#to be clear i will be looking into it myself as well

[ahqkas]

♯ARTSY HANDS AND MINDS ( how would the batboys react to you making your own merch of their alter ego ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason — separated, fluff, established relationship, not edited, cursing, bases on this req.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

WHEN BRUCE UNLOCKED AND PUSHED the front door of your apartment open, the familiar scent of one of your candles immediately greeted him with warmth and the familiarity of home. he was finally home, with you. it had been a long night, after all, a long night of patrols and late emergency meetings at wayne enterprises. all he wanted was a quiet evening with you, a thing that finally came to him.

the sound of soft humming came from somewhere in the apartment, probably from your living room, much to bruce’s detective skills. he couldn’t help but let a gentle smile grace his face upon the sound as he hung his coat. you always seemed to brighten even the darkest of his days.

but as he rounded the corner to the living space, his smile froze.

there you were, the love of his life, sitting cross-legged on the old, beaten couch ( which bruce insisted on replacing but you didn’t let that happen, something about an emotional bond ) with a black hoodie spread across your lap. a large symbol graced its chest area. the bat-symbol, he realized. smalls jars of fabric paint surrounded your sitting form, and you were holding a delicate brush, adding details to your own craftwork.

bruce was caught of guard.

“bruce!” you gasped his name out when he came into the clear sight, startled. you even nearly dipped the brush in the wrong direction which would mess up with the project you were currently working on. a flush of warmth creeped up your neck. “you’re home early. i thought you’d be at the office for a while.” not that you minded.

“i finished up early,” he hummed and gestured towards the hoodie in your lap. the sight of the symbol, his symbol, stirred something deep within him. “what’s that?”

“oh, this?” your hands awkwardly hovered over the clothing. “it’s nothing, really. just a little project i’m working on.”

your man raised one eyebrow at your dismissal. “that’s quite detailed for ‘nothing’, sweetheart.”

you gave in after a second of thinking, saying to yourself it definitely wasn’t for the petname or the gentle command in his tone. “fine. you caught me. i’m making my own batman hoodie. but before you say anything, let me explain.”

“i’m listening.”

“well, i’ve been a fan of batman for a while now,” you began, eyes watching his face for every kind of a reaction. “not like one of those die-hard fans who camp outside at night trying to take pics of him or anything. just . . . i admire what he does for gotham. he’s a symbol of hope, you know. it’s nice to have someone who actually fights for the city.”

bruce felt a lump form in the back of his throat. you admired both bruce wayne, the gotham’s billionaire darling, and batman, a side of him that came out when the sun went down.

“and,” you continued, “i wanted a hoodie with the bat-symbol because it looks cool, but the official ones are ugly. they’re all this stiff fabric that itches with weirdly placed logos. i wanted something more casual. so, i thought, why not just make one myself?”

his heart skipped a beat once you finished your mini rant, the muscle tightening against the bones of his ribs. you had no idea you were speaking to batman himself, yet your admiration was pure and genuine. it reminded him why he wore the cowl in the first place — to protect people like you, who believed in a better gotham.

“well,” he said after a moment of just looking at you with that special look in the depths of his gaze. “if batman knew how much effort you put into this, he’d flattered.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

THE LINGERING ACHE IN HIS MUSCLES FROM THE ROOFTOP CHASE he had barely managed to win stained his sore body as he returned from a long night of patrol back home to you. his footsteps were silent, practiced from the countless times he’s done this, when he unlocked the front door to the apartment he shared with you. the lights were still on, spilling the warm light from the living room into the hall.

dick smiled to himself. you always waited up for him, no matter how late he came home from “work”, and it never failed to warm his heart.

to find someone who would do such thing as cut their sleep schedule for him was basically rare, but he managed to.

you were sitting cross-legged on the beloved couch dick himself chose, completely absorbed in your task. the couch has lived its fair share already, but it was well loved and had so many good memories, so you kept it. your boyfriend watched from the doorway as your brows created that adorable little v between them, furrowing in concentration. meanwhile, your hands worked carefully with blue and black yarn. your fingers clutched the unmistakable nightwing plush; complete with the signature blue symbol across its little chest.

you don’t actually know about nightwing. well, you know about his existence, about how the vigilante keeps blüdhaven’s streets safe from criminal activities, and you knew about the package beneath the tight spandex of his suit. what you didn’t know was nightwing’s true identity. you didn’t know how he always made sure to come back home to you, and you totally didn’t know that ass belonged to you.

“uhh . . .” he was caught of guard for a second here. “what are you doing?”

jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, you clutched the half-finished plush close to your chest as if protecting it from his praying eyes. “dick!” your face flushed with embarrassment. “you’re home early.”

he arched an eyebrow at your behavior, his gaze averting towards the digital clock of the tv before it shifted back to you. “it’s almost two in the morning. sooo . . . are you going to explain why you’re making a mini nightwing doll this late at night?”

“first of all, it’s not a doll. it’s a plushie.”

“of course, my bad. plushie.”

“and second,” you started to defend your actions more confidently when you noticed the slightest of smirk gracing his face. he looked tired, the strands of his bangs slightly damp with sweat and his eyes nearly dropping down with how the exhaustion pressed on him. yet he still managed to be all cheeky. “it’s not like i’m obsessed or something. i just — the fan-made ones were too expensive, and honestly none of them were cute enough, so i decided to make my own.”

dick stepped closer to your sitting form, fidgeting with his hands to hide his racing heart. “you’re a nightwing fan?”

you shrugged and started picking at a stray thread on the plushie. “i mean, yeah. who isn’t? he’s cool, and he’s probably the least terrifying out of all the vigilantes in both gotham and blüdhaven. plus,” you paused in the little rant he’d coaxed out of you. “i think he’s kinda hot.”

a loud cough interrupted you the moment those last words slipped past your lips. dick’s ears took on a pink hint, along with a more pronounced smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. the tired look in his eyes was suddenly long gone, too. “you’re a think he’s hot, baby?”

“yeah. it’s not like he’ll know i said that, though.”

oh, you had no idea.

“it’s not perfect,” you shaked the plush in your hands to make a point, “but i wanted it to look right. and i know it’s probably silly, but it makes me feel safe, in a weird way. like, if i ever needed help, he’d show up, you know?”

dick wanted to tell you the truth then and there — that nightwing would show up for you, every single time, because you were his main priority. nothing else mattered but your safety. but he couldn’t. not yet.

his fingers brushed yours instead, tracing the fabric of the yarn with a gentle touch. “i think it’s perfect. and if nightwing ever saw it, i’m sure he would be flattered.”

“yeah, right,” you laughed, actually laughed, and rolled your eyes in that way he adored. “like he’d care about some random plushie.”

he didn’t argue, though a part of him was already planning on leaving a little thank you! note the next time he patrolled near your apartment. for now, he could settle for leaning against your side and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON HAD BEEN IN A RUSH TO GET HOME. the heels of his boots crunched on the gravel beneath him before he shrugged his leather jacket and unlocked the front door to your apartment. tonight’s patrol had been rough — more bullets than he’d planned for and a few bruises he would have to hide later. all he wanted now was to crash on the couch with you, maybe with a shitty movie and some pizza if you hadn’t eaten yet.

he took a step inside, already feeling the tension and ache erasing from his muscles as the familiar warmth of the living space wrapped around him like a blanket. he was finally home.

but when he crossed the threshold into the living room, jason froze right on the spot.

there you were, curled up on the couch, wearing a black hoodie that looked far too big on your frame with a hand-painted crimson symbol on the chest. not just any symbol though — it was his symbol. the red hood insignia stood out vividly against the dark fabric of the hoodie. he couldn’t miss it even if he was blind.

and that wasn’t all. on the coffee table in front of you was a small knitted plushie. its tiny body was simple, but the details were on spot: a small red helmet and a matching chest symbol that mirrored the one on your own chest.

you weren’t supposed to know about red hood. to certain amount of course. jason couldn’t shield you from the outside no matter how much he would like to, but he could shield you from one of his many personalities — the red hood. you weren’t supposed to know about him being red hood. so, he hoped it was still the truth.

“hey, you’re home!” you must’ve heard him come in because you looked up at him with that sheepish smile he grew to cherish, all while holding up the plush up for inspection.

“yeah . . .” he trained off, scratching the nape of his neck. jason didn’t like lying to you any more than he had to, so making up some shitty excuse about where he was and what was he doing was pretty much pointless. instead, he turned the attention to the creations of your work. the hoodie and plushie. “what’s–uh–what’s this?”

you glanced down at yourself like you’d forgotten what you were wearing. “oh, it’s a red hood merch. well, kind of,” brushing a stray hair off the hoodie, you smiled up at him more confidently. “i made these.”

jason’s brows shot up. “you made them?”

“yeah! the official looked ugly—like who designed that stuff? and the fan-made ones were either way too expensive or just not what i was looking for. so, i figured, why not do it myself? and he’s kind of my favorite vigilante.”

he felt his heart skip a beat. your favorite?

what the fuck. “red hood is your favorite.”

it definitely didn’t sound like a question, it was spoken in way it sounded like a statement, but you answered him with a reason anyway. “mhm. he’s a badass. a little scary, sure, but in a good way. like, you know he’s got a soft spot somewhere under all the armor. i caught him feeding the stray cat on our fire escape the other day. it was cute.”

well, he wasn’t exactly careful with the cat, but he didn’t expect the meowing and hissing would catch your attention. stubborn stray.

jason blinked, more caught of guard than feeling the edge of panic. he should panic, you were practically close to discovering your careless boyfriend was red hood. he was at a loss of words. “cute” wasn’t exactly how he’d describe himself — or his alter ego — but he wasn’t about to argue with you. instead, his fingers moved to trace the oversized sleeves of your hoodie, calloused fingertips brushing under the fabric to intertwine your fingers in one.

you didn’t know the truth, and maybe you never would, but as long as you felt safe and protected in his arms, he was okay with it. you were holding a piece of him he’d never given to you, and yet you loved him the same.

[dxmedstudent]

I remember I reached a point in my 20s when I just...accepted what I looked like. I wasn't going to get taller or prettier, and would likely never get skinnier, because I knew myself well enough to know that I was extremely unlikely to suddenly overhaul my interests and work out heavily or diet strictly. I already had some grey hairs, and mobidy starts to look younger as the years go by.

But I was fine the way I was and I could learn to ignore the 99s and 2000s thin-obsessed media. To be clear, I wasn't even overweight then, though I am now. It was just hard in the 00's because being clinically underweight was essentially vaunted as the norm and I felt practically obese in my teens... for being average size.

It's just as important to accept who we are inside, and not just on the outside, and get to know our limitations- what we can work on, and what we can't.

What I dream of being;

What I’ve more or less accepted I am;

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

[gibberishfangirl]

TOKYO REVENGERS | my girl

Synopsis ✰ they protect their girl from creeps

Characters ✰ Manjiro Sano, Ken Ryuguji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Takashi Mitsuya, Nahoya Kawata, Souya Kawata

Contains ✰ sfw!, catcalling, inappropriate sexual remarks, violence, protective boyfriends, very feminine!reader, f!reader, usage of the words “my girl”, defensive threats, harassment, sticky situation, reader is alone in some scenarios, boyfriends to the rescue

Manjiro Sano ᡣ𐭩

Mikey doesn’t actually think he’s felt this irritated before in his life. his face was kept straight as he was fixated on the situation happening right in front of him. he and ken had gone to meet you after your classes ended only to find this. even ken was unsure of whether or not he should step in himself or wait til mikey makes the first move. “get your dirty hands off me.” you snapped yanking your arm away as the guy had tried to reached over to grab your wrist. mikey knew you could handle your own but it didn’t make sitting on the sidelines any easier. he knew the relationship between you two was kept under wraps for a good reason. it’s not worth messing up and exposing your relationship over some scummy guy… right? no it’s not. “why not? its not like you got a boyfriend or anything. never seen you with another guy.” the guy just wouldn’t take no as an answer. how pathetic mikey thought.

