he rejects the reader, and she understands. Time passes and they have to go to a case somewhere else, and the officer in charge is an ex of the reader. But not a bad ex, but a really good one, they interact and he confesses to her how much he misses her. I leave the ending to your consideration, thank you ❤️, I love your writing

Almost | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt (Is that even a genre?), past relationship, rejection, mild heartache?, miscommunication, it could probably qualify as unrequited love during some parts of the story.

When Aaron rejected you, you understood.

He had stood in front of you, his jaw tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out. The words had come quietly, like he was ashamed to say them.

"I can’t. Not yet."

You had seen the hesitation in his eyes, the conflict flickering beneath the surface. He wanted you, you knew that much. It was the way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his fingers ghosted over yours when he handed you a file, the way his voice softened when he said your name. But wanting you and being ready for you were two different things. And you understood that. You understood him.

So you had smiled, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel. "I understand, Hotch."

His mouth had pressed into a thin line, like he had hated hearing you call him that again. Like it made the distance between you all the more real.

And so you had walked away, ignoring the ache in your chest, pretending it didn’t feel like losing something before you even had the chance to call it yours.

Months had passed since then, months filled with cases and long nights, with stolen glances that neither of you acknowledged, with tension so thick it was suffocating.

And now you were here, miles away from home, standing beside Hotch as you were introduced to the officer in charge of the case you were called onto.

The moment you saw him, you hesitated.

"Y/N," he breathed, his tone was thick with nostalgia.

A slow smile spread across your face before you could stop it. "Matt?"

Matt was the man you had once thought you might spend your life with. A man who had loved you without hesitation, without fear, without walls—even when your job had become more demanding than his, calling you away more than you were home.

Hotch went still beside you.

Matt grinned. "I can’t believe it. You look—" He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You look incredible."

Warmth filled your chest, a feeling of something familiar and bittersweet bubbling within. "You too."

Hotch hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his fist clenched at his side, his thumb struggling to do that thing he only did when he was trying to focus.

Matt glanced at him, his brow lifting slightly before turning back to you. "We should catch up after this. Get a drink or something."

There was no ulterior motive in his voice, no expectation—just two people reconnecting after years apart.

Hotch walked away.

Hours later, you found yourself outside, the cold night air settling over your skin. The case was far from over, but for now, there was a brief lull, it gave you a moment to breathe—finally.

The sound of footsteps approached from behind you. The tension in the air shifted subtly, and without needing to glance over your shoulder, you knew exactly who it was—his footsteps alone spoke volumes, a rhythm you had come to recognize in your bones years ago.

"Are you going to see him?"

The question wasn’t casual. It was quiet, clipped, barely contained. You exhaled, tilting your head up to the sky, spotting a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds. "I might."

"Do you still love him?" Hotch finally spoke after a long pause

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Aaron, what does it matter?"

"It matters," he said, and this time, his voice was raw, something fraying at the edges. "It matters to me."

You turned then, searching his face. He looked calm on the surface, as he always did, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists curled at his sides for the second time that day, the way his jaw clenched.

"Why?" you asked softly.

His breath hitched, just barely. "Because I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. His gaze dropped, and for the first time, he looked uncertain. "Because I should have never let you walk away."

Your chest tightened, something sharp twisting inside you. "You didn’t let me walk away. You pushed me away."

His eyes shut briefly, as if the words physically hurt him. "I know."

You took a step closer, close enough that you could see the exhaustion in his face, the faint circles beneath his eyes. "Aaron," you murmured. "You told me you weren’t ready."

"I'm still not," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze locked onto yours, something breaking in the depths of his dark eyes as you stared at each other. "But I can’t stand the thought of losing you to someone else."

The words hung between you, heavy, aching, and too late—they were not enough.

You inhaled slowly, shaking your head. "That’s not fair to me."

His jaw tensed, his hands flexing like he wanted to reach for you—just like that day—but knew he had no right to. "I know that too."

Silence stretched between you, filled with all the words neither of you had said before.

Then, finally, you sighed, your lips curving into something sad, something resigned. "You don’t get to keep me in limbo, Aaron. If you want me, you have to choose me. Otherwise, I have to move on. I can't wait for you to be ready, what if that day never comes?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, as if the thought physically pained him. His eyes searched yours, they were desperate and conflicted, understanding your reasons, but not wanting to believe them.

He said nothing.

And you? You didn’t wait for him to.

You turned, walking away before the ache in your chest could consume you. Because this time, it had to be his choice.

And you weren’t going to wait forever.

[grandline-fics]

Unconscious Protector

DESCRIPTION: When you suddenly lose consciousness 

WARNINGS: Descriptions of fainting and sleep walking

CHARACTERS: Sabo, Killer, Marco | Luffy, Zoro | Law, Sanji, Ace

WORDS: 2,247

A/N: Here's another part for this prompt that you guys voted for my belated birthday and 2k follower milestone event. I'll probably do another one of these with other characters at some stage but I hope you all enjoy this version with these characters.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

SABO

When Sabo needed a sparring partner there was no-one he sought out more than you. You both made it gruelling and challenging but also fun in equal measure. Your sparring sessions could last as long as you both could stand or until someone else came along in need of either of you for a meeting or a mission. Some people would have called your long bouts impressive which he’d agree with. But when they’d call it excessive, Sabo would disagree. Because of the busy schedules you both had and missions now taking you both longer and further away from the base it meant the sparring was really the only opportunity he had to make spending time with you plausible without fearing a rejection had he just asked you out like a normal person.  

Sabo walked through the base, his eyes searching and bright as he looked for you. He slid to a halt and whipped his head to the side when he finally spotted you out of the corner of his eye. Excited he turned towards you and called out your name, grinning when you immediately turned and beamed when you smiled at him in greeting. When he approached, his grin hardened and he closed the distance, throwing his arm out which you managed to block with your forearm. Obviously he wasn’t going at full strength or speed and neither were you. At this point it could be compared to two normal people saying ‘hello’ but then again, you and Sabo’s relationship never could be defined as normal. 

You never could say no to Sabo and his requests to train. It was how you could selfishly have alone time with him. Most of the time the sparring sessions were more fun than gruelling and you didn’t realise you’d been training until you felt the effects the next day. Now had you used your brain a little more instead of thinking about your crush on the Chief of Staff you should have declined this sparring session because you were already exhausted having just returned from a mission. You should have just done the smart thing and said 'maybe tomorrow’ or even 'maybe later’ instead you all but raced him to the training room. Now you were truly suffering for you lack of thought. Attacks you could have avoided with ease took greater focus than normal. You were still holding your own but now you could feel the extra weight on your limbs and noticed the sting in your eyes. The exhaustion was mounting but you still couldn’t bring yourself to stop sparring.    

Sabo caught your wrist when your threw a very obvious attack at him. Quickly he spun to knock you to the floor but his confident smirk feel into a horrified expression as your body went slack and eyes fell closed, unconscious before you’d even hit the floor. Frightened for a moment he’d went too far even though he knew you’d both fought each other with more ferocity in the past, Sabo quickly checked you over, desperate to make sure he hadn’t actually hurt you. When he was assure by his own observation that you’d just fallen asleep he finally let out the breath he’d been holding and slowly lay down to settle beside you on the training mats. He wasn’t going to count this as a win in the long running and very balanced tally of wins and loses between your spars.

Instead he tucked a hand behind his head and closed his eyes. If anyone came by they’d just think the two of you were both relaxing together. Sabo also used the time to let his own body unwind, realising that maybe he was putting his own body under too much strain too, it would’t have been good if he fainted in the middle of training too. Silently he was grateful no one was around to see this and was able to enjoy spending the chance to rest peacefully alongside you. Now Sabo began to think of other ways he could spend time with you. 

KILLER

The Victoria Punk was always loud and energetic. On days when the crew were navigating fierce storms and engaged in explosive battles, it followed the same code as it did when things were peaceful and fun; the louder the better. For two days straight you and the rest of the Kid Pirates sailed through one of the worst storms you’d encountered in a long while, yelling out to each other and shouting acknowledgement to Kid and Killer as you hurried through the rain and crashing lightning and rolling thunder that you’d heard their orders. Then came the explosions of canons and gun fire when a Marine ship appeared through the darkness and heavy veil of rain, launching their attack when they thought your crew’s attention was distracted by the weather but they soon learned the chaos was what you all thrived on and met the challenge with wide grins and drawn weapons. 