“she already said no. take the hint.” mikey warned. the guy glanced over at mikey understanding what mikey meant by his words. to anyone else it might’ve just sounded like a guy saying to leave the girl alone already but what mikey really meant was “take the hint before i make you back off myself” and the guy read that message loud and clear. “oh yeah? and who are you? her boyfriend or something?” ken couldn’t even help but scoff as well at the guys response. how crazy do you gotta be to not only be able to not take a hint but also challenge the person who’s warning you. “i guess you could say something like that.” mikey said stepping up to the guy. “uhm.. draken?” you whispered over at the tall guy implying that he should break it up. “alright, mikey let’s just go it’s not worth it c’mon.” Draken placed a hand on mikey’s shoulder before gesturing over towards you with his head. mikey glanced over at you before coming to terms with the fact that he shouldn’t make such a scene in front of you. it’s not very gentlemanly of him is it? ugh he can hear mitsuya’s and ken’s lectures from a mile away.

“fine whatever, better not catch sight of your face again.” mikey said before shoulder checking the guy and walking over to you two to leave. the walk to the restaurant was silent as draken led the way. you were grateful mikey was willing to stand up to the creep for you. you felt a blush creep up to your cheeks as you grabbed mikey’s hand pulling him back to you. he glanced at you to ask what was wrong but you placed a quick soft kiss on his lips before he could. “thanks for defending me.” you mumbled after trying to avoid any sort of eye contact with the man. “well yeah… you’re my girl.” now it was mikey’s turn to blush as he realized what he said. a cheeky smile was plastered on your face as mikey was now the one avoiding eye contact. he looked over to see draken still distracted as he was far ahead of you two, glancing at all the buildings you were walking past. mikey was slightly relieved to know he won’t have to deal with any teasing later… but with his luck draken most likely still saw the scene unfold from the corner of his eyes.

Ken Ryuguji ᡣ𐭩

Draken was unfortunately used to you having secret admires and despite to his own likings, he’s also used to the not so secret admirers. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about the amount of perusers that followed you around on a daily basis. it especially annoyed him whenever there were times he couldn’t be near you due to work or being busy. you were gorgeous, it couldn’t be helped if others stared and recognized that fact as well. he knew better than anyone else how easy it was to get swept off his feet by you. he wasn’t jealous or insecure, he trusted you with his life. he was more protective and concerned about the creeps who couldn’t take no for an answer. he was working on a bike with mikey when you were walking to his place. you were so busy texting on your phone and listening to some music with your earbuds on that you didn’t catch onto the amount of catcalls being made.

Draken took notice as he heard the commotion of the busy street from his garage which was opened. he felt his mood change from frustration to a positive one as he first caught sight of your face. only for his mood to go back to frustration as he listened more clearly to the noise being made. how could you be so dense, the least you can do is be more aware of your surroundings. well draken can’t completely blame you for this, you were so used to his security and protection to the point where you knew you were pretty safe at all times. “be right back.” ken threw the dirty rag he was holding onto the floor before walking over to you. better he get to you now so he can walk you the rest of the way without any issue. at least that’s what he originally thought before he noticed another guy walking up to you as well. “hey! i’m talkin to you ya know!” the guy was clearly irritated by your lack of reaction to his catcalls. he was trying to get your attention for the past minute now while you kept walking ignoring the world behind you.

his loud voice snapped you out of your trance as you turned to find a hand try to make its way on your shoulder. luckily enough he wasn’t able to make any contact with you as his arm was stopped mid air by a strong grip of a very much taller and muscular blonde haired man. “you’re talking to me now.” draken responded for you as he threw the guys arm away from your direction. “stay outta this.” the guy glared at draken unsure of what he business he even had doing here. “can’t. not when your tryna put your hands on what’s mine.” draken was intimidating for sure with the way he towers over everyone and the cold demeanor he can manage to get at times like this. before the guy could even say anything draken cut him off by telling him “get lost before i change my mind.” draken didn’t need to repeat the phrase twice before the guy ran off. you were lost in confusion as you removed your earbuds “what happened?” you tilted your head to the side unsure of what just played out in front of me. draken couldn’t help but let out a small smile as he sighed “nothing, don’t worry about it. you’re lucky you’re my girl.” he laughed half joking at the last part since he really does tend to save you a lot of the time.

Chifuyu Matsuno ᡣ𐭩

Chifuyu always swore to protect you and be by your side for as long as you’ll let him. he always tried to be a gentleman in every way but damn situations like this made it so hard for him to not snap in front of you. sometimes it just couldn’t be helped. the two of you had gone on a date and this idiot wouldn’t stop following you around trying to ask for your number or get your attention. it was beginning to make you uncomfortable and it was pissing him off. he hated the guy already for trying to make a pass on you but he hated him for making you uncomfortable even more. the guy tried to swing his arm around you but failed at the attempt as Chifuyu slapped his hand away. “man, this shit is so uncool. cant you get a hint? she doesn’t want you. take the hint and keep your hands off my girl.” he reached his breaking point and he was done trying to be nice. “ha, your girl? you’re joking right? no way someone like you gets someone like her.” the guy laughed him off which unfortunately for him pissed Chifuyu off even more. he didn’t necessarily think he was wrong in a way since he believes your totally out of his league. he just hated how he really couldn’t take no as an answer.

“yeah well she’s clearly not with someone like you is she? trust me, it’s for a reason.” Chifuyu snapped back clearly striking a nerve as the guy was visibly upset by the comment. “you trying to start something?” “pretty sure you already did that part when you came up to us with your bullshit. so yeah. why don’t you come show me up if you think your tough shit.” Chifuyu challenged, gently placing your shopping bags down near you before stepping up to the guy. the guy was taller than him by almost a full foot but it didn’t scare Chifuyu. he’s handled bigger guys before and wasn’t afraid to take a punch. he especially wasn’t afraid to throw one either. a crowd started to form around the three of you as people sensed the tension. “uhm ‘fuyu maybe we should just go.” you tried to reason with him as you ran a hand up and down his bicep trying to settle him down. “yeah listen to your little girlfriend she doesn’t want to see you get hurt.” the guys words struck a nerve in you as you couldn’t stand the way he just tried to talk down your boyfriend in front of you.

“actually you’re the one who should be more worried. not him.” you glared at the guy who was clearly caught off guard by your statement. you took a step back well aware of what was about to happen as the fight broke out, Chifuyu gladly swinging the first punch. you had to admit you were a bit sad that you both got banned from the mall for a month. “im sorry i ruined our date.” Chifuyu softly spoke as he began to warm up the car. he really did feel bad for ruining the day, guilt and frustration was displayed upon his perfect face. “it’s okay, don’t stress about it… i can’t believe you really got into a fight for me.” you changed the topic as you were undeniably in awe at Chifuyu’s protective behavior. you never had anyone defend you the way he has before, it felt nice. “well of course! i will always defend you, you deserve the best and i won’t stand for someone treating you like a piece of meat.” he loudly spoke. his voice came out more passionately than he wanted it to. a blush spread around his face in embarrassment. however, his heart melted as you placed a kiss on the small scar the guy had left on his cheek bone. it was the only hit the guy managed to get before Chifuyu pummeled him into the ground. “my hero.” your words went straight into his heart.

Takashi Mitsuya ᡣ𐭩

Mitsuya was one of the most gentle beings you’ve met. imagine the shock that came when you found out he was a part of a gang and is even a captain. you couldn’t believe it. he never expressed any negative emotions around you and had never once lost his cool. it felt unreal at times since you were sure he had his moments like everyone else but he was still so kind. maybe being an older brother to sisters helped him with that. he was always kind and soft spoken with you which is why you never would’ve thought you would get the chance to see him arguing with another man with you right behind to witness it all. you began to wonder if Mitsuya even remembered you were there as he continued to bicker. the situation had been building up for some time so you couldn’t necessarily blame Mitsuya for finally reaching his breaking point. you had an admirer on campus who wouldn’t stop trying to ask you out despite being informed you were already in a relationship.

you felt awful for finding this so attractive. the way his brows furrowed and a sharp glare was found in his eyes made your stomach swirl. “take it easy man, it wasn’t ever that serious.” the guy tried to ease the situation as he noticed the demeanor shift in Mitsuya. “take it easy? not that serious? you go around trying to harass my girl every other day and you think i’ll just be okay with that?” you and Mitsuya don’t attend the same school so he never witnessed the guy’s behavior towards you until he decided to surprise you today after school. he had heard the rumors of you having an annoying admirer but he didn’t assume it was this bad. “you’re never even here. how was i supposed to know the boyfriend actually exists when he’s never to be found.” the guy shrugged. the way he was so shameless baffled everyone around you. Mitsuya had reached his breaking point and grabbed the guy by his collar raising his fist up. only to be stopped by you tugging his school sweater. he let out a sigh before dropping the guy. he was embarrassed. you could tell by the way cheeks flushed once he saw your face. “get outta here before i change my mind.”

“i’m sorry you had to see that.” Mitsuya spoke with shame. he never wanted you to see this side of him since he didn’t want you to be scared of him. not that you ever could be, you knew him all too well to ever think of him in a negative light. “it’s okay-it was hot.” your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up. you immediately regretted saying that as your face flushed a bright shade of red. “i-you shouldn’t say such things!” Mitsuya scolded you. his expression was mixed with shock and embarrassment. how can you find that attractive?!!?!?!!! “i’m sorry!” you bowed apologetically. that wasn’t the type of reaction he was expecting to receive from you. he didn’t think you were even capable of having inappropriate thoughts. the two of you didn’t speak much as he walked you home. “…so what about it did you find hot?” he teased finally breaking the ice. “shut up!” you blushed as you ran away from him. he of course caught up quickly but seeing your shy expression made the running worth it. he couldn’t help but smile now whenever he thought back to that moment.

Nahoya Kawata ᡣ𐭩

unlike his fellow captain Mitsuya, Nahoya had no shame in his violent behavior. he didn’t care about fighting in front of you or not. if someone started shit with him it didn’t matter who he was with he was for sure ending it right there and then. it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to get into a couple fights here and there around you. if anything you being there was a motivator for him as he wanted to impress you. can you blame him? he’s a show off and loves to show off to you especially. he wants you to be able to recognize all his strengths as a person. he wants to prove that you can always rely on him no matter what. he’s a prideful man who never backed down from a challenge. of course he would never put you in jeopardy at any cost. he never acted aggressive towards you specifically (he would never even think about raising his voice at you) and he always kept a distance from you when he was about to escalate a fight. he wouldn’t forgive himself if you got caught in the cross fire.

the two of you (and souya who was sulking in the background) had been walking together to your favorite coffee shop. you were craving one of their signature drinks and Nahoya being the good boyfriend he is offered to purchase one for you. you had your arms crossed behind your back as you were skipping ahead of your boyfriend as the two of you were caught up in some chatting about his latest gang drama. he loved telling you stories about him and his friends. however, a certain wolf whistle caught his ear as it sounded particularly loud in your direction. Nahoya and Souya both looked around to try to see who made the noise. it was a busy street so you simply ignored it since you didn’t even think the whistle was towards you. “nice ass!” a guy laughed as he walked past you making sure to eye you up and down one last time as he began to walk way ahead of you. you felt incredibly uncomfortable by the comment as realization settled. the uncomfortable feeling soon got replaced by wary as you looked at your boyfriend. he wasn’t even looking at you and you had a strong feeling about what was going to happen.

“hey! watch your fucking mouth when talking to my girl asshole!” without thinking twice Nahoya swooped down to grab a half empty cup on the side of the road and chucked it right at the guy grabbing his attention. Nahoya had good aim as the cup hit the side of the guy’s head. the mystery liquid spilled all over him causing some people in the crowd to gasp or laugh. the guy immediately starting walking up to Nahoya who was already running straight towards him ready to give him a piece of his mind more like his fists. Souya ran up to you concerned “are you okay?” “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him. once he knew you were okay he ran to go back up his brother in case of any other trouble. the way the two brothers were always ready to rescue you never failed to amaze you. of course Nahoya does it out of pure love and Souya does it because your his friend along with his brothers girlfriend.

Souya Kawata ᡣ𐭩

being in a relationship was all so new to Souya, he was still a shy mess at most times. you were both in the same awkward situation as the two of you were at a party. in all honesty you both didn’t want to be there but had assumed the other wanted to go and you couldn’t bring yourselves to say no. now there’s some creep who has been trying to offer you drink after drink. “no thank you, i’m not much a drinker.” you politely declined. you weren’t sure how to handle this as Souya got pulled away by his friends for a moment to handle something outside. you were starting to run out of excuses to reject drinks and he wasn’t taking no as an answer for long. you kept glancing towards the door hoping for Souya to return soon. you felt your hand get grabbed by someone while you were distracted. you looked over to see the guy once again, this time holding your hand while pleading in a playful tone “ah c’mon don’t be like that. it’s a weekend you should have some fun.”

your hand was pulled from his grasp by someone behind you. you looked over to finally see your savior of a boyfriend. you couldn’t fight back the relieved expression on your face as you relaxed into his embrace. “oh, i see you’ve met my girl.” “your girl?— girlfriend ?! i had no idea, my mistake.” the man apologized warily as he backed off. he made his exist soon after leaving the two of you alone. “ah thank goodness you got here it was getting a bit uncomfortable.” you admitted as you gave him a tight squeeze. “was it?? i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have taken so long. i can take care of it now.” Souya offered as he got ready to follow the guy out. he hadn’t read the situation that well and wasn’t sure what was going on. if he had known he was bothering you for some quite time he wouldn’t had been so calm. “no! it’s fine, you’re here now.” you stopped him by grabbing his hand. now this felt better, his hand in yours felt more comfortable than that other guys.

“are you okay?” he asked trying to read your expression. “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him with a smile as he held your face in his heads. “hm. okay. let’s get outta here yeah? parties aren’t really my style.” he bashfully admitted. to be frank he was starting to get angsty by how crowded the house was becoming. “yess! i hate parties.” you admitted in response with a sigh of relief. you finally felt like you breathe as you left. “you should’ve told me sooner. i would’ve told everyone no. i always do anyway, i just assumed you would like to come. i’ll make sure to double check next time.” he apologized sweetly as he rubbed the lower of your back as an attempt to make you more comfortable. “i don’t really care what we do. i’m not too picky, as long as we get to be together.” you smiled at him causing him to blush. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response but he definitely felt the exact same way.

[satellite-evans]

A/N : could not help myself okay I’m sorry

The afternoon breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of summer grass and distant flowers. You sat cross-legged on the patio, your knees brushing against the edge of the lounge chair where Harry sprawled, head propped up on a cushion, a weathered orange book in hand.

"Charles Bukowski, huh?" you teased, craning your neck to get a better look at the title. "Isn't he a bit dark for a lazy afternoon or you know, for you ?" You said, with a teasing voice.

Harry’s green eyes peeked over the top of the book, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It’s not all dark," he countered, flipping a page. "It’s poetry. It’s... raw." His voice dipped at the last word, as if tasting its edge.

"Raw," you repeated, mimicking his tone with a grin. "Look at you, the literary connoisseur."

"Oi, don’t mock me," he retorted, the book lowering enough for you to catch the light flush creeping up his neck. "Just because I don’t read your fluffy romance novels—"

"Excuse me!" you cut in, feigning offense. "Romance is a legitimate genre, thank you very much. And for the record, your taste in books is just as dramatic."

Harry chuckled, the sound deep and easy, like honey spilling from a jar. "You love my dramatic taste."

You didn’t argue, because it was true. Instead, you leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the sky. The cobblestones beneath you were warm from the sun, and the distant chirp of birds filled the silence between your banter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. His face softened as he read, brow furrowing slightly with each line that seemed to strike him. His thumb absentmindedly stroked the edge of the page, the same thumb now painted a soft yellow that you’d insisted on doing last night. He’d let you, of course, laughing when you got a bit of polish on his knuckle.

“Do you want me to read you some?” he asked suddenly, breaking your reverie.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d like that.”

Harry sat up a little, clearing his throat dramatically before starting. His voice, smooth and measured, carried the weight of Bukowski’s words effortlessly, transforming the poetry into something alive. You listened, entranced—not just by the poem, but by him. By the way he looked at you in between stanzas, as if gauging your reaction, as if each line mattered more because you were there to hear it.

When he finished, the world seemed quieter, like the poem had pressed pause on everything else. He closed the book with a satisfied sigh, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

“Very raw,” you teased, but your smile gave away how much you’d loved it.

He laughed, tossing the book onto the chair beside him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, crawling up onto the lounge chair with him. You nestled into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as if it had always belonged there.

[nerd2614]

She looked at the hero, now flat against the wall of the crumbling building. The building the heroes forced her to destroy. It was funny how much dirty work went into being on the 'good' side. Coverups and assassinations all in the name of a so-called brighter future.

"I" - the young hero cleared their throat - "can't, won't, let you get away."

The villain, still known only as 'Evil One' smiled. "You will." She said in an almost motherly tone. "I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, young one. Has anyone ever told you why I cannot be permanently caught?"

The hero had stopped cowering now. They shook their head.

"Well," the villain began, "there are two main reasons. The hero association never want me permanently caught because I give the world something to unite against - it helps prevent other large scale wars and the like."

"And the second reason?" The hero asked tentatively.

"I can never be held by someone whose heart has more guilt or apathy than goodness. That's why the heroes capture me every time a new hero appears. To test them. However, I have grown weary of playing their games. I refuse to allow myself to be captured anymore. And I suggest you get out while you still can, young one."

The 'Evil One' left the young hero standing in the rubble of the broken building. The older heroes arrived to see them alone and started screaming at them. One of the heroes (who was the newbie before they came along) took a swing at them.

"Not in public." Hissed the slightly older hero who had caught his fist before the blow could land. "Wait until we're back at HQ."

The young hero felt numb as rough hands grabbed their arms and pulled them into the sky to fly to HQ. In their disassociated state, they still noted that this wasn't the correct flying technique. They barely let out a whimper as their arm dislocated.

-

"Oh my sweet child." The Villain had broken in to the Hero HQ building to find the young hero curled in a corner of the holding cell she was usually kept in. The young hero was covered in bruises, with one arm dangling uselessly by their side as sobs wracked their body. They had flinched at her voice, squinting through a swollen eye to see who spoke.

"You-" They croaked out.

"Me." The Villain said softly. She opened the door and sat beside the young hero. She started to hum softly as she wiped the grime off their face. "Try to keep quiet now."

A flash of pain made the young hero gasp. Then gentle relief followed. Warm magic started to ease away the worst of the pain.

"Trap." They whispered, once the dizziness had passed.

"I know."

The Villain asked for permission, then hoised the young hero into her arms. "Sleep, we will be there soon."

Prompt #2078

The youngest hero trembled, tripling over their feet as they backed away. [Villain]’s manacles were supposed to be impenetrable, permanently forcing loyalty to the hero’s team.

The villain rubbed their newly bare wrists, gaze never wavering. “It’s okay,” they said, surprisingly soft. “You didn’t put these cuffs on, and you were always kind. I won’t hurt you.”

[drdemonprince]

Something I'm having a hard time understanding in the framework of privilege and power is being multi-gendered. Do I have male privilege if I sometimes ID as a trans man and other times as a butch woman? I thought the answer would become clear as I got older and "decided what I was" but it's become increasingly clear that I'm both depending on the day or just the angle I look at myself from. I'm comfortable with that in my personal life but it places me outside of these conversations (or in multiple conflicting places?) and it's a bit of a mindfuck when trying to make sense of how I relate to all of these structures. I sense others also don't know what to do with me and avoid the topic at all costs, or worse, try to convince me that I'm confused about my identity in order to make me easier to digest. The stupid transandro shit has really muddied the waters as well, a few years ago I felt like we were moving towards being able to have a constructive conversation about it as a community but we've taken some massive steps back. Basically I feel like Schrodinger's masc

I think this confusion reflects that you, like a lot of us, were likely enculturated to understand oppression as a matter of personal identity when it is instead systemic and material in nature. Your oppression does not flow out of your head or your heart. It is enacted on you from the outside by legal, social, and economic systems that operate in a series of observable ways. How you personally feel or self describe doesn't functionally matter a ton one way or the other. What matters at the end of the day is the violence that gets deployed against you by the state, the threats that are levied at you by an employer, the consequences that you face should you fail to adhere to social norms correctly, the resources you can or cannot access from a doctor, the wealth you have access to or do not have access to, the people that you have the power to use the police, psychiatrists, social workers, or the forces of mass social rejection against, and so on.

[tinylilacbun]

Leverage

Summary: Rafe owes Barry a lot of money and the pogue is done with waiting, so he takes the only thing that gets the Cameron boy moving.

Pairing: daddy!rafe x little!reader, barry x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, dark themes, kidnapping, drugging, swearing, happy ending, set in season 1, word count: 1,4k

•���────⋅☾⋅─────•

You hum to the current song that's playing from your phone as you apply body lotion onto your skin, having just finished taking a bath and getting ready for the day.

Rafe is already out and about. He did ask if you wanted to come with him but you rather wanted to sleep in.

After you finish spreading the lotion everywhere you put on your clothes, a plaid skirt and pastel colored shirt to match and fits your headspace as you start to feel like regressing, fixing your hair a little before grabbing your phone and leaving the bathroom.

You make your way downstairs to eat some breakfast, ascend the stairs and walk past the entrance hallway, stopping in your tracks when you see the front door slightly open.

"Sarah? Wheezie?" You call out, getting no response as the house is completely empty, or so you thought.

Before you could take another step, a hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams as you trash in the intruder's arms, breathing heavily and suddenly starting to feel dizzy as you inhale a rather sweet scent.

"You can thank Rafe for this, sugar." You hear a familiar voice whisper in your ear just as your vision turns black.

When your eyes finally flutter open again you groan softly, sitting up on the creaky mattress as you try to get your bearings, lifting your hands only to find them tied together with rope that's tightly looped around the bedframe and tug on it.

You frown, your fuzzy brain getting a little more clear as you look around the room you're in, taking how messy it is and the smell of weed and other stuff you don't even figure out lingering in the air.

Your body jolts when you hear footsteps approaching the room, pulling your knees up and tense as the door unlocks and opens with a creak.

There stands Barry, with a cigarette between his lips and a twisted smile forming on his face. You barely know him, he's Rafe's dealer and that's about it.

Well, you only know his name, that hes a pogue, and now partly dangerous.

"G'morning there, pretty girl." He drawls, stepping into the room and beside the bed.

You instinctively scoot as far as your bound wrists let you, your lip trembling as the fear creeps up about not knowing what he's gonna do or why you're here in the first place.