The Marines engaged with you were relentless, you’d give them that much but ultimately they were overconfident and their weaknesses could be exploited by you and the others with ease. When the storm died, so did the fight, the Kid Pirates the victors over both encounters and your cheers filled the air as the night skies cleared. Now that the waters were calmed the only thing on all of your minds now was the thought of an all out celebration. With everyone’s duties completed, you all cleared room on the deck and dragged out the barrels and bottles of booze and anything that was or could loosely resemble something to sit on. As the ship’s doctor you had to tend to those hurt-with thankfully just minor injuries- from both the storm and fight and were last to find somewhere to sit. You grabbed your drink and scanned the area already loud and infectiously in good spirits. Your gaze zeroed in on a spot and you closed the distance, sitting down on the deck and settling your back against Killer’s leg. 

Beneath his mask, Killer briefly glanced to see who was using him as an improvised support and couldn’t help but tense slightly to see it was you. You and Killer had a casual back and forth with each other. A flirty comment here, an affectionate touch there. Never anything heated, usually just the brush of fingers against the other when helping out in the ship’s duties or a brief placing of a hand on the other when either of you needed to get by in the usually bustling and hectic hallways and deck. Killer usually favoured his hand on your lower back and you favoured your hand on his upper arm. For you to settle against him shouldn’t have been a surprise or anything new by comparison but still Killer couldn’t help but be aware of your presence. Even while you were talking away to Wire and he joked with Killer it was hard to fully ignore how effortlessly comfortable it was.

Further into the night, you shifted slightly to get more comfortable, lounging back instead of just sitting, and lay your head back while you continued the conversations. The second you adjusted though, Killer’s hand instinctively settled against the back of your head; keeping you in your comfortable position and began to absently play with your hair. Kid faltered mid-sentence with his second-in command to glance briefly down to see you had already all but melted into Killer’s touch, your eyes growing heavier as you tried to focus on your conversation. Unfortunately in a matter of seconds you were out like a light and your nearly empty mug dropped with a dull thunk which caught Killer’s attention your way. 

Across the deck two other crew members burst out into loud laughter at their own conversation causing you you stir slightly. Swiftly Killer grabbed an empty bottle and threw it at their feet with precision that ensured they wouldn’t get hurt but definitely caught their attention. Nervously they looked towards their vice-captain who rose a finger to his mask in a clear signal to shush. Effectively everyone on board lowered their voices to a more respectable level which for anyone else would still be pretty loud but so long as you continued to sleep soundly, your unintentional guard dog of the night was content.

MARCO

Everything was calm on the Moby Dick as it usually was. As an Emperor’s ship as noticeable as his, practically everyone with any sense in their skulls left Whitebeard well enough alone. Night watches were merely a formality and mostly to keep an eye out in case a freak storm hit or another Emperor felt inclined to cause trouble out of boredom. Marco used the quiet of night to go over his medical stock and see to any last minute tasks that he couldn’t get to when the ship was rowdy in the day. In the middle of writing his list of what medicines and ingredients he needed to replenish, Marco stifled a small yawn. 

Not wanting to stop and leave the remainder of his duty for another night he decided instead to pause and go to the ship’s kitchen. As much as he tried to avoid drinking coffee after a certain time of the day he knew the caffeine would help. When he stepped out onto the deck he heard a yelp from above and lazily glanced up to see one of the younger and newer additions to the crew peer out over the top of the crow’s nest. They let out a shaky sigh of relief to see it was just Marco staring up at them blankly. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost-yoi.”

“I did!” The crewmate hissed, casting a nervous glance out onto the large ship’s deck. Marco tilted his head curiously and looked around the darkened deck. The moon was completely shrouded in cloud so the lack of light and chill in the air could be eerie to some, easy to let the mind play tricks on itself at this hour especially when alone. The pirate in the Crow’s Nest could feel Marco’s skepticism and bristled defensively. “I know what I saw! You have the powers of a mythical creature, you can't tell me ghosts don’t exist!”

“Didn’t say they didn’t” Marco chuckled with a lazy shrug. He’d seen enough strange and crazy things on these seas to encourage an open mind even after all of these years. Still though, a ghost on the ship was a new one. Holding back a yawn, Marco stretched his arms out and smiled calmly. “I’ll take a look around. If you see the ghost, just call okay?”

Without waiting for the response, Marco continued towards the kitchen, pausing by the door when he heard a faint creak against the floorboards. Slowly Marco looked behind him and around the corner seeing there was no-one there. Letting out a small chuckle, he shook his head and pressed inside only to suppress the curse in his throat and hold back the urge to jump in shock when the outline of a person was standing in the corner of kitchen. Flicking on the light Marco let out a small breath to see that it was you. “You’re playing the long game waiting in here and trying to scare someone-yoi.“ He teased lightly only to become concerned when you didn’t respond. Instead you remained in the corner. “Hey, you okay?”

Marco approached slowly and only saw now that you were asleep, eyes heavy lidded as you stared emptily at the wall. Now he saw you were sleep walking. Knowing better than to wake you, Marco approached carefully and gently set his hand against your wrist, lightly coaxing you to turn.

“Time for bed.” He instructed softly, smiling when you seemed to react enough to his words. Slowly you walked towards the door and Marco could see now why your movements could have been mistaken for a ghost on board. Marco’s smile twitched when you made the wrong turn after leaving the kitchen, needing him to softly redirect you with another subtle touch which thankfully set you on the right route. “There we go.”

For the entirety of the confusing, winding and slow paced journey you took through the ship Marco remained your vigilant protector. In your sleep induced state you seemed determined to veer in every wrong direction, even getting close to walking straight into one of the canons and potentially hurting yourself which you would have had Marco not been there to stop you. Finally he managed to help you into your sleeping quarters and assisted you into your bed, your body relaxing instantly. Exhausted Marco rubbed his eyes and headed straight for his own bed, managing to catch a couple hours sleep before the sun rose. 

As expected you had no memory of your sleepwalking adventure but approached him at breakfast with a bright smile. “Wanna hear what I dreamt about last night?”

“This should be good.” Marco grinned, unable to be in a low mood when you smiled at him like that.

“Dreamt I was lost in a maze.” You began. “No matter which way I went I just couldn’t get out. Next thing I knew, you were there and rescued me. Guess I can always count on you to help me out.” At that Marco’s smile grew. 

“Always.”

——————————————-

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[oldsoul007]

hope you like scary movies, cus you’re in one

a/n: I may or may not saw an edit…

ghostface!nicholas x reader

It was a quiet night in woodsboro , like it always is. I was a nanny for a little boy so I could get through college. My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and I glanced at the screen. Unknown Caller. I pressed declined but it repeatedly kept calling. Then the landline they had started ringing. I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Hello?" I said, my voice cautious.

"Hello, y/n," a distorted voice replied. It sent a chill down my spine. "Do you like scary movies?"

I recognized the voice immediately. It was Ghostface, the infamous killer that terrorize my dad in 1996. But something felt off. There was a familiarity in the tone, beneath the distortion.

"Who is this? You’re not funny” Y/n asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Guess," the voice taunted. "Or maybe I'll just have to come find you."

My heart raced, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew this person. She thought about Nicholas and how he always played pranks on her. Could it be him?

"Alright, Nicholas," I said, calling his bluff. "Cut it out. I know it's you."

There was a brief silence on the other end before the voice changed, becoming softer and unmistakably Nicholas.

"You got me," he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I couldn't resist. I've been watching too many horror movies lately."

I let out a relieved laugh. "You really had me going there for a second. But seriously, you need to stop watching those movies."

Nicholas chuckled. "I know, I know. But hey, it got you to pick up the phone, didn't it?"

I shook my head, smiling. "Yeah, it did. But next time, maybe just send a text?"

"Deal," Nicholas agreed, his tone warm. As I hung up, I couldn't help but feel a mix of exasperation and affection for Nicholas. Even when he was being mischievous, he had a way of making me smile.

I had been feeling uneasy for days. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. It started with strange noises outside my window at night and escalated to finding eerie notes left in places only I would notice. The notes were signed by "Ghostface," and they sent chills down my spine.

One evening, as I was walking home from work, I heard footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace, but the footsteps matched mine, growing closer with each step. I turned a corner and ducked into an alley, hoping to lose my pursuer. But as I looked back, I saw the unmistakable mask of Ghostface looming in the shadows.

My heart raced as I tried to find a way out. Suddenly, Ghostface lunged at me, pinning her against the wall. "Why are you doing this?" I cried, her voice trembling with fear.

The masked figure was silent for a moment before reaching up to remove the mask. To my shock, it was Nicholas, my boyfriend, standing there with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Nicholas? What the hell?" My fear quickly turned to anger. "You scared me half to death!"

Nicholas looked genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean to frighten you that much. I thought it would be a fun Halloween prank. I guess I went too far."

My anger softened slightly as I saw the remorse in his eyes. "You think?" I said, still shaken. "You could have just told me you wanted to scare me a little, not make me think I was being stalked by a killer."

Nicholas sighed. "I'm really sorry, y/n. I just wanted to do something different, but I realize now it was a terrible idea. Can you forgive me?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "Just promise me you'll never do something like this again."

"I promise," Nicholas said, pulling me into a hug. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

As we walked home together, I couldn't help but feel relieved that the nightmare was over. But I also realized that Nicholas had a lot to learn about what constituted a "fun" prank.

“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with ghostface” “babe it’s Halloween losen up!” He said as we walked hand in hand.

I had always felt a chill in the air around Halloween, but this year, it was different. I had my boyfriend, nicholas. He was charming, funny, and had a smile that could light up the darkest night. Everyone loved him. But there was something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

One evening, me and nick decided to attend the town's annual Halloween party. The old mansion where the party was held was decked out in spooky decorations, with cobwebs, eerie lighting, and ghostly figures lurking in the corners. Everyone was in costume, and I had chosen to go as a ____.

As I mingled with friends, I couldn't help but notice that Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. I asked around, but no one seemed to know where he was. Just as I was about to give up, I was walking by the stairs when I heard someone yelling.

I try not to be nosey but go up the stairs anyone. Maybe nick was up here anyway. I walked through the house looking in the rooms finding nothing. When I open the door i see some kid in a ghost face costume hop out the window. “What the fuck” I say under my breath. I pull out my phone to text him. No service?

I heard commotion downstairs so I ran down to see what’s happening. Everyone was gone from the house. I heard a floorboard squeak behind me.

It was Ghostface, and my heart raced. The figure moved silently through the room, its eyes fixed on me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as Ghostface approached, stopping just inches away from me.

"Y/n," a familiar voice whispered from behind the mask. My eyes widened in shock as Ghostface removed the mask to reveal Nicholas's face. He smiled, but it wasn't the warm, friendly smile I was used to. It was cold and sinister.

"I've been watching you," Nicholas said, his voice low and menacing. "You have no idea who I really am."

I took a step back, my mind racing. The pieces started to fall into place—the strange disappearances, the eerie feeling I got around him, the way he always seemed to know too much. I realized with a sinking feeling that my new boyfriend was none other than the real Ghostface.

Before I could react, Nicholas lunged at me, but I was quick. I grabbed a nearby candlestick and swung it at him, knocking him off balance. I ran through the mansion, my heart pounding in my chest, desperately searching for a way out.

As I reached the front door, I could hear Nicholas's footsteps behind me. I flung the door open and ran into the night, vowing never to trust anyone so easily again. But before I could even get out of the door he grabbed my arm pulling me back in. I try fighting him off but he grabs both of my wrist. “I’m not gonna hurt you y/n!” “Why, why did you do this?!” I yell looking him in the eyes. “What even is a motive?”

[cyber333angel]

TOXIC-EX!ABBY ANDERSON X SWEETHEART!READER

a/n : there is plot to this but we lose it very quickly due to smutty yap i fear, soo much longer than usual, abby is very much of a meanie in this, some manipulation and a dash of hair pulling.. enjoy!

it was was time to get over her. you decided after weeks of crying over your now ex girlfriend it was time to move on, you knew abby wasn’t sitting around crying over the relationship so why should you? you saw peoples stories, abby drinking at parties and already flirting with a bunch of other girls so it was no use to cry over someone who wasn’t even thinking about you.

a friend of yours had invited you out to go to some frat house that lived near your campus to cheer you up but all you could think about was abby. abby always took you to parties that her hockey jock friends threw, abby was the one who had you sat on her lap while she made you take long swigs of her beer that she knew you didn’t like and abby was always teasing you in front of her friends with all her comments about how she had you screaming just last night. but you were going there to get your mind off her not to think of her, so you shoo’ed those thoughts away as you made it to the party with a plastered smile on your face.

so far it had been going good, you had a drink in your hand as you swayed faintly to the rowdy music playing on the speakers and you talked to a friend you knew, having the most fun you’d had in weeks.

all to be ruined when your eyes turn to see the woman you were trying to heal from this whole time, walking in with her arms on the shoulders of some girl. laughing as someone hands her a cup of beer, you really didn’t want to ruin the vibe, didn’t want to get upset. so your eyes flicker away from the scene, hiding amongst the crowd of your friends and talking to take your mind off of it.

but even for such a large house the place felt so small, everywhere you went abby was there, being obnoxious and showing off. it’s something you always complained about when the two of you were together and she would always wave it off, taking your mind off of it in a random bathroom with her fingers stuffed up your dress and her hands clasped at your mouth. you needed some space to breath so you walked up the stairs of the house to find a bathroom or just a empty space to breathe in. you found a room that’s decorated and fitted for a frat guy but it will do. you go to sit down on the bed, sitting with your cup as you played with the fabric of your dress. just breathing as you listen to the sound of the music and the bustling conversations of the people below you.

you were just sobering up when abby saw you sitting there on the bed, still cute as ever with the same sheepish behavior. she sees you before you see her, and she missed teasing you oh so much. you sigh when your eyes connect to hers and the woman of the hour is already looking at you with a conniving grin.

you roll your eyes as you get up to leave when abby finishes talking to whoever she was entertaining and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “you’ve been avoiding me all night baby what happened?” that nickname was all that was needed to piss your off further, “im not your baby, don’t call me that. please move i need to leave.” referring to the door that abby was currently blocking and not making any effort to move from.

“you know I miss you..been thinking about you ever since you left, you know im sorry.” this was not what you needed to hear tonight, not right now while only on the verge of sobering up and getting over her. you knew exactly what she was up to, abby would always talk to you in that sweet tone when she wanted something from you and you would fall for it every time. it’s exactly why you found the courage to finally leave when you did. “that’s what you always say abby, I left because I was tired of forgiving you over and over.” you say shaking your head, stepping back when you hear abby walk closer to you, all the space in the seemingly large room running away from you as you bump into the bed and abby holds you close.

“just one more chance hm? promise ill be good for you sweet girl.” her body guards you fully, she must have started working out even more since you left, her arms were so massive looking. the proximity was forcing you to take in her intoxicating scent and become drunk all over again. even though you wont admit it, you missed the scent of abby, it was always what you needed after hard day and coming home to lay on her was all you needed. “abby..” you use your last (but weak) attempt to not give in, pushing your head away from her with a whine. “missed this pretty face.. give me one kiss yeah?” she says hooking a finger under your jaw, making you look up at her, smiling when you meet her eyes. “there she is, i know you missed this too mama..” she says, her hands finding the globes of your ass as she lowers her head down to yours.

she kisses you so softly at first, sucking at fat of your lips keenly and with gentle hesitation, but it was clearly an act when she starts kissing you more and more roughly. sliding her tongue deeper down your throat and moving her hand to your waist with the other hand to your neck just to taste you deeper. you automatically melt into abbys hold, months of trying to forget her all down the drain while you take in what you missed so much. “let’s move to the bed kay?” and you nod slightly into her chest, smiling when she lifts you and has you sitting on her lap while she sits on the bed. “arms up.” you don’t falter to raise your arms up, letting abby lift up your shirt and leave you in your bra, letting her take control.

she kisses the skin of your breast that’s spilling out of your bra, warm hands holding your waist close to hers. “missed these too..” and she manages to make you laugh like she used to, “abby!” you say as she bounces her right leg under you. “i can try something else right angel? wanna make you feel good..” and at this point you can’t even think of denying her so you nod, letting abby handle you and move you to the spot in between the pillows of the bed. laying you down with her body in front of your closed legs, peeling them open with her arms as you attempt to hide in the fabric of your shirt, watching her from above. she just handles you so naturally that everything was done without words, tapping your hips with her fingers meaning for you to lift your hips so she could slide your panties off, not so subtlety putting them in her pocket.

now your all spread out for her, already damp from the kissing as your legs fidget over the bed. “anyone else been between these legs since I was gone, try to please you like I can?” you wouldn’t do that t’me would you baby?” she’s acting possessive already and you only just went back to her, but you could care less with how good you knew you were about to feel. you shake your head no quickly as you look at her with needy eyes, “didnt see anyone else abs..only you.” you were completely under her spell and she hadn’t even touched you yet, placing her hand under your chin to smooth her thumb over your cheek, smiling down at you.