"Easy. M'not gonna hurt you, I mean, unless you decide to be difficult." He chuckles, reaching out to pat your head in a patronizing way before taking a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke in your direction. "Sorry that I had to drag you into this shit but your loverboy messed up bad this time, and I ain't gonna let myself be fucked around with."

"R-Rafe? What did he do?" You ask shakily, and hoping for your life that he's already on his way to get you because you can feel yourself panicking and regressing because of this whole situation.

"You see, he owes me 20 grand and has been late on paying it back. I'm done waiting and to get his ass moving, I have to motivate him a little, and what better way is there than you, his sweet girl." He explains, dubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand.

He pulls out your phone, looking back at you expectantly. "Code?" You keep your mouth shut, which seems to be a mistake when he narrows his eyes, leaning closer to your face. "Listen, either you tell me willingly or I'll force it out of you."

"2406..." You mutter out. it's the date you and Rafe got together.

"There, good choice." He murmurs, getting into your contact list and looking for Rafe's number, lifting the phone to his ear after hitting the call button.

"Baby? Where are you? I thought-" Rafe starts when Barry cuts him off.

"Country club, haven't heard from you in a while." Barry greets him enthusiastically. "A'ight, let's get this straight. I got your girl here and if you want her back in one piece you get me my money. I'll give you 24 hours."

"Barry, I swear if you touch a single hair on her head I'll-" Rafe is about to threaten him.

"You're not really in the position for making any threats, y'know?" Barry teases him.

"Let me talk to her." Rafe demands and Barry holds the phone to your ear with a smirk.

"R-Rafey?" You speak with a tremble in your voice, feeling tears building up in your eyes.

"Baby, are you okay? I'll be there soon, yeah? Just, stay calm and don't do anything. Daddy's gonna handle this, you hear me? I promise." He assures you and you nod even though he can't see you, starting to sniffle.

Barry lifts the phone back to his ear. "20k. 24 hours. And don't you dare pulling any shit, got it?" He warns him before ending the call, tossing your phone out of your reach. "Hungry or thirsty? Don't look at me like that. I may be a criminal but I'm no monster, sugar."

It's been awhile since you woke up. You have been fed and hydrated throughout the whole time, anxiously waiting for Rafe to arrive and save you.

You can't even get yourself to be mad at him for getting you into this whole mess, you just want to be held by him more than anything right now.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Barry comes into the room again, walking over to you and untangles the rope from the bedframe but keeps your wrists still tied.

He grabs your arm and you yelp in surprise as he yanks you up to stand, pulling you with him while you stumble to try and keep up with him.

As you're dragged into another room relief washes over you when you see Rafe pacing restlessly, holding a black bag tightly in his hand, stopping in his tracks as his eyes lock with yours.

He instinctively attempts to take a step towards you but stops again when Barry pulls out his gun, pressing it to your side. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, you know better. Money first."

Rafe scowls but tosses the open bag onto the coffee table, the many bundled stacks of money visible as he holds his hand out. "Now let her go."

Barry nods, tilting his head a little to glance at you . "I'll miss your company." He breathes into your ear before he lets you go, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants, looking back at Rafe. "Don't run off, gotta count it first."

Without hesitation you crash into Rafe's body, holding onto his shirt with all your might as you start to cry into his chest, all the while Barry sits down on his worn out couch and starts to count the money.

Rafe hurriedly unties your wrists, rubbing his thumb carefully over the slight rope burns, his chest feeling tight at your quiet whimper and wraps his arms tightly around you.

You instantly wrap your arms around him, gripping onto the back of his shirt.

"Shh, it's okay now, I got you..." He shushes you, his one hand holding the back of your head, pressing a reassuring kiss to your temple. "I'm sorry."

A few minutes later you hear Barry whistle, turning your head a little to face him as Rafe tightens his hold on you, afraid to let you go. "You're good to go, country club. See this as a warning as to what happens the next you think to fuck with me."

Not even answering, Rafe simply picks you up bridal style and leaves the trailer with you clinging to him desperately, making his way to his truck.

"I really didn't mean for this to happen, y'know that, right?" He asks as he keeps walking, feeling you nod against him.

"I knows...s'okay." You hiccup, nuzzling your face in his neck to inhale his cologne. "Was really scared, daddy."

"I know, I know. Daddy makes sure to never ever let this happen again, yeah?" He promises, setting you down in the passenger seat and buckling your seat belt, reaching up to wipe some of your tears away. "I love you, more than anything."

You give him a smile, leaning into his touch. "Luv you more..."

He leans closer to peck your lips before shutting the car door, walking over to the driver's side and hopping in.

Quickly turning on the engine he drives away from Barry's trailer, placing his hand on top of your thigh in a protective and reassuring way, occasionally squeezing or rubbing your soft skin.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | stalking, harassment, intrusive behavior, obsession.

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It all began with a routine consultation. Or at least, it was supposed to be routine.

You were working through your usual clinic hours, the steady rhythm of patient after patient, from coughs and colds to overly paranoid Googlers convinced they had rare tropical diseases. It was one of those days when everything seemed slightly off—the air felt heavier, and you couldn’t shake the lingering headache from the case you’d been helping House with earlier that morning.

The next name appeared on your chart: Jason Reid, 34 years old. Chest pains.

You sighed, straightened your white coat, and opened the door to the exam room with your usual professional smile.

Jason was already seated on the exam table, his casual posture at odds with the complaint he’d listed. He had the kind of smile people described as “charming,” and he wore it easily, as if he were used to being the most charismatic person in the room. His clothes were neat but not formal, and he looked perfectly healthy at first glance.

“You’re Dr. L/N, right?” he asked as you stepped inside.

“That’s me,” you replied, setting the chart down on the counter. “Chest pains, huh? What’s been going on?”

He leaned back slightly, one arm propped behind him. “I wouldn’t call it pain, exactly. More like…tightness. Comes and goes, especially when I’m stressed.”

You nodded, reaching for your stethoscope. “How long has this been happening?”

“Few weeks, maybe. It’s not constant, but you know how it is. Felt like I should get it checked out, just in case.”

“Always a good idea,” you agreed. “Let’s start with some basics. Any family history of heart disease? Smoking? High blood pressure?”

He shook his head, rattling off his answers easily. “Nope. No smoking, no high blood pressure, nothing exciting in the family tree. I’m pretty boring, health-wise.”

“Well, boring’s good,” you said, stepping closer. “Let’s have a listen to your heart. Can you lift your shirt?”

He hesitated for just a moment, then pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest that suggested he spent time at the gym. He caught your brief glance—purely clinical—and grinned.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” he said lightly. “I’ve been working out. Should be a pretty good listen in there.”

You forced a polite smile, chalking it up to harmless humor. People said awkward things in situations like this all the time.

“Deep breath,” you instructed, pressing the stethoscope to his chest.

Jason complied, inhaling slowly. For a moment, there was nothing unusual—just the steady rhythm of his heart, the faint sound of air moving through his lungs.

“So,” he said, his voice casual. “You must get hit on a lot in your line of work.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re smart, you’re obviously great at what you do, and…” His grin widened. “Well, you know, you’re easy on the eyes.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression neutral. “Deep breath,” you repeated, shifting the stethoscope slightly.

He complied again, though his grin didn’t fade. “I’m just saying, it must happen. A lot of guys probably think it’s their lucky day, getting you as their doctor.”

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on finishing the examination as quickly as possible.

“All clear,” you said briskly, stepping back and removing the stethoscope from your ears. “Your heart and lungs sound normal. No murmurs, no signs of anything concerning.”

He chuckled. “Guess I’ve just been working myself up, huh? All that stress, getting to me.”

“It’s possible,” you replied, already moving to the counter to jot down some notes. “But if the tightness continues or gets worse, you should follow up with your primary care doctor. In the meantime, try to manage stress levels—exercise, sleep, that sort of thing.”

Jason slid off the exam table, picking up his shirt but not putting it back on right away. Instead, he lingered, leaning slightly against the counter.

“You know,” he said, his tone dropping into something that made your skin crawl, “if you’re ever looking to blow off some stress yourself…”

Your hand froze mid-note. You turned to face him, your expression carefully blank.

“Mr. Reid,” you said evenly, your voice firm but not unkind, “this is a professional setting. I expect you to treat it as such.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no offense meant. Just thought I’d take a shot.”

“Don’t,” you said, your tone sharper this time.

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. “Fair enough. No harm, no foul, right?”

You didn’t reply, instead stepping toward the door and opening it. “You’re all set. Have a good day.”

Jason gave you one last lingering look, then walked out, his charm slipping into something less pleasant as he muttered something under his breath.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as the tension drained from your body. It wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a patient like that, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

For a few minutes, you just stood there, taking slow, deep breaths to steady yourself before moving on to the next patient.

A week had passed since the unsettling encounter with Jason Reid, and while the incident had lingered in your mind for a day or two, the demands of your work had quickly swept it aside. Your days were filled with sarcastic banter with House, juggling his impossible diagnostics, and dealing with the occasional chaos in the clinic. Patients came and went like a revolving door, and you’d grown adept at compartmentalizing the more unpleasant ones.

But when you opened the door to your next consultation and saw him sitting there, that smug, self-satisfied smile already plastered on his face, you froze.

“Doctor,” Jason said, his voice dripping with familiarity. “We meet again.”

For a moment, you stood there gripping the door handle, your stomach knotting. You hadn’t recognized his name on the file—Jason Reid was too generic to stick in your memory—but his face was burned into your mind.

Pasting on your best professional mask, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. “Mr. Reid,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “What brings you back today?”

He leaned back on the exam table, his posture overly casual, and gestured vaguely toward his lap. “Well, Doc, I’m having some…discomfort. Down there.”

Your stomach sank further. Of course, he was.

You reached for the chart, skimming through it. “Discomfort where exactly?”

“In my crotch,” he said bluntly, his grin widening as he said it.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you immediately regretted it. The look he gave you was unnerving—smug, calculated, as though this were a game he was playing and you were the unwilling participant. You kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Let’s get some specifics,” you said briskly. “What kind of pain? Sharp, dull, constant, or intermittent?”

He shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “It’s hard to describe. Maybe you should take a look, Doc. See for yourself.”

You stiffened but forced yourself to remain calm. “I’ll need more information before we proceed. Any redness, swelling, or signs of infection?”

“Nah, just…feels funny. Like something’s off. You know?” His grin was back, and the insinuation in his tone made your skin crawl.

You sighed internally. There was no way around this. If he was reporting discomfort, you had to examine him, as much as you dreaded what came next.

“All right,” you said, your voice clipped. “I’ll need you to lower your pants so I can perform an exam.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he moved far too eagerly for your liking. You turned to put on gloves, taking a moment to steel yourself before turning back around.

When you did, you were greeted with the sight of him sitting there, pants around his ankles, entirely too comfortable in the situation. You forced yourself to focus on the task, your mind chanting, Professional. Just stay professional.

As you began the examination, Jason’s comments started.

“You must get a lot of practice with this,” he said, his tone suggestive.

You ignored him, keeping your focus entirely on the clinical aspects of the examination.

“Careful, Doc,” he added with a chuckle. “Don’t want to get too rough down there.”

You paused, shooting him a sharp look. “Mr. Reid, I need you to remain still and stop talking so I can finish this examination.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face. “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You seem so tense.”

“I’m doing my job,” you replied evenly, though your patience was wearing thin.

When the examination revealed nothing of concern, you stepped back and removed your gloves. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong,” you said, turning to dispose of the gloves and wash your hands. “If the discomfort persists, I recommend following up with your primary care doctor or a urologist.”