“yeah i know you’re my good girl, could never find someone to make this pretty pussy feel good like I do huh?” she whispers, tilting her head to the side as her hand travels down to your cunt, sliding them over your glossy bud slowly. in this moment you wouldn’t think abby could ever be mean, she had the most beautiful smile looking down at you while she pushed the tip of her fingers into your hole, teasing them in and out as your stomach tensed. “you know you have to be quiet right? walls aren’t that thick here and you know how you get..”

but there it was, the mean girl you had forgotten about suddenly making your mind all anxious, because you do know how you get when abby has her hands on you. you let her lay you down with her sweet words and promises without thinking. when your with abby you could never keep your voice down, weather it was your broken moans or pants her hands could never hold them in. and there was a whole crowd of people below you maybe you should take a pause on this, “mm wait abs..” you whine, a nervous croak leaving your throat.

her fingers slide in deeper into you as you writhe, back arching off the bed a bit as you feel her two large fingers stretching at your hole. “you know it’s too late for that, look at how wet you are..” her whispers getting quieter as she dips her head to your lips, kissing you with her fingers prodding so snuggly at your walls. her other hand trails along your body, pinching at your nipples all the way to the back of your head, supporting it so you could reach closer to her.

mewling when you feel a harsh pull at the back of your head, whining into abbys mouth as you hands fly to hers. of course she wasn’t pulling your hair that hard, just enough to alarm you and make you pay attention to what she had to say. “you love me right baby? hm, need you to say it for me..” she sounded desperate almost, a pouted look on her face as her fingers sped up. a third finger prodding at the two already twisting and turning inside you, you could almost cry. “mn lo-love..” you really couldn’t focus with her pressuring you like this, every immanent thing in the room zeroing into your mind. the darkness of the room along with the blue led lights that lit it up, the perfect scene with the music bumping below you and of course abby.

you get pulled back when abby stops kissing at your skin, her breast stop resting against yours as she props herself up. feeling a harsher pull on your hair and the loss of her soaked fingers in your needy cunt. “need you to speak up mama. you love what? love my fingers or my tongue, what is it?” demanding you to speak, and making you so needy for her fingers to be back inside you it’s like you could almost say you did love her fingers. “no i love you abby! love you s-so much..”

god could she get inside your head, you were too busy cumming all over fingers to even notice the smile on her face. “i know you do baby..missed this pretty pussy too..” your hips shook against the bed, grabbing at anything you could get your hands on in the moment. the comforter, the pillows, abbys biceps, she was still thrusting her fingers into you with her thumb circling at your sensitive clit. “oh i know, my good girl is feeling so good huh?”

abby had pulled a good two other orgasms out of you that night, one with her rubbing her pussy against yours and the other with her mouth. she probably could have got more if the two of you weren’t interrupted by a knock on the door, apparently the party was about to be over and you had made such a mess all over a bed that wasn’t even yours, you were mortified to say the least. she teased you about it for a whole week and it made you so embarrassed everytime, always bringing up the look on your face when you heard the bang on the door while she was snickering. though the mission of getting over abby failed, you got your girlfriend back and you couldn’t be happier.

[kennarose1108]

Clingy (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

At the beginning of your relationship, Miguel was distant from you as you expected him to be. He didn't want to get close to you because he didn't want to feel the need to depend on you. He lost so much and he was afraid if he got close to you he'd lose you too. But as time went on he grew more attached to you. You were so kind and beautiful he just couldn't get enough of you.

But as he got more attached his fear of losing you grew and it got more clingy towards you, afraid if he let you go you'd somehow die on him. He didn't want to smother you of course and he kept his distance when he realized he was doing too much but you honestly didn't mind his clinginess. It always reminded you of how far you came with him and you felt loved.

Nights were the worst for Miguel though, he always clung to you when you both went to bed and if he woke up and you weren't in his arms he'd always check the bed and every time you were there. He'd reach his hand out to touch the fabric and your body was always there to meet with his hand. Then he'd pull you closer to him and he'd fall back asleep. He was afraid in the night someone would take you away from him, it was one of his worst fears.

Because of his anxieties, you tried not to get out of bed at night. If you needed to use the bathroom you'd try to be quiet to not wake him and freak him out. And you always succeeded. But tonight was different. You woke up and felt your throat was abnormally dry. You couldn't fall back asleep with your throat like this, it just wasn't possible. So you quietly got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.

As you were in the kitchen Miguel woke up. He felt you weren't in his arms anymore and he reached out to touch you… But you weren't there. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and continued to search for you, but still nothing. Then his eyes shot open and he noticed the empty spot next to him and the panic set in. He sat up and called for you, "Y/N?!" He yelled. His anxieties were telling him the worst, he was afraid someone kidnapped you or even killed you.

He hopped out of bed and pushed through the bedroom door, "Y/N?!?" He yelled again. You jumped as the impact of the door hitting the wall scared you. His body psychically untensed when he saw you in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. "Miguel? Honey, what's wrong?" You ask as you set the glass on the counter with a concerned look on your face. His body was visibly shaking and his breathing was hard. You walked over to Miguel and gently brushed your hand against his cheek. "I'm okay… I was just getting some water… I'm still here with you, don't worry." You say while resting your hand against his chest. You felt his heart beating fast and you frowned. "Go back to bed Miguel… I'll be there in a moment, okay?" You say with a reassuring smile. Miguel nodded and slowly walked back into the room.

You walked back to your glass and drank down the liquid. When you finished you placed the glass into the sink and walked back into the room. When you walked in Miguel was sitting up in bed and looking down at the bed in sadness. Your heart broke at the sight of him looking so defeated. You walked over to Miguel and ran your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch and sighed. You crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. You pulled him into a hug and he wraps his arms tightly around your body. He rested his face into the crook of your neck and you rubbed your fingernails gently along his scalp and his back.

"I'm sorry…" Miguel mumbled. "You have nothing to be sorry for… It's okay to be afraid." You say while placing a kiss on his head. "Yeah but… I feel like I'm smothering you…" Miguel murmurs. "Miguel. Look at me." You say while pulling away and cupping his cheeks. He looked into your eyes and you noticed the tears in them, you frown even more. "You're not smothering me. I love being close to you and I understand why you're afraid. Nothing that you have done has ever bothered me." You say with a reassuring smile. Your words seemed to relax Miguel. He nodded and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Okay… Now, let's go back to sleep hm?" You say before placing a kiss on his nose.

As you were about to crawl to your side of the bed Miguel stopped you. One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up and cupped one of your cheeks. He then leaned in and kissed your lips and you returned the kiss with a smile. The kiss was gentle and full of love… Just full of love, nothing else. He pulled away and smiled at you. You smiled back before crawling to your side of the bed. You went under the covers and laid down, Miguel doing the same. He pulled you close to his body and held you tight and you returned the favor by wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He sighed in relaxation and he felt comfortable and content with you.

"Te amo más que a nada mi amor…" Miguel whispered in your ear as you drifted off into sleep.

[pinkisthenewangst]

°`🍨: Kei Tsukishima + First Years x GN! Reader

°`🍨: Being a bet hurt so damn much

You knew boys were dumb with their stupid puberty that makes them go crazy. You knew from the beginning that first year high school will probably feel and also end like middle school all over again but you still felt disappointed. Disappointed to actually believe that it will not happen again and to fell for a tall, handsome and surprisingly intelligent boy until someone tries to attack his ego. You should have known that suddenly getting friends and being confessed to was too perfect for your boring and lonely life.

Realizing that was when you stand beside the clubroom door of the volleyball team. Silently listening to the boys, who talked while changing to their sport outfits. You didn't want to eavesdrop but when you heard your name, you couldn't stop listening. Clutching the straps of your bag in your hand. Biting on your trembling lips while blinking away your tears. Placing the fabric of Tsukishimas Jacket to your mouth so you wouldn't accidentally let out a sob. Doing all of this just to hear that everything was a lie. Being friends with you out of pity. Your relationship only being a bet. It hurt so damn much. "Oi Tsukishima ! How does the lover boy feel to almost reach the third month of your relationship ~?", you heard Tanaka's booming voice through the door. Then it was silent for a short moment until the tall one answered: "Made me realize that relationships robbing me from my precious time and I can't wait to be free, but seeing your faces when you lose is actually worth it". Ouch. Being a bet wasn't something new to you and he knew it. He was the one that told you about it in middle school and now he does the same. You heard more chaotic screaming and laughing, not really able to believe that all the first year knew about it and also the second years you saw as reliable senpais. You then also heard Kageyama talk: "I'm not good with people like her, it feels suffocating to even just stand beside her." Then Hinata continued: "At least she isn't boring!". It hurt so damn much. Not able to listen anymore, you slowly walk down the stairs. Walking past the third years that greeted you happily but you only gave them a nod and a small bow before you started to sprint so they couldn't see the tears in your eyes. You knew boys were stupid but you were also dumb for thinking it would get better. You wished the world would just swallow you whole to stop your suffering.

It felt weird. Eating alone after having finally some people to talk to about hobbies and homework. It also felt rude to just run and ignore them when they tried to talk to you. But you were so hurt and unable to trust them anymore. Not knowing what was a lie, a bet or the truth made your heart crumble in your chest. Seeing them look confused also fed the guilt in your stomach. You should be a better friend. Less boring, less annoying and more how they wanted you to be but this was not possible. Changing took a lot of energy that you didn't have. All the joy you felt until this tragic day, left you completely. Only an empty feeling remained. Looking at Tsukishima from far away didn't make your heart beat faster anymore, it only brought tear to your eyes. Seeing the chaotic duo of Hinata and Kageyama only made it hard to speak without your voice cracking. Feeling the hand of Yamaguchi on your shoulder when he tried to give you something back, made you tense and stiff. Walking through the school made you fear that everyone knew how stupid you were to fall for this bet and how they would start to laugh at your suffering. It took Nishinoya by surprise when you jumped out of your skin when he greeted you at the entrance of the school and how fast you ended your conversation when it sometimes went on until he needed to run to his class. Ah they suddenly started to feel it. The empty place since you weren't there anymore. It even bugged Tsukishima more when he didn't get any answers from you after he messaged you. It also started to hurt. Made his heart sting seeing you not looking at him anymore. His fist shook beside him seeing you smile at Sugawara but something like sadness took over his feelings when your face dropped to a neutral expression when the third year disappeared. Something wasn't right but he didn't know how to fix it. In the first time of his life, he felt heartbroken and unable to decide what to do. How unfortunate that everyone around you and him were just so stupid and dumb.

°`🍨: Tadaaaa ~ Another one but it's not really Tsukishima focused but it also is 🤔

°`🍨: REQUESTS ARE OPEN until 25th of Aug.

[ohbabydollie]

Imagine Schlatt being super horny for his heavily pregnant wife after they’d haven’t had sex for awhile…

😮‍💨😮‍💨 this ask made me feel things

You always feared pregnancy.

You didn’t mean to it’s just that the idea of being pregnant, all the things that could go wrong, etc. Not to mention the fear of your husband losing attraction for you, but it seemed the opposite for Schlatt.

Instead of feeling no attraction after you got pregnant, during the first few months he went feral. He was all over you 24/7, using it as an excuse to not use condoms at all, whenever you seemed emotional he would give you head and say something about you “needing to relief stress” and more.

Schlatt used any excuse he could come up with so he could to be on and inside you.

It eventually calmed down when you had been around 26 weeks pregnant. Sex that would happen daily had become 3-4 times a week, most of the time schlatt just eating you out or fingering you before leaving to jerk off.

You assumed that his attraction for you was fading, when in reality that was far from the truth.

Schlatt’s attraction to you has only grown since you’ve gotten more pregnant. From seeing you smile and hold his hand at an ultrasound to seeing your tits grow heavier over time.

It honestly scares Schlatt how much he wants you. He doesn’t want to exert you, especially with how tired you’ve been these days, so he’s stuck to cold showers and on really difficult days, jerking off. It’s hard to resist you, especially when he’s eating you out or fingering you and feeling your warmth wrapped around his fingers, tightening up around them as you finish.

He finds you borderline impossible to resist. Especially now, when you’re in a cute sundress you bought a few weeks ago.

It shows your tits and belly off just right, but Schlatt can resist.

When you put down a bowl of fruit and jambo goes running to steal a blueberry, he knocks over your bowl.

“Jambo!” you scold picking up the cat before handing him to Schlatt.

He watches, grabbing the cat as you accidentally push your boobs up against each other causing the neckline to deepen and show more than you intended before returning to normal once you handed jambo over to Schlatt.

Schlatt can resist.

“i gotta go clean up the fruit he dropped” you complain walking over to the kitchen, bending over and picking up the few pieces that fell out.

fuck, your ass looks great

fuck, the soft pout you have on your face

jambo soon jumps off the couch and goes meowing at you, almost apologetically. You coo at him lovingly, picking him up like a baby once the fruit is cleaned up.

fuck

Schlatt’s imagination is going wild, already imagining you with a second and third child. He can’t fucking hold back.

he can’t resist

It’s mere seconds before he’s taking you to the bedroom. Schlatt is placing you down on the bed and hiking your dress up.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fuck ya” he says taking off your underwear and quickly taking out his cock.

He wastes no time slipping into you, letting out a groan, “fuckkk, doll, you don’t know how much i missed your sweet little pussy”

Those words along the familiar feeling of him inside you, in what feels like forever, has you throwing you head back in pleasure. Your lips parting to let out moans as he thrusts in and out of you harshly, not bothering to hold back.

“fuck. never. gonna. stay. away. from. this. pretty. pussy. again!” Schlatt growled between thrusts

“fuck! c-calm down!” you moan out, holding onto his broad shoulders “i‘m sensitive!” you whine as Schlatt pays no mind to your words, instead rubbing your clit.

“great, then i can feel ya cummin’ ‘round my cock faster”

[scarlethexelove]

ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴏɴ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱʜᴀʀᴏɴ ᴄᴀʀᴛᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴇx), ᴡᴀɴᴅᴀ ᴍᴀxɪᴍᴏꜰꜰ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2095

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱʜᴀʀᴏɴ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʙᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴏɴ ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟ?

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ⚠️ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ⚠️, ⚠️ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ⚠️, ⚠️ɪꜱᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ⚠️, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ (ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴀ)

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜱᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ꜱᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʏᴇᴀʀ ʙᴜᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴛ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ᴇᴀʀʟ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪxɪᴇ ᴄʜɪᴄᴋꜱ (ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪᴄᴋꜱ). ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴀʀᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʙɪɢ ꜱʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ @wandamaximoffsbadgirl ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ. ɪ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ꜰɪᴄ.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

A small tear runs down your cheek as you watch Wanda walking away. A suitcase pulled behind her as she starts her new life. A new life without you. Everyone always joked you two were inseparable but now things are different.

An arm tightly grips yours and you quickly wipe your cheek. “Baby it's time to go. You still have me.” Sharon whispers in your ear. You nod, she's right you did have her. She was all you had left and so you clung onto her. Following obediently behind, turning back and watching Wanda until you couldn't see her anymore. A flame within you extinguishing with her.

You and Sharon have dated for a year now.  What you haven't realized is how she has slowly isolated you from all your friends and family. Wanda was the last one to stick around and now even she is gone.

You were curled up on the couch, looking at your phone. When was the last time anyone had talked to you? Wanda had been the last one, but it was before she left...she hasn't messaged since.

“What are you looking at?” Sharon's voice cuts through startling you. “No-nothing.” You shouldn't be scared to look at your phone right. You did nothing wrong so why does it feel like you have. Everything has gotten worse since Wanda left. Things have shifted in Sharon and not for the better.

Sharon comes over, trying to take the phone from your hand, gripping at your wrist just to take it from you. Seeing Wanda on your phone has her grip tightening. She pulls you closer, anger seething out. “Why are you waiting for her to contact you!? She left you! Everyone left you but me! Am I not good enough!?” She says through gritted teeth, mear inches from your face.

It takes everything in you not to whimper as her grip tightens and the fear that runs through you. She's right everyone has left you. She's the only person you have left. On her good days she is the sweetest but those days are few and far between now but you keep your hopes up. Hope that Sharon will go back to the woman you fell in love with. At Least you keep telling yourself you loved her.

The days pass and it feels like more bad than good. Everything seems to be setting her off. You can't do anything right. You can't even look at yourself in the mirror anymore...not with the bruises and the hollow look in your eyes nowadays

Today your phone rings for the first time in forever. You rush out of the bathroom and try to get to your phone but you're stopped dead in your tracks when Sharon picks it up and immediately sends it to voicemail. “Sharon.” You let out in frustration as you try to grab your phone from her. 

“I told you, you're mine.” Sharon grips your wrist. You try to pull your arm away and as you do she lets you go and you lose your balance falling down the stairs. That was finally the last straw and you went to one person you knew would help. Natasha, she helped you get a restraining order and move out. Everything seems to finally be looking up.

You stayed with Natasha for a bit and finally saved up enough for your own place, but you should have known better. You had finally moved in and finally had some semblance of normalcy back. That's until you open the door to your sheer horror of Sharon standing in front of you with flowers in her hands.

You try to slam the door shut, but she stops you. Sharon was always stronger than you and though you still tried to push the door she only pushed back harder, making you stumble and fall back into the apartment.

“Baby please.” Sharon walks into your apartment. 

“Sharon I'm not your baby and I have a restraining order. You need to leave.” You try to sound confident but your voice shakes giving you away.

“I know you were upset baby but I've changed. Give me one more chance baby.” Sharon pleads with you, sounding genuine. You don't know if you should believe her or not. She sounds like she really means it. “One date baby. Please, I'll prove it to you.”

You argue with yourself internally. One date can't hurt. “Fine. One date. I get to pick the place.”