Jason pulled up his pants slowly, still grinning. “Guess that means I’m all good. But hey, if I have any more…issues, maybe I’ll come back to see you. You’ve got a great touch, Doc.”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to let him see you react. “Mr. Reid, this is a professional environment, and your comments are inappropriate. I expect you to treat this setting—and me—with respect.”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more predatory. “Aw, come on. You’re not seriously offended, are you? I’m just having a little fun.”

“This isn’t the place for ‘fun,’” you said firmly, moving toward the door. “This is your second warning. If you can’t respect boundaries, I’ll have to escalate this to hospital administration.”

His expression darkened slightly, but he shrugged, brushing it off. “Fine, fine. Don’t get your scrubs in a twist.”

You opened the door, stepping aside to indicate that the consultation was over. “You’re free to go, Mr. Reid.”

Jason stood, pausing just long enough to give you one last look—a look that sent a shiver down your spine. There was something about it that felt almost like a threat, though he didn’t say anything as he walked out.

Once the door closed behind him, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the counter. Your hands trembled slightly as you recounted the exchange in your mind, replaying the subtle menace behind his actions.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last you’d see of Jason Reid.

You were right to be wary. Jason Reid began to make regular appearances at the hospital, but no longer as a patient seeking consultations. Instead, he wandered the wards, his presence becoming increasingly invasive. At first, it was subtle—catching glimpses of him lingering in the corridors or seated in the cafeteria. He always seemed to be there, hovering just close enough to make you uneasy.

Each time he spotted you, he made a point of approaching, his demeanor annoyingly familiar as if the two of you had a long-standing friendship.

"Fancy seeing you again, Doc," he'd say, his grin never reaching his eyes.

You tried to maintain professionalism, reminding him that people without valid reasons—whether as patients or visitors—had no business in the wards. But Jason waved off your attempts to keep him at bay with dismissive comments.

"Relax, I’m just grabbing some coffee," he’d say, gesturing toward the cafeteria. Or, "I was visiting a friend," though he never provided any details.

The more you tried to draw boundaries, the more he pushed. His visits became more frequent, and his behavior escalated. He began seeking you out deliberately, appearing in places he had no reason to be. You’d find him near the nurses’ station, in hallways leading to your office, even outside the clinic where you worked.

"Are you stalking me?" you’d asked one day, your voice firm though your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Jason laughed, the sound grating and unnerving. "Stalking? Come on, Doc. I just like seeing you. Is that such a crime?"

"It is if you’re making someone uncomfortable," you snapped. "I’ve asked you to stop coming around here without a valid reason. I’m not going to ask again."

But your warnings only seemed to embolden him. Over time, his demeanor shifted from annoyingly persistent to overtly invasive. He began standing too close, brushing his hand against your arm under the guise of friendly gestures, and his comments became blatantly inappropriate.

"You’re tense," he’d said one afternoon when you passed him in the hallway. His hand darted out, gripping your elbow briefly. "You should let me help with that. I’m good with my hands, you know."

You pulled away sharply, glaring at him. "Touch me again, and I’ll report you to security."

Jason smirked, entirely unbothered by your threat. "Go ahead. I’m just being friendly."

And so, you did report him. You spoke to security, detailing his increasingly alarming behavior. Unfortunately, without concrete proof or a specific incident to pin him down, their response was frustratingly tepid.

"Unless he’s directly threatening you or violating any policies, there’s not much we can do," they said, their apologies doing little to ease your growing anxiety.

The situation came to a head one day when you were rushing through your duties, preoccupied with a demanding patient load. You stepped into the staff bathroom for a brief moment of reprieve, only to have your sense of security shattered.

Jason was there.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could process what was happening, he cornered you, his arm barring your path to the exit.

"Jason," you said sharply, your heart pounding. "What the hell are you doing here? This is a staff-only area."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. "I couldn’t stay away, Doc. You’re too irresistible."

Your stomach twisted in fear as his other hand reached for your shoulder, his intentions unmistakable. "Don’t," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "Get out of my way, now."

But Jason only grinned, his predatory gaze making your blood run cold. "Come on, don’t play hard to get. I know you want this as much as I do."

The panic surged as he moved to close the distance, his hand gripping your wrist as you tried to shove him away. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with fear and anger, desperate for an escape.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a nurse walked in, her startled gasp breaking the tense moment. Jason released you instantly, stepping back with a disarming smile as though nothing had happened.

"Oops," he said casually, brushing past the nurse as he exited. "Guess I got lost."

You stood there trembling, your back pressed against the wall as the nurse approached, concern etched on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded mechanically, though the truth was far from it. Your heart pounded in your chest, your skin still crawling from Jason’s touch. You managed to thank her before leaving the bathroom, your steps shaky as you made your way back to your office.

From that day forward, everything changed. You were constantly on edge, hyperaware of your surroundings. Every sound, every shadow, every unexpected movement set your nerves on fire. You couldn’t relax, not even in the staff areas where you were supposed to feel safe.

Your work began to suffer as the stress took its toll. House noticed, of course, though he didn’t mention it outright. Instead, his comments became sharper, his sarcasm cutting a little deeper, as if he were trying to provoke you into revealing what was wrong.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell anyone. The fear was too fresh, the humiliation too raw. So, you buried it, hoping that somehow, Jason Reid would finally get bored and leave you alone.

But deep down, you knew better. This wasn’t over.

The constant fear of running into Jason Reid haunted you, gnawing at every aspect of your life. You couldn’t walk down a hallway without glancing over your shoulder, couldn’t sit in the cafeteria without scanning the room, and couldn’t step into an elevator without bracing yourself for the possibility that he might be there. The anxiety weighed on you day and night, stealing sleep from your nights and appetite from your days.

It wasn’t long before the effects became visible. You were sluggish, less focused. Tasks that once took you minutes now dragged on. You found yourself forgetting small details, double-checking your notes more than usual, and catching mistakes that you never would have made before. Your work ethic, once a source of pride, was faltering.

House noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

But he didn’t handle it delicately.

"Maybe try caffeine," he quipped one morning as you stood at the whiteboard, struggling to contribute to the differential diagnosis. "Or better yet, a brain transplant. I hear they’re all the rage."

The team chuckled, but his words didn’t land with their usual playfulness. Instead of shooting back a sarcastic remark, you merely looked down at the floor, biting your lip as you scribbled notes without enthusiasm.

He frowned, though he quickly masked it.

Throughout the day, he kept a close eye on you, watching as you moved through your tasks with a mechanical sort of detachment. Normally, you had a spark—an energy that matched his wit, his eccentricity. But today, you were a shell of yourself, and it grated on him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the team was sent off to run tests on the new patient, House’s patience had run thin. As you started to slip out of the room with Chase and Foreman, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Not you," he said, pointing his cane in your direction. "Stay."

The others exchanged glances but didn’t linger. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone with House in the silence of his office.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You hesitated but obeyed, lowering yourself into the seat while avoiding his gaze.

House leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and curiosity. "All right, spill. What’s going on with you? You’re slower than a med student on their first day. Did you take up drinking, or did the little hamster in your brain finally die of exhaustion?"

That was it. The last straw.

Your hand clenched into a fist on the armrest, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"Can you just back off for once, House?" you said, your voice louder and sharper than you intended. "Not everything is a goddamn joke!"

The room fell into a heavy silence. House blinked, clearly taken aback. You had worked with him for three years, and while you were no stranger to his sharp tongue, you’d never spoken to him like that.

"Wow," he said after a moment, his tone flat. "Somebody’s got their lab coat in a twist."

But even as he said it, his eyes searched yours, looking for clues to explain your uncharacteristic outburst.

"You know what?" you said, standing abruptly. "Forget it. I don’t have time for this."

You turned to leave, but before you could reach the door, his voice stopped you.

"Sit back down."

There was no sarcasm this time, no edge. Just a quiet command that you couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, you turned around and sat back down, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the floor.

House leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk as he studied you intently. "Something’s wrong," he said, his voice softer now. "And it’s not just work stress or me being my charming self. So what is it?"

"I’m fine," you muttered, refusing to look at him.

"Yeah, and I’m a motivational speaker," he shot back. "Try again."

When you didn’t respond, he sighed heavily, pushing himself to his feet. He walked around the desk, his cane tapping against the floor with every step, and came to stand in front of you.

"Look at me," he said.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Look at me," he repeated, his tone firmer this time.

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze, though your eyes barely met his before darting away again.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "you can tell me. I’m not as heartless as you like to think."

He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

But the moment his hand made contact, you flinched—an instinctive, involuntary reaction that spoke volumes. You jerked away from his touch, your body stiffening as if he’d burned you.

House froze, his hand suspended in the air before he slowly lowered it.

The room was so silent you could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

You didn’t answer.

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information he’d gathered over the past week: your distracted behavior, your lack of sleep, the way you jumped at small noises. And now this.

When you refused to meet his gaze, something inside him twisted painfully.

"Someone hurt you," he said, the words more a statement than a question.

You flinched again, confirming his suspicion.

House felt his stomach drop. Anger surged through him, a rare and terrifying kind of anger that he hadn’t felt in years. But he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his voice steady.

"Who?" he asked.

You shook your head, your throat tight with emotion. "It’s nothing. Just let it go."

"Let it go?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Someone hurt you, and you want me to just let it go?"

"I don’t want to talk about it!" you snapped, standing abruptly.

House stepped back, giving you space but refusing to back down.

"You’re scared," he said, his tone softer now. "And you’re not sleeping or eating because of it. That’s not nothing."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to break down in front of him.

"Please," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave it alone."

For the first time in a long time, House felt utterly powerless. He wanted to fix this, to fix you, but he didn’t know how. All he could do was watch as you turned and left his office, leaving him standing there with a heavy ache in his chest and a storm of emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

He didn’t know who had done this to you, but one thing was certain: whoever it was would regret ever crossing your path.

House couldn’t stop replaying that moment in his mind—the way you had flinched at his touch, the fear flickering in your eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen from you, and it haunted him. He’d seen you strong, confident, sarcastic, and unflappable. But now? You were fading. Slowly but surely, he could see the spark in you dimming, and it infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just frustration; it was rage. A cold, simmering rage that built in his chest every time he saw you forcing a smile or heard you insist that everything was fine. He hated lies, and he hated being lied to even more. And yet, every time you brushed him off, claiming that nothing had happened, he could see right through you.

House wasn’t the type to let things go. He wasn’t patient, and he wasn’t tactful. He was relentless, especially when he cared—even if he’d rather eat glass than admit he cared. So he did what he did best: he inserted himself into the situation, whether you wanted him to or not.

For days, House kept a closer eye on you than ever. He began to notice things he hadn’t paid attention to before—how you avoided certain hallways, how you kept your back to the wall in elevators, how you flinched at sudden movements. It wasn’t obvious to most people, but to him? It was glaring.

He started following you, though he’d never admit it out loud. Whenever you left the office, he’d trail behind at a safe distance, leaning on his cane and keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. At first, he told himself it was to confirm his suspicions, to figure out who or what was making you act this way. But as the days passed, it became something more.

Then, it happened.

It was mid-afternoon, and the hospital buzzed with the usual chaos of patients, nurses, and doctors darting through the corridors. House had stationed himself at the corner of a hallway, pretending to fiddle with his cane as he watched you return from the cafeteria.

That’s when he appeared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of smugness about him that House didn’t like. He walked toward you with a casual confidence that made House’s gut twist.