She has a wide smile on her face. “Deal.” So you reluctantly get ready for the date while Sharon waits for you sitting on the couch. You feel like it's a whirlwind as you change and head out to a restaurant. You picked somewhere public so you knew she couldn't try anything

It doesn't take long as you both fall into a comfortable conversation. It feels like before, before all the lies and abuse. You let the wall fall as the date goes on. Things feel normal, natural. You had missed this. Could it be better again? Be like this all the time? You feel her hand reach yours, her thumb brushing the back of your hand so gently. You hadn't felt a gentle touch in so long.

All of your walls fall as the date continues. You both walk and talk after eating, holding hands. As the night comes to an end and she walks you home. As you get there and lean against the door frame “This was nice. We should do it again.” You smile. 

“Why not continue it now?”Sharon says and you shake your head.  

“Not tonight.” Sharon looks upset like she wants to say something. To try and convince you, but you kiss her cheek. “Next time.” You say stopping her with the unexpected affection.

So she lets it go for the night. And is convinced for another date later in the week. When that rolls around it goes great. You get closer again and when you finally feel like everything's perfect it starts again. The good days start getting bad again and you know you should leave, but Sharon convinces you to stay, convinces you that she's the only one who's gonna love her. You can't believe how stupid you feel for giving her this second chance.

It all comes to a head one day when you try to go out for the day. “You're not going anywhere. You have stuff to do around the house.” Sharon’s anger already slipping into her words. 

You sigh. “Sharon please. You said you changed.”

You go back and forth until it turns into a screaming match which then gets physical, slapping your face and then grabbing it. “You don't get to go out. You stay here and do as you're fucking told!” You feel so small when she towers over you, voice booming and hands on you.

Your voice is small as you speak. “P-please Sharon. I ne-need out.” 

Sharon’s grip on your face tightens. “I said no you fucking dumb whore.” Her hand goes up and she backhands you now. By the way this is going you know it's not going to end well so you try to fight back.

You certainly try and it ends up worse than ever. With you in the hospital. A broken nose, busted lip, bruised ribs. Everything hurt so much as you stared up at the ceiling. “How could I be so stupid?” You whisper to yourself while Nat had stepped out and tears run down your cheeks

You hadn't even heard the door open before a familiar soft voice broke through. “You're not stupid.” Your head snaps up seeing Wanda. You viciously wipe your tears. Hissing in pain. “Sweetheart.” She is quickly next to you pulling your hands away and gently wiping your tears away. 

“Why are you here?" Your voice is small. 

“I'm still your emergency contact. They called me first.” Wanda’s voice was soft. Soft as if you were a deer ready to bolt. 

You never wanted her to see you like this. It makes you want to cry more. “Oh...I'm sorry...you were states away...you didn't have to come Wands.” You look up at her eyes still blurry. 

Wanda just smiles down at you. “It was worth it. Anything for you is worth it to me.”

Your lip wobbles as a small sob escapes your lips. You've missed Wanda so much and to see her here now you don't know what to do. Wanda's heart breaks as she slides into the bed next to you being gentle not to hurt you. You grip her shirt as you cry into her. “I'm sorry.” You sob.

Wanda rubs your back, gently humming as she rocks you. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about sweetheart.” She soothes you back down until you're practically asleep in her arms. You want to blame it on the meds they gave you, but she always made you feel so safe. She makes a vow that she won't let Sharon touch you ever again. She hates herself for ever leaving you with her. She has to tell you now how much she loves you, even if it ruins everything.

Wanda takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart?” She asks softly. You look up at her sleepily, vulnerable, she can see it on your face. 

“Hm?” You ask, blinking a few times up at her to get the sleep out of them. 

“I love you. I have for a really long time, but I never wanted it to ruin this, us. I know I should have just said it before, but I just–” You cut her off, pulling her down and kissing her, not caring that it hurt your lip.

Wanda holds onto you as you melt into her. When you finally pull back from the kiss you're slightly out of breath. “I love you too wands.” 

She leans her forehead against yours. “I'm never leaving you again. I'm never going to let her hurt you again. I'll kill her if I have to.” Wanda mumbles between the mixed air.

You melt into her. You feel so safe and loved and protected with her. “That doesn't sound like a half bad idea.” You mumble against her.

“I will do anything to protect you detka.” Wanda brushes some hair out of your face, with a soft smile on her face. 

You know it's genuine coming from her. Nuzzling against her hand and smiling for the first time in months. “I know you would Wands.”

Both of your minds start to wonder about how to get rid of Sharon. Can you actually kill her and get away with it? Once you're out of the hospital the two of you plot a way to do it. You plan it out perfectly. 

Poison is what you both settle on. It would take nothing to convince Sharon to come over so that you execute your plan. You have her come over. A tasteless, odorless poison in her drink. She thinks nothing of it until she's choking and Wanda comes out from the other room. Watching her with a smile as she sputters for air.

Wanda gives you a kiss as she wraps her arms around you. She turns to look at Sharon. “You'll never hurt her again. No one for that matter.” You can't help but giggle and nuzzle into Wanda.

You can't believe you did it and got away with it. Life just felt great now. You never had to worry about it anymore. You were safe with Wanda always.

The cops came by looking for Sharon but it wasn't because she was missing. She had also gotten herself into more trouble than what she had done to you. The cops asked if you saw her which obviously you said you hadn't since the attack.

Of course they believed you. How could they not? With the record she had racked up they assumed she fled the state. As you waved the cops off Wanda's arms wrapped around you from behind. Her chin resting on your shoulder as the two of you watched from the front porch as the cops drove away

You turned in her hold and smiled up at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Thank you, love.” 

Wanda chuckles lightly. “For what detka?”

 You can help the smile that spreads across your face. “For saving me.” She leans down with a smile, kissing you tenderly, passionately. You knew this was meant to be. You were always supposed to end up with Wanda.

[impish-baby]

A few glimpses into 'both arms cradle you now' reader's childhood in no particular order

"Why do birds suddenly appear evertime you are near.." The wet tears running down your cheeks are gently brushed away, whatever nightmare plaguing your sleep seems so far away now that your dad is here. "Just like me, they long to be close to you.." Damien hoists you into his arms, still humming that familiar lullaby as he carries you to the kitchen.

"Why do stars fall from the sky every time you walk by.." You're set on top of the counter, Damien ruffling your hair softly before walking over to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. "Just like me.. they long to be.. close to you.." The warm glow of the stove makes the quiet night more cozy, the shadows along the walls retreating as well as any lingering fear.

You can feel you eyes start to droop, a small yawn leaving your lips making the man chuckle fondly. "One sec, ok? Daddy has some angel milk for you so you don't have anymore bad dreams, then we'll get you tucked back into bed."

-

"Do you want to hold him, sweetie?" Not really, but a nudge to your shoulder has you taking a reluctant step forward anyway. You're not sure how to feel about him, he's your dad's but not your mom's.

Mary scoots over a little so you can climb up on the hospital bed next to her, a tired but kind smile on her face. "Here, it's ok, you just need to make sure you're supporting his head.." She helps guide your arms into the right position, placing the tiny buddle into them, a pair of equally tiny disgruntled blue eyes soon staring up at you.

When you were first told that your stepmom was pregnant, you tried really really hard to just be happy for them. You promise. The sinking dread never went away though, no matter how much you berated yourself for feeling that way.

Babies are a blessing, but the announcement only cemented the fact that the world as you knew it was ending. Your dad isn't just your dad anymore. Even then, he hasn't acted like one to you in a while. Maybe you were just denying the inevitable.

"Ohh, I think he likes you.." Mary's head rests on your shoulder suddenly, distracting you from your sullen thoughts. "See? You're a natural with little ones!"

"He's glaring at me.."

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she sits up. "No, he's just getting used to the world, darling. He loves you, he knows he has the best older sibling he could ask for."

-

"What's even the point?" You're both supposed to be sleeping even though it isn't a school night, Aunt Lisa is strict when it comes to things like that. What she doesn't know won't hurt her though.

"Because they look cool," Avery shrugs, carful of the fact you're currently snuggled under one of his arms. "And you get bragging points for catching them." You still don't get it, they're the same thing just a different color. "You've watched me play for like an hour, and now you're bored?"

"You were actually doing stuff before.." You huff, "You've been going around in a circle for fifteen minutes."

You scoff at his comment, now filled with spite to actually beat the game. You've barely moved an inch before the battle music plays, a black and purple pumpkaboo greeting you. "Oh, um..

"I

Well, excuse me," Avery sniffs playfully, "You play since I'm not entertaining enough." The console is handed over to you, the older boy simply holding you closer. "I bet you lose the first match you try."

"Huh?" Avery sighs, quickly pouting when he looks back at the screen. "Seriously? Damm, you're lucky." He pokes your cheek, "You catch it for me and I'll buy you some fries tomorrow."

-

"You're so annoying!"

With how hard you hit the ground, you know you're going to bruise. You weren't even talking, you just wanted to hang out with them.

"Seriously, who even wanted you to come over? I sure didn't!" No matter what you do, Lizzie doesn't like you. Doesn't matter if you're as friendly as can be or give her some space, you're always doing something wrong. "You're wasting good air, you know?"

"M' sorry, didn't mean to bother you." You won't cry, you're too old for that. "Liz-"

"You didn't mean to? Yeah, right!" Lizzie scoffs, kicking dirt into your face. Dust immediately stings your eyes. "You're a pest! No wonder everyone calls you bug, you're clingy like a tick, a parasite."

Your feeble attempt to rub the dirt away isn't really helping, you can barely hold your eyes open enough to look up at her. Miles isn't going to do anything to help either, silently supporting his sister.

"No wonder your dad left you! And your mom, she must be insufferable if you're her kid-"

You don't know when you managed to get up on your feet or when you grabbed a handful of Lizzie's hair. On the bright side, it makes her shut up.

"Hey!"

Your dad emerges from the house, miles trailing behind him. Of course.

"What has gotten into you?" You've let the older girl go at this point, she wasn't even crying until he came outside.

"Ow, dad.." Lizzie hides behind Damien, flashing you a smirk. "I wasn't even doing anything and they decided to be mean.."

Any inking of doubt you had evaporates in an instant. You don't have a dad anymore, you haven't in years.

"God.." He crosses his arms, the stern look would have made you wince if you weren't already shaking. "Don't even try to give me any excuses, Miles told me what happened. You can wait out here for your mom to pick you up since you can't behave yourself. I thought you knew better."

-

"Can you at least try to eat half, please?"

Your plate sits almost entirely untouched, having just been picked at over the course of dinner. Your mom's worried frown won't leave her face. "You're still a growing kid, I don't like how many meals you've tried to skip."

"I'm not hungry." You really aren't, there's always a nauseous feeling in your gut these days. "I'll eat a snack later, don't worry, mom."

"Baby.." She pinches the bridge of her nose and you feel a pang of guilt for how stressed she must be. "Please? For mommy? Or at least talk to me about what's going on.. i- it hurts seeing you so sad all the time."

What are you supposed to say to that?

Against your will, there's tears starting to drip down your cheeks. You don't think you've ever seen the women move so fast, her chair clattering to the floor in her rush to go to your side. "Oh, my baby.."

"I- I'm sorry.." For what you don't know, maybe the fact that she's stuck with you. "I- I'm so sorry, mom-"

"Oh, hush.." You're too big for her to carry, you both know, but she still scoops you into her arms. "There's nothing in the world you need to apologize to me for."

You sniffle, tucking your head under her chin. "I- I don't want to see dad anymore.. or.. or hear about him or-"

"Shhh.." She runs a hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you, "you don't have to, alright? We'll figure it out. If that's what you want, you won't ever have to see him again."

(a/n: some ramblings while I start writing the second part to the series..reader will continue to go through it)

[kiwriteswords]

hotchhotchhotch! it's like you write him extra hot - like sriracha hot - bc he's sososo perfect in your writing! can i request the "saying "i love you" for the first time" with shy!reader?

Hi!! Thank you so much!!! This one turned out to be a little longer than a drabble! Hope you like it!!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Summary: In the high-stakes world of the BAU, you and Aaron Hotchner have shared a quiet, unspoken connection that began as something casual, a way to find comfort amid the chaos. But when a routine case leaves you critically injured, Hotch is forced to confront the depth of his feelings. As he anxiously waits by your side, fearing the worst, Hotch realizes that losing you would break him in ways he never expected.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Technically safe for work, but hints at an intimate relationship.

TW: Canon typical violence, hints at intimacy, angst

The Fear of Falling

You didn’t expect to get shot.

You were trained for it, prepared to face the worst every day, but no one really expects it. You were in the thick of it, chasing down a suspect with Hotch, when it all went wrong. One minute, you had your eyes on him, and the next, pain exploded through your side.

The world blurred around you as you hit the ground, blood seeping into your clothes, your hands, the dirt beneath you. Voices came through muffled, far-off. It wasn’t until Hotch’s voice cut through the haze that reality started to set back in.

The bullet tore through your side, the pain immediate and searing, but in the chaos of the moment, you didn’t have time to process it. Everything around you was a blur—Hotch’s voice barking orders into his radio, the flashing lights of the ambulance, the sound of footsteps pounding the ground around you.

But one thing was clear: Hotch never left your side.

That had always been his way—quiet, steady, dependable. From the beginning, when whatever this was between you had started, Hotch had been there. It hadn’t been some whirlwind romance, no grand gestures or confessions of love. Instead, it was late nights spent together after a long day in the field, where the lines between work and something more blurred. You’d sit close on the jet, your knees brushing under the table as you discussed case files, or spend hours in quiet conversation that had nothing to do with the cases you worked on but everything to do with understanding each other.

The "fling"—as you had quietly labeled it in your head—started as something small, something easy to dismiss. It had begun in the most unexpected way, during a night at a bar after a tough case. The team had gone home, but you and Hotch had stayed, finding some kind of strange comfort in the shared silence over a couple of drinks. It had been weeks of tension, the unspoken attraction between you simmering beneath the surface, and that night, it finally broke. A lingering glance. A brush of fingers. Then, without thinking, you had leaned in, and so had he.

It was never meant to be serious. Neither of you had said as much, but the understanding was there. Hotch had his demons, and you had yours. He was your superior. The weight of those unspoken boundaries hung between you, even as you’d find yourself alone together, the rest of the world falling away for brief moments. Kisses stolen in the shadows of hotel rooms when the team wasn’t looking. Conversations that lasted too long, with gazes that lingered just a bit more than they should have.

You had agreed to keep things casual. Nothing more than companionship in the midst of the chaos of your lives. Neither of you had the space for something deeper, something permanent. Or at least, that’s what you told yourselves. But as the months went on, the way Hotch looked at you began to shift. You noticed the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way he checked on you after a particularly rough case, or how he lingered at your side just a little longer than necessary.

And somewhere along the way, you had begun to care about him more than you should have. You tried to push it down, to remind yourself that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to pretend--the more painful it became to pretend. The quiet moments, the subtle touches, the way he said your name—it all added up to something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

“Stay with me.” He was beside you, his hands pressing against your wound, voice stern but shaking. His brows furrowed, eyes fixed on your injury, but his jaw clenched with something much deeper than concern. You could see it, even in your pain-addled state.

“I’m—” You tried to speak, but it was hard to get the words out. You were used to being quiet, used to keeping your thoughts to yourself. That never seemed to be a problem when you were with Hotch. Silence had become a part of the strange rhythm you had with him, this unspoken understanding between two people who couldn’t find the right words but always seemed to know.

Now, though, you felt the need to fill that silence, to say something, anything.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, “you’re going to be okay.”

The grip of his hands tightened, and in a rare moment, his walls seemed to crack. He wasn’t just your boss here. He wasn’t the stern, unflinching leader of the BAU. He was Aaron—someone who had been carrying something for a while, someone who hadn’t yet spoken all the things he needed to say. Someone you cared about more than you ever let on.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, wincing as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You weren’t sure why you apologized—maybe for being hurt, maybe for all the times you’d kept quiet when you wanted to say more, or maybe for all the times you felt like you were asking too much of him, even when you hadn’t asked for anything at all.

“Why would you apologize?” His voice was tight, but there was a gentleness in it that you’d rarely heard. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do.”

Hotch rode with you in the ambulance, his hand gripping yours, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at you, concern and fear etched into every hard line of his face. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way he was barely keeping it together for your sake. Aaron Hotchner was always the one in control, always the one to keep a level head when everything else was falling apart. But right now, it felt like that control was slipping.

As the paramedics worked on you, you could hear the urgency in their voices. The blood loss, the need to stabilize you—it was all happening too fast for you to grasp. The only constant was Hotch’s presence, his voice grounding you, telling you to hold on.

By the time you reached the hospital, the world was fading in and out. The last thing you saw before you were wheeled into surgery was Hotch standing there, his eyes locked on yours, as if he was afraid to let you go.

Hours passed. Hotch didn’t move from the waiting room.

The sterile hospital air seemed suffocating, the hum of fluorescent lights above adding to the unbearable stillness. Time felt warped—minutes dragged into hours, each second stretching endlessly as he waited. His mind was stuck on one thing: you.