House’s eyes immediately zeroed in on your reaction. You froze the moment you saw him, your body tensing as if bracing for impact. Your hand gripped the edge of your tray so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The man leaned in closer than necessary, his voice too low for House to hear but his posture radiating arrogance.

House’s grip on his cane tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched the interaction. Your eyes darted around the hallway, looking for an escape, and for a moment, House considered stepping in. He could already feel the satisfaction of smashing his cane against the man’s shin.

But then, you managed to say something that made the man back off. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking as he stepped away. House caught the way his eyes lingered on you, as if he were sizing you up, before he finally walked off.

You stood there for a moment, visibly shaken, before you turned and hurried down the hallway, your head down.

House didn’t waste any time. As soon as he saw you return to your office, he followed, barging in without knocking.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your head snapping up from your paperwork. "House, what are you—"

"The guy in the hallway," he interrupted, stepping closer. "Tall, greasy smile, too much cologne. Who is he?"

You stiffened, your eyes narrowing defensively. "It’s none of your business."

"Wrong answer," he shot back, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. "You looked like you were about to crawl out of your skin when he showed up. So, I’ll ask again: who is he?"

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. "I told you, it’s nothing. Just drop it, House."

"Drop it?" He scoffed, leaning on his cane as he loomed closer. "You’re jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and now there’s some creep skulking around the hospital, making you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But sure, I’ll just ‘drop it.’ Great plan."

Your jaw tightened, and you turned away from him, busying yourself with the papers on your desk. "I don’t need you playing detective. I’m fine."

House’s voice softened, but his frustration was still palpable. "You’re not fine. You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself."

"I’m not lying!" you snapped, spinning around to face him. "I just don’t need your help, okay? I can handle it."

"Yeah, because handling it is working so well for you," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What’s next? Waiting until he corners you in an empty room again?"

The color drained from your face, and House instantly regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to push that button, but the reaction confirmed what he’d suspected.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you said quietly, your voice trembling.

"Then tell me," he urged, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Because if you don’t, I’m going to find out anyway."

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I can’t."

"Why not?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Because it won’t change anything!" you shouted, your voice breaking. "Security doesn’t care, HR doesn’t care, and the only thing I’m going to get out of this is more trouble. So just... leave it alone, House. Please."

For the first time in a long time, House was at a loss for words. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, that he could fix this. But the defeat in your voice, the pain in your eyes—it stopped him cold.

"I’m not going to let this go," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Not until he’s gone."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned away, wiping at your eyes as you tried to pull yourself together.

House watched you for a moment longer, his chest tight with anger and guilt. Then, without another word, he turned and left your office, his mind already racing with plans to deal with the man who had dared to hurt you.

The tension between you and House was growing unbearable. He wanted to help you, to protect you, and—if he were honest—he wanted nothing more than to deliver a brutal beating to the stranger who had reduced you to a shadow of your former self. But you remained steadfast in your refusal to open up to him.

Your condition had worsened noticeably. You were pale, thinner than usual, with dark circles under your eyes. You seemed distant, distracted, almost as if you were walking through a fog. The vibrant energy that usually defined you had dimmed, and House hated it. He hated feeling powerless, hated that you were suffering in silence.

Frustrated, he had tried to dig up information on the man you had interacted with, but no one seemed to know anything about him. It was as though the guy had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the fear he had instilled in you.

Then Jason appeared again.

You were in a cramped storage room, rifling through files and patient charts, when you felt someone come up behind you. Your body tensed immediately, the air around you thick with dread. Slowly, you turned to see him—Jason, with that same smug grin on his face that made your stomach churn.

Before you could react, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Panic surged through you like ice in your veins. The small room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in as Jason stepped closer.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

Jason’s smile widened, his eyes raking over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “You know what I want,” he said casually, as if this were a normal conversation.

You backed away, trying to keep distance between you, but there was nowhere to go. “You need to leave,” you said, trying to summon every ounce of authority you could muster.

Instead of listening, he reached for you. His hands were rough and insistent as he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. You tried to push him away, but he was stronger, and his grip tightened.

Jason leaned in, his face far too close to yours. “Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his breath hot and sickening against your skin.

Your heart raced as panic overtook you. This is it, you thought. This is really happening.

But something inside you snapped. Fueled by adrenaline and sheer survival instinct, you shoved him as hard as you could. Jason stumbled back just enough for you to twist away from his grasp and lunge for the door.

In your frantic attempt to escape, you tripped, falling hard against the doorframe. Pain shot through your wrist as you landed awkwardly, but you managed to scramble to your feet and fling the door open.

Jason stood there, chuckling darkly as he watched you flee down the hallway. “You can’t avoid me forever,” he called after you. “I’ll get what I want eventually.”

His words echoed in your ears long after you had escaped.

A few hours later, House found you in the clinic. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, trying to hide the pain, but he wasn’t fooled. He noticed everything: the way you flinched at sudden noises, the way your eyes darted nervously around the room, as if expecting Jason to appear at any moment.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, turning away.

House wasn’t having it. He grabbed a stool and sat down beside you, gesturing for you to show him your wrist. When you hesitated, he gave you a pointed look. “Unless you want me to guess and get it completely wrong, let me see it.”

Reluctantly, you extended your arm. House examined your wrist with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing over the tender area with a care that was uncharacteristic for him.

“You’ve got a mild sprain,” he said after a moment. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

House’s piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. “Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual sarcasm.

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “It’s nothing, House. Just let it go.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not this time. You’re jumpy, you’re not sleeping, and now you’re hurt. Who did this to you?”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it was too much. You felt the dam you had built around your emotions begin to crack.

“I can’t,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he pressed, his tone softening. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Just tell me.”

Under the weight of his concern, the floodgates opened. You broke down, sobbing as you finally told him everything. From the first consultation with Jason, to his increasingly aggressive behavior, to the terrifying encounter in the storage room.

House listened in silence, his jaw tightening and his hands gripping his cane so hard his knuckles turned white. When you finished, he sat back, his face unreadable but his eyes burning with anger.

“That son of a—” he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly.

You flinched at his sudden movement, and he immediately softened. Setting his cane aside, he hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a gentle embrace.

For a man who was often so abrasive, so rough around the edges, his touch was surprisingly tender. He held you as you cried into his chest, murmuring quiet reassurances that he would handle everything, that you were safe with him.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

As you lay curled up on his couch, exhausted but safe, House sat in his chair, his mind racing. Jason had no idea what kind of storm he had unleashed. And House? He was going to make sure Jason never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone else—ever again.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

As you lay curled up on his couch, exhausted but safe, House sat in his chair, his mind racing. Jason had no idea what kind of storm he had unleashed. And House? He was going to make sure Jason never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone else—ever again.

Jason was in the hospital cafeteria the next day, leaning casually against a table as if he owned the place. House spotted him instantly. That smug grin Jason wore was enough to make House’s blood boil, but he forced himself to stay calm—for now.

House sauntered over, leaning heavily on his cane as he approached. “Jason,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy seeing you here. Again.”

Jason turned, surprised but not intimidated. “Dr. House, right? I heard about you. The genius doctor with the lousy bedside manner.”

House smirked, but his eyes were icy. “That’s me. And you’re the creep who’s been stalking my colleague.”

Jason stiffened but quickly masked it with a cocky laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” House said, his tone deadly. He stepped closer, his cane tapping ominously against the floor. “You see, I know everything about you now. Your pathetic little job, your failed relationships, and—oh, this is my favorite—those online forums where you like to brag about your ‘conquests.’”

Jason’s grin faltered, and House pressed on. “Here’s the deal. You leave her alone, or I’ll make sure everyone you’ve ever met knows exactly what kind of person you are. Your boss, your family, your friends—assuming you have any left.”

Jason’s face darkened. “You can’t prove anything.”

House leaned in, his voice low and menacing. “Try me.”

Jason didn’t take the warning seriously. House knew he wouldn’t—it wasn’t in his nature. So House set his trap.

Using the information he’d gathered, House manipulated Jason into returning to the hospital under the guise of another consultation. When Jason arrived, House was waiting.

He led Jason to an empty exam room, locking the door behind him. Jason frowned, sensing something was off.

“What’s this about?” Jason asked, his bravado starting to crack.

“Oh, just a little chat,” House said casually, leaning against the counter. “You see, I’ve got a friend in law enforcement. He’s very interested in hearing about your... extracurricular activities.”

Jason scoffed, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. “You have nothing on me.”

House smirked, pulling out a folder and slapping it onto the counter. Inside were printed screenshots, surveillance photos, and a detailed timeline of Jason’s harassment. “This says otherwise.”

Jason paled. “You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” House said, his voice like steel.

House wasn’t content with just scaring Jason. He wanted him to feel the same helplessness you had felt.

He had arranged for a security guard to escort Jason out of the hospital, but not before a very public confrontation. House made sure the team—and half the hospital staff—were present as Jason was marched out, humiliated and furious.

“You’re done here,” House said loudly, his voice carrying through the hallway. “And if you ever come near her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The sight of Jason’s humiliation didn’t erase the pain he had caused you, but it was a start.

House wasn’t done yet. He sent an anonymous tip to Jason’s employer, detailing his predatory behavior and providing evidence. Within days, Jason was fired. His reputation was in tatters, his social circle abandoned him, and he was left scrambling to piece his life back together.

House made sure Jason knew exactly who was behind his downfall. A single note, left on Jason’s car, read:

Next time you think about hurting someone, remember this. And remember me.

House returned to his apartment that evening, where you were waiting. You looked better—still fragile, but there was a spark of relief in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Did you... do something?” you asked hesitantly, sensing that something had changed.

House shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “Let’s just say Jason won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Tears filled your eyes, and before House could react, you threw your arms around him. He stiffened at first, but then his cane clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

House held you tighter, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Nobody messes with you. Not on my watch.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt safe. And for the first time in years, House felt like he had done something right.

[richarlotte]

things you’d recommend?

I. Find a day where you have a solid two and a half hours to yourself. I started my manifestation journey when I was nearly 18 and really wanted to make something of myself. While Joseph Murphy and Neville Goddard are amazing places to start today, we’re going to focus on Florence Scovel Shinn’s book “The Game of Life & How to Play It” and all that it brings. I’ve linked the free audiobook here and you’re going to listen to it, absorb it, and sit with your thoughts.

II. The next step is getting a journal started that’s completely dedicated to your new life. I got mine from TJ Maxx and I love it, it’s a fun leopard print diary. In this you’ll write your hopes and dreams for the future, your goals, how you’d like to see yourself thrive, your ideal image, your life story and your backstory, everything you could think of. You’re going to dedicate this journal to your journey and slowly work on filling it.

III. You’re going to slowly begin using positive thinking, implementing slow life changes, and making progress towards those goals. You should understand that making consistent efforts and using your time well is a key part of pulling things off, as is coordinating your bank accounts and saving, taking the time to update your goals (and journal) as you move along, and finding the time to correct what you should’ve done better. You build your base up, perfect what needs to be perfected as you’re moving forward, and execute your plans. 

IV: Take your time when it comes to making large changes. If one of your goals is to move cities to a place where no one knows you, glow up where you are and then start making the plans to go. It’s the same with drastic life changes like surgery and even changing your job; make sure you have extra money saved in case of complications and don’t pack up and run. If you want your changes to last and look good, take your time to make sure that you’re leaving to transition from one phase of your plan to the next, you’re preparing for the worst but expect the best, and you have an idea of what your end goal is. Real life changes take time and you have to remain dedicated.

V. Prepare to outgrow your original plan or want to adjust it as time moves along. This is really why you should constantly be updating your manifestation and planning journal; it will give you the ability to look back and see where things changed for you. I had a clear pivot in style and taste when I took Michigan, Syracuse, and Penn off my college lists and decided to go west, and my journaling from that time shows that pivot incredibly clearly. What I was manifesting also changed in college, and it’s interesting to look back and read how I talked myself out of becoming an OBGYN and going to France this summer and onto an entirely new. career path with new plans and a new internship. Journaling through transitions will help your path forward seem clearer and open your mind to new opportunities and experiences as you progress.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 7

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Previous

Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Y/N’s POV

It’s been, what, two weeks since I last saw Sukuna? Since he left my apartment I finally put my foot down. It feels surreal. Like he was here one moment, his presence filling every part of my life, and then, just like that, he’s gone. I can actually focus in class again, and my thoughts are less cluttered without his constant ups and downs. For the first time in a long time, I’m getting assignments done on time, and keeping up with my workload. But underneath it all, there’s this ache, a hollow space where he used to be.

I try to ignore it, but it’s always there, tugging at me, making it hard to concentrate completely. It’s the little things—his laugh echoing in my mind, the feel of his arms around me, his stupid smirk whenever he got under my skin. I find myself wondering if he’s okay. Did he come out of the hospital yet? Did he manage to finally piece himself together?

A part of me wants to reach out, just to check in. Maybe see if he’s doing better, if he’s still leaning on his friends, getting through each day somehow. But that’s not my place anymore, is it? I gave him so many chances to let me in, to let me help, and every single time, he shut me out. He made it clear he wanted to handle things his way. And I… I need to start respecting that boundary, as much as it hurts.

I take a deep breath, glancing out the window of the studio. The city is buzzing outside, people going on with their lives, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me. I sip my coffee, watching the people walk by, their laughter faintly audible through the glass.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message from Utahime.

Utahime: You doing okay? Need anything?

I smile, appreciating her concern. She’s been there since everything happened, her presence a constant comfort, even when I didn’t realize I needed it.

Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking too much, as usual.

Utahime: Well, stop that! We’re going out tonight. A distraction is exactly what you need.

I hesitate, looking down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I know she’s right. A distraction might help me let go of these lingering thoughts, these small pieces of Sukuna that I can’t seem to shake.

Me: Fine. Where and when?

Utahime: I’ll pick you up at 8. Be ready!

A part of me feels relieved at the thought of getting out, of being around people who remind me of who I am outside of Sukuna, outside of this relationship that became such a heavy part of my life.

as the car moves through the city streets, I press my head against the cool window, letting the world blur past me. The bass-heavy beat of W.D.Y.W.F.M. pulses through my headphones, each lyric tugging at parts of me I’ve been trying to bury.

Maybe you’re right, maybe this is all that I can be, the words echo, hitting a little too close to home. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of those lyrics settle in my chest. The memories start seeping in—the countless times I let myself believe that if I loved Sukuna enough, if I was patient enough, he’d eventually find it within himself to let me in. That if I just waited, things would finally feel right. But now I wonder… maybe it wasn’t just him. Maybe I should have known better than to believe that love could fix someone so broken.

But what if it’s you, and it wasn’t me?

The question pierces through my thoughts, stirring a bitterness I didn’t know I still had. He wanted to drown in his own pain, to shut me out every time I tried to pull him up for air. I couldn’t have been the answer, and yet here I am, with pieces of him still lingering, haunting me at every turn.

The Uber driver takes a corner, the familiar streets near my apartment coming into view. I force my gaze away from the window, back to my phone screen, trying to focus on anything but him. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does—knowing that for all the love I poured into him, it wasn’t enough to keep him from self-destructing.

The song fades as I arrive at my building. I thank the driver, taking a deep breath as I step out, feeling the city air wrap around me. The streetlights cast a dim glow on the sidewalk, and I let myself pause for a moment before going inside. I need to let him go, I tell myself firmly, as I push open the door and head up the stairs to my apartment. I have to learn to let go of the weight of him, of the what ifs and the could’ve been that keep me tangled in his memory.

I climb the stairs, my heart pounding faster with each step as I spot the car parked out front. The familiar shape, that old, dark-colored sedan that Sukuna drove everywhere... no, no, no, I think, my pulse racing. I’m not ready to see him. My body tenses with dread, the past few weeks crashing down on me in waves.

But as I get closer, I realize it isn’t him. The figure slouched in the driver's seat isn’t Sukuna—it’s Yuuji, his face drawn and pale under the streetlight glow. Relief floods me, only to be replaced by confusion and worry. I stride up to him, feeling the weight of all the things I know about Sukuna’s recent spiral pressing on me, unsettling and heavy.

"Yuuji," I say, my voice sharp, "why are you here?"

He startles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. I catch the shadow of sleepless nights, maybe even nights spent worrying about Sukuna. He tries to brush off the tension, but I can see right through him. He's younger, not yet old enough to be driving around on his own at this hour. That alone makes my stomach twist.

"I just… I didn’t know who else to talk to," he mutters, glancing away. The hurt and worry in his voice rip into me.

My gut clenches as I realize just how much of Sukuna’s pain has been spilling onto his family. The weight he’s putting on Yuuji, on Choso… it’s more than I ever understood. The anger, frustration, and heartbreak I felt these past weeks—they’re nothing compared to what Yuuji was going through. He’s barely an adult, forced to watch his older brother destroy himself.

“Yuuji,” I say softly, keeping my tone steady, “what’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?”

Yuuji looks up, and in that one look, I see just how much he’s been holding in. “I thought… I thought I could handle it, but… he’s just getting worse. I can’t even talk to him without him blowing up at me. He left some days ago, maybe more, and just stormed out. No one knows where he is. Toji, Choso, and even Geto…they all tried reaching him, but he wouldn’t answer. And then I remembered… you always knew how to reach him when he was like this.”

The ache in his voice cuts through me, and a fierce protectiveness rises up. I left Sukuna to deal with his pain, but it’s clear that his absence has left more than just a hole in my life—it’s tearing his family apart too.

“Yuuji,” I start, forcing calm into my voice. “I know things are tough, and Sukuna… he’s dealing with a lot. But you don’t have to do this alone. Have you told anyone else? Choso? Gojo?”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No. Choso is dealing with enough as it is… and I don’t want them to worry more.”

He’s trying to be strong, trying to hold everyone else together when he’s the one falling apart. I know that feeling all too well. Sukuna and I broke things off because I couldn’t keep sacrificing my sanity for someone unreachable. But I never thought about how much worse it would get for those who couldn’t walk away, like Yuuji and Choso.

I reach out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuji, you don’t have to do this alone. You shouldn’t be doing this alone. Sukuna needs someone to get through to him, and it might not be me anymore—but we can try together.”

He stares at me for a moment, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you think… Do you think he’ll ever listen? Or is he too far gone?”

My heart aches at his words. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”

He nods, the glimmer of hope in his expression heartbreaking and determined.

I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tight. I knew Kenjaku could be difficult, even evasive when he wanted to be. Sukuna had a talent for finding people who were just as stubborn and reckless as he was. But I couldn’t back down, not now, not with Yuuji looking at me like he was counting on me.

“Kenjaku, I need to know. Yuuji’s here with me. He and Choso haven’t heard from Sukuna in days. They’re worried sick, and he’s…he’s not okay. I think you know that.”

There was a pause on the other end, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. I could almost picture Kenjaku’s calculating look, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “He showed up here a few nights back. I didn’t ask questions. He’s been sleeping it off on my couch, but I’ll be honest—he looks like hell, Y/N.”

The anger that had been simmering inside me now sparked, but it wasn’t toward Kenjaku. It was all for Sukuna—his self-destructive spiral, the pain he was dragging everyone into, and the part of him that still didn’t realize how much he meant to those around him.

“I’ll be over soon,” I said, voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “But please, don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t want him bolting before I get there.”

Kenjaku’s chuckle was dry, but he agreed. “Sure thing. I’ll keep him occupied, though good luck getting through to him. He's really badly…. He’s fucked up, Y/N.”

I hung up, feeling a mix of relief and dread. When I looked at Yuuji, his eyes were wide, filled with a flicker of hope. He didn’t need to ask what I’d found out; the look on my face told him everything.

“I’m going to see him,” I said softly, reaching for my bag. “I’ll try to talk to him, to get through to him, somehow.”

Yuuji looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and worry. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

With a final squeeze of his shoulder, I turned and headed out the door, my heart pounding as I braced myself for the conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have.

Yuuji nodded, taking the key from my hand with a somber expression. "I will. Be careful, okay?" he said, his voice thick with unspoken worry.

I offered him a brief smile, though I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I will. Just... keep an eye on things here, yeah? If anything happens, call Toji."

Yuuji gave me a small, reassuring nod before he turned to head toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he climbed.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door. The tension was building inside me—this wasn't going to be easy. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had to face it. For Yuuji. For Choso. And for myself.

With a deep breath, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and left the apartment, locking the door behind me. The walk to Kenjaku's place felt longer than usual, each step heavy with uncertainty. The city seemed quieter tonight, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as I made my way toward the familiar building.

When I finally arrived, I didn't bother knocking. Kenjaku had given me the code to the door ages ago. I typed it in quickly, the door clicking open with an almost too-loud sound. The hallway was dimly lit, and I could hear the faint murmur of voices from behind one of the doors.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand on the doorframe. This was it. I didn’t know what I was about to walk into, but there was no turning back now.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

I stood there, taking in the scene before me—Sukuna, looking completely worn down, his eyes barely open, his hair disheveled and his face a mess of exhaustion and defeat. The cigarette hung loosely from his hand, the smoke curling up into the air as Uraume stood nearby, her posture stiff, frustration radiating off of her.

"Uraume, calm down," I said, my voice steady but firm as I crossed the room, stepping closer to the couch where Sukuna was sprawled out.

He groaned in response, his hand sliding off his face just enough for his eyes to meet mine, dull and clouded. He didn’t look surprised to see me, but his expression was unreadable.

"Great, now I'm fucking seeing and hearing shit," he muttered again, his voice thick with fatigue and annoyance.

I didn’t react to his comment, not letting it phase me. Instead, I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, just enough to be close but not invading his space. I glanced over at Uraume, who seemed to be holding her ground, but she took a step back, recognizing that I was the one who needed to handle this.

"Sukuna, stop hiding," I said, my tone softer now, almost pleading. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn’t answer immediately, instead, taking another drag from the cigarette, his eyes drifting away from mine, focused on the wall as though he didn’t want to face me, or anyone.

"You think running away is gonna fix anything?" I continued, my voice low but insistent. "You think wallowing in this is gonna bring Jin back? Or fix what’s broken?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he was going to snap at me again, but instead, he just let out a deep sigh, and the silence in the room hung thick.

"I’m not hiding," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I’m just... tired."

"Then let us help you," I replied, my heart aching for him, but frustration mixing with it. "You don’t have to carry all this alone."

Sukuna shifted on the couch, his hand coming up to cover his eyes again, but this time, there was something in the way he did it—a sort of resignation, like he knew I was right, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Uraume stood there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for him to make a move, but it was clear he wasn’t ready.

I stayed quiet for a moment, allowing him his space, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. He needed to hear it, and I needed him to understand.

"You're not alone in this, Sukuna," I said quietly, my voice breaking through the tension. "You’ve got people who care about you. People who are worried. And you don’t get to shut them out."

He didn’t respond immediately, but I could see his body language soften just a little. I wasn’t sure if he was hearing me, or if he was just too far gone to care, but I couldn’t give up on him—not when he was this close to losing everything, including himself.

"Sukuna..." I started again, but Uraume cut me off.

"You can only do so much, Y/N," she said, her tone serious, but a little softer now. "He’s gotta want it. He’s gotta find it in himself to get back up. And we can’t make that choice for him."

I nodded, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I knew she was right. But it didn’t make it any easier.

"You think he’ll listen?" I asked, barely above a whisper, not expecting a clear answer.

Uraume gave a small shrug. "Maybe. But only if he realizes he’s not beyond saving. But that’s up to him."

I glanced at Sukuna once more, feeling the weight of everything press down on me. His eyes were still closed, and he looked so damn defeated. Part of me wanted to scream, to shake him out of his spiral. But I knew that wasn’t what he needed.

What he needed was time and a reminder that he wasn’t the only one who had lost something.

Sukuna's smirk was laced with bitterness, and it was as if the weight of his guilt and self-loathing had manifested in those cruel words. His eyes never left me as he took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around us like a barrier, creating distance between us that I could almost feel.

I didn't flinch. I refused to let him see the impact his words had, but inside, I was crumbling.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the air, his pain seeping out in every syllable. "You think you can save me, Y/N? Don’t fool yourself. You know I’m worthless."

I wanted to shout at him, tell him he was wrong, but instead, my voice came out softer than I expected. "Sukuna, you're not worthless."

He let out a dry laugh, one that held no humor. "Yeah? Then why the hell did you leave? After we fucked, you tossed me out like I was nothing. Isn’t that what you think of me too?"

Each word felt like a blade to my chest. The anger, the resentment in his voice—it was suffocating. I could see the way his eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable that he kept buried under layers of pride and self-doubt. But he was pushing it all on me now.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my composure, but the truth was, hearing him say those things cut deeper than I ever anticipated.

I stepped closer to him, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air. "I didn’t leave because I thought you were worthless," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "I left because you pushed me away. You closed yourself off, pushed me out of your life like I was nothing. And I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t see it."

His expression hardened at that, the smirk fading away as he leaned back on the couch, his eyes narrowing at me. "You think I wanted to push you away?" His voice was quieter now, but there was still that edge of anger behind it. "You think I wanted to feel this empty... this fucking broken?"

I shook my head, my heart aching for him even as I held my ground. "No, I don't think that. But that’s what you did. You kept pushing everyone away, even when they were just trying to help. I couldn’t be the one to fix you, Sukuna. I’m not your savior."

He looked away then, the cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, the anger gone, replaced by quiet desperation. "How do I fix this? How do I fix myself?"

I didn’t have an answer. How could I? He had to want it, had to find the strength to fight through his demons on his own. But that didn’t mean I was ready to give up on him.

"You can start by not pushing everyone away," I said, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "You’re not alone, Sukuna. Not yet."

For a long moment, there was silence between us. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, as I waited for him to respond. But instead, he just took another drag of his cigarette, looking lost in his thoughts.

"I never asked for any of this," he muttered finally, his words barely audible. "I never asked to be the one holding everything together. I never asked for... this pain."

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t have an answer for him. All I could do was watch him, hoping, wishing he would find the strength to face what he had been running from.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t up to me. It never was.

His words hit like a punch to the gut. The rawness in his voice, the way he almost choked on the words—it was as if he was tearing himself apart right in front of me. I watched him, frozen, my heart pounding as he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Just go, Y/N. Please," he said, his voice rough, barely holding it together. "You made the right choice. Don’t let guilt eat at you. Your love... it wasn’t enough."

I felt the sting of tears welling up, but I forced myself to hold them back. This wasn’t the time to break down. He was pulling up walls as quickly as I tried to break them down, and part of me wondered if he would ever let anyone truly see the pieces of himself he kept hidden. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t about my love being "enough"—that he was worthy of love even in his darkest moments. But I knew, standing there, that he wouldn’t hear it. Not now.

"Sukuna," I began, my voice catching despite my best efforts to stay steady. "It's not about being enough or not enough. You’re worth more than this... more than what you think of yourself right now."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t... don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m some lost soul you can save. You’ve done enough. It’s... it’s better this way."

"Better this way?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, feeling the frustration bubbling up. "Better for who? Because I don't think it's better for you. Look at yourself, Sukuna. You’re drowning, and you’re just... letting it happen."

He clenched his jaw, his hand shaking slightly as he flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. "Maybe that’s what I deserve," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The silence between us felt thick, suffocating. I took a step closer, reaching out, but he backed away, pressing himself further into the couch as if my touch would somehow make things worse.

"If that’s really what you believe..." I whispered, my chest tight. "If you really think you deserve this pain... then I can’t force you to change your mind. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something soft and vulnerable, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He lowered his gaze, the same smirk that once felt charming was now nothing more than a mask.

"Just... go," he whispered again, his voice so small it was almost lost in the room. "Forget about me. Move on. It’s better that way."

I stared at him, wanting to reach him, to pull him out of this dark place. But maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn’t save him. Taking a shaky breath, I nodded, my heart shattering with each step as I turned toward the door.

Before I left, I looked back one last time. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the floor, lost in his own torment.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. And with that, I stepped out, leaving behind the man I’d loved—and the pieces of myself that still wanted to believe he could be saved.

Sukuna's pov

I watched the door click shut behind her, the silence settling thick in the room. My chest felt hollow, but the ache gnawed deeper, clawing its way up my throat. I turned to my side, curling up on the couch, pressing my hand over my eyes as if I could shut out everything I’d just done. I’d pushed her away—again—and for what? To prove some sick point that I was beyond saving? That I didn’t deserve her?

I could still smell her faint perfume lingering in the air, feel the warmth she’d brought with her now slipping through my fingers. It wasn’t like I didn’t want her here. God, I wanted her more than anything. But how could I let her stay, knowing what a mess I’d become? How could I put her through the hell I was living every day?

My mind drifted back to Jin and Gramps, memories that never stayed buried long. Jin would’ve slapped me across the head if he saw me like this, wasting away, hurting everyone who tried to care. But I could never forgive myself for that night, for not being there when he needed me. And now, I was dragging Y/N down with me.

The silence felt louder now, each second stretching painfully, mocking me. She’d tried, even after everything I put her through. She tried to reach me, to pull me out of this pit I’d dug for myself. But I’d thrown her love back in her face. Again.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, pressing my fists to my temples. I wanted to cry, to scream, to feel something other than this endless, numbing void. But even that felt like too much. All I could do was lie here, drowning in my own misery, pushing everyone who mattered further and further away

Kenjaku grabbed my wrist, yanking my hands away from my ears. "Look at me, Sukuna," he snapped, his tone harsher than I'd ever heard. "This is your last chance. No one else is going to fight for you if you don’t fight for yourself."

I kept my eyes shut, trying to hold on to the darkness, anything to keep from facing the weight of his words. What good was that going to do? The damage was done, and I’d burned every bridge around me.

I tried pulling my arm free, but his grip tightened. "You think you’re the only one hurting?" Kenjaku’s voice dropped, each word laced with a fury that broke through my wall of apathy. "Your brothers are terrified. Toji, Uraume—they’re all watching you tear yourself apart. And Y/N? She might be gone, but you know damn well it’s killing her too."

My hands trembled as I finally opened my eyes, meeting his stare. I could see the disappointment, the anger. But there was something else, something that looked too much like hope.

"Why does it matter?" I murmured, my voice cracking. "I’ve already lost everything. What’s the point?"

Kenjaku’s expression softened for the briefest moment before he pulled me up to sit. "You haven't lost everything, not yet. But if you keep pushing everyone away, there will be nothing left. Not your friends, not Y/N, not even your own damn self."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in months—fear.

I held his stare, my jaw clenched, trying to keep the defiance in my eyes. But Kenjaku didn’t look away, his grip on my arm tightening. "What did you take?" he asked again, his tone sharper, cutting right through me.

I tried to shrug him off, mumbling, "Just something to take the edge off. Why does it matter?"

"Because," he hissed, shaking me slightly, "you can barely stand right now, Sukuna. You're falling apart, and you keep reaching for whatever dulls the pain instead of facing it. So I'll ask you one last time—what did you take?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his demand. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want him to know how far I'd fallen. But the way he was looking at me, with a mixture of anger and something close to pity, broke through the wall I’d put up.

"Xanax... some Oxy," I muttered, barely audible, each word feeling like a confession. "And... a couple drinks." I looked away, shame burning in my chest.

Kenjaku's face twisted with a grimace, and he let go of my arm, taking a step back as if the truth was too heavy for him. "This is what you're doing to yourself?" His voice was low, thick with disappointment. "This isn’t numbing the pain, Sukuna. It's destroying you."

I sank back onto the couch, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder on my chest. "Maybe that’s the point," I whispered, barely holding back the rawness in my voice. "Maybe that’s all I deserve."

Kenjaku knelt in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. "Then prove yourself wrong," he said firmly. "If you can’t do it for you, then do it for them—your brothers, your friends, everyone who’s still here trying to reach you. But you have to decide to get up and fight."

My answer was simple, and final. "No."

Kenjaku stared at me, frustration flaring in his eyes. I could tell he was holding back from saying more, like he knew words were useless right now.

“You want to keep drowning?” he asked, his voice sharper, leaning closer as if to pierce right through me. “You think this is easier, huh? Wasting away until there's nothing left?”

“Maybe it is," I said, my voice hollow. "Maybe it’s the only way I can even get through this. The only thing that keeps my mind off... everything.”

“You’re just running,” Kenjaku shot back, anger finally surfacing. "You think the pain will leave you alone? It won’t. It’s gonna keep eating you alive until there’s nothing left, Sukuna. Nothing for you, and nothing for the people who actually give a damn about you."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until the sting cut through the haze clouding my mind. “Then let it. I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

Kenjaku exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders. He stared at me, his eyes dark and steady. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true. You know it’s not true.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and unbreakable, until he finally straightened, his expression hardening. “Fine. You want to stay here, stay here. But don’t expect any of us to stick around and watch you throw your life away.”

[amiaclone]

HEYYY, Can i please request a Front man (001) X male reader? like they basically fell for each other in the games? you can choose whatever happens next or if their headcannons!

Tw: Cursing

Front man x Male! Reader

Being friends with Gi hun can be fun! It has flaws though

Like being involved with his plan to end “these games” and now us both are trapped in said game again and could die

You were terrified and half the people disinterested you or terrified you either way you stuck with Gi Hun

However you did meet someone that interested you

In ho what a dick you didn’t trust him at all

Listen you never participated in the games but maybe it’s the way he was always staring at you with that cocky smirk

It twisted your stomach in a way the way he’d eye your body language up and down….

It seemed like every word he spoke was a test it was unnatural and creepy

Why did your face flush every time he looked at you though?

It really is a strange world

Anyways here you are a night before Gi hun goes with his plan honestly you really didn’t wanna do it

Sacrifice other players? Shoot a million of guards? It was illogical unfortunately nobody seemed to agree with you though…..

You couldn’t help but feel In ho seemed *too* into the idea

You were supposed to go alone with him

You were never alone with him no matter how strong these feelings were you mainly tried to avoid him

“So that’s the plan how does it sound everyone?”

Gi huns voice woke you up from your mid to paying attention daydream

You blinked twice waiting for the others to reply pretending as if you were in game

With a few acknowledgements of agreements except for you In ho quirked an eyebrow

“Alright y/n?”

You stared at him with an almost panicked look staring at him why were you so tense around him?? Fu-

With an awkward cough you nodded your head anyway “Sure this plan will probably fail but all we can do is try…” you mumbled sarcastically

Not much later lights out was cue in a few minutes

You decided getting a early night rest was the best but while you relaxed you stared at the left side where some beds were there was