Reid was the first to arrive, his face pale as he walked into the waiting room. He wasn’t good with hospitals, and Hotch knew it. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag as he approached. “Hotch,” he said softly, “how is she?”

Hotch didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the swinging doors down the hall, the ones that led to the surgical ward. “She’s still in there.”

Reid sat down beside him, the silence between them heavy. Hotch could feel the younger man glancing at him occasionally, probably wanting to say more, but holding back. Reid wasn’t someone who pushed when others needed space. But even his quiet presence wasn’t enough to pierce the fog of worry clouding Hotch’s mind. After a few minutes, Reid left, muttering something about needing to call Garcia for an update.

Hotch barely registered it.

Morgan came next, his energy a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled over the room. He strode in, his expression serious but determined. “How’s she doing, man?”

Hotch shook his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “They haven’t told me anything yet.”

Morgan sat across from him, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “She’s tough. She’s gonna pull through.”

Hotch nodded, but the movement felt mechanical. Empty. His mind was spinning with worst-case scenarios, a constant replay of the moment you went down. The blood. The way your body crumpled. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the memory. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding.

“She’ll make it,” Morgan added quietly, his voice softer now. He was trying to comfort Hotch, trying to be there in the way he always was for the team. But Hotch didn’t have it in him to respond. He barely acknowledged the weight of Morgan’s words before he stood abruptly, pacing to the window.

He stared outside, seeing nothing but the reflection of the waiting room. His reflection. And behind it, Morgan, looking at him with quiet concern. But Morgan didn’t say anything else. After a few minutes, he got up, clapped Hotch on the shoulder, and left, probably to update the rest of the team.

Rossi arrived last. The older man walked in with the calm, steady air that he always carried, but even he couldn’t mask the worry etched into his features. He had been doing this job longer than any of them, and Hotch knew he had seen more than his share of teammates in the hospital. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“How’re you holding up?” Rossi asked, standing beside Hotch by the window.

Hotch didn’t answer right away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers clenched into tight fists. He stared out at the city below, his jaw working as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I’m fine,” he finally muttered, his voice tight.

Rossi didn’t buy it, of course. “You’re not fine, Aaron. None of us are when someone we care about is lying on an operating table.”

Hotch flinched at that. Care. The word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. He knew what Rossi was implying—what everyone had probably suspected for a while now. But this wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now.

“I should’ve been faster,” Hotch muttered, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

Rossi shook his head. “You can’t think like that. We all know the risks. So does she.”

Hotch clenched his fists tighter, the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “She’s in there because of me. If I’d been quicker, more careful...”

“She’s in there because it’s the job. You did everything you could.” Rossi’s voice was firm, but it didn’t soothe the guilt gnawing at Hotch’s insides.

The silence stretched between them, and Rossi eventually gave him a small nod before heading out. He knew better than to push Hotch when he was like this. And Hotch knew that, deep down, Rossi was right. But that didn’t change the fact that you were in surgery, and he was standing here, helpless.

The minutes dragged on. He glanced at the clock. Then at the doors. His mind was racing—picturing every possible outcome, every scenario, from best to worst. He had never felt more useless in his life. Out in the field, he knew what to do. There was always a plan, always a course of action. But here? Here, he was just waiting.

And Hotch wasn’t someone who did well with waiting.

He leaned against the window, his hand rubbing his face as exhaustion tugged at him. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything you’d been through together—every quiet moment, every glance that spoke louder than words. He had never said it, never admitted how deeply he cared for you. Not to you, not to himself. But now... now he didn’t have a choice.

He loved you.

And if he lost you, he wasn’t sure how he would put himself back together again.

He paced the waiting room some more, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to lose it. But the image of you lying there, bleeding, the sound of your voice barely above a whisper, haunted him. He could still feel your hand slipping from his grasp as they took you into the operating room.

“Hotch,” Emily said softly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him mid-pace. “She’s strong. She’s going to make it.”

He nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. What could he say? That he wasn’t strong enough for this? That, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was falling apart?

When he finally sat down, it was with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unhinged, this terrified of losing someone.--Not since Haley.

But you weren’t Haley. You were different.

Haley had been the love of his life—the mother of his child, the person who had seen him through some of his darkest moments. But his love for her had been rooted in something that had bloomed long before the BAU took over his life, before the job hardened him, before the tragedies that followed had changed him. Haley had seen him as a younger man, unburdened by the weight of the world. And even after everything, she had always held a place in his heart.

But you... you were different.

You had become a part of his life without him even realizing it, quietly slipping into the spaces Haley had left behind. At first, he had resisted it. After Haley, he had sworn that he wouldn’t let himself feel that deeply for someone again. The loss had been too great, too painful. He had told himself that he didn’t have time for it, that he didn’t deserve it. His job demanded too much, and he had already paid the price once.

But then there had been you.

Your presence had been subtle, almost imperceptible at first. There were the late-night debriefs after a long case, the quiet conversations in the jet, the moments of silence that somehow felt more comfortable than words. You never pushed, never demanded more than he was willing to give. You didn’t need to. You just were—steady, present, a constant in his life that had become more and more important without him even realizing it.

And now, sitting here, waiting for news on whether you’d pull through, he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t pretend anymore. Couldn’t push away what had been building between you.

Because somewhere along the way, you had become more than just another colleague, more than just another person he cared about. He wasn’t sure when it had happened—maybe it was during a quiet evening when you had shared a rare laugh, or maybe it was when you had listened to him without judgment after a particularly brutal case. Or maybe it had been a thousand little moments that had piled up until he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t deny it now.

He was in love with you.

It wasn’t something he had planned, or something he had even wanted at first. But it had crept up on him, slowly and surely, until the thought of losing you terrified him more than he had ever been willing to admit.

He had tried to keep his distance, to keep things professional. After all, what business did a man like him have getting involved with someone like you? He was too old, too broken. You deserved someone who wasn’t carrying the kind of baggage he did. But every time he was near you, every time you smiled or laughed, or even just sat quietly with him in comfortable silence, it chipped away at the walls he had so carefully built.

And if something happened to you—if he lost you now—he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

It had been so easy to fall for you. Too easy.

Now, he was terrified that he’d never get the chance to tell you.

When you finally woke up, groggy from the anesthesia, the first thing you noticed was the stiffness in your side. The second was the sound of steady breathing beside you.

Turning your head slowly, you saw him. Hotch was sitting in the chair next to your bed, looking far more disheveled than you’d ever seen him. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was unmistakable. He hadn’t left.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice weak, but the relief of seeing him made your heart ache.

His head snapped up, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable. He stood immediately, leaning over you, his hand resting gently on your arm. “You’re awake,” he said softly, and you could hear the unspoken worry in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admitted, trying to give him a small smile, though the heaviness in your chest made it hard. You had been lucky, but the fact that it had come to this—lying in a hospital bed after being shot—felt like a wake-up call.

The bubbling of feelings in your chest out-ached the pain from the bullet. You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t pretend that your feelings for him didn’t run deeper than you ever intended. And you couldn’t ask him to risk his heart again, not after everything he had been through.

“I think...” you started, your throat dry, “I think we should stop whatever this is.”

Hotch blinked, the words seeming to hit him like a physical blow. “What?” he asked, his voice low, like he hadn’t quite heard you correctly.

“I just—” You paused, unsure of how to explain the storm of emotions inside you. “I’ve caught feelings, Hotch. And I don’t think that’s fair. Not to you, not to me. It’s... too much.”

His face hardened, but not in anger. It was the mask he wore when he was trying to keep himself in check, to not let his emotions spill out.

“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” you continued, your heart aching with each word. “I don’t want to ask for more than you can give. I know you’ve already been through enough.”

“You think you’re asking too much of me?” His voice was quiet but firm, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You’re the one who just got shot, and you think you’re the problem here?”

You tried to sit up, but the pain made you wince, and he was immediately by your side, his hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, the tears threatening to spill over now. “I’m in love with you, and I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did, and now I don’t know what to do because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. You expected him to walk away, to tell you that this was why he had always kept his distance, why he hadn’t let things get too deep. But instead, he surprised you.

“I love you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, his words hanging in the air between you. You weren’t sure you had heard him right.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he continued, his voice rough, as if it hurt him to admit it. “I just... I didn’t think I could ask that of you. I’m not... I’m not the man I used to be, and I thought you deserved more than someone like me. Someone who’s been through what I have.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me, Hotch. I don’t care about the rest.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His hand reached for yours, his grip firm but gentle, and the weight of everything unsaid between you seemed to settle. 

“You scared the hell out of me today,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And I realized I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.”

The tears came then, and you didn’t try to stop them. You had been holding back for so long, afraid of what it would mean to let yourself feel this way, to let yourself fall for him. But now, it didn’t matter. He was here. You were both here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “And neither are you.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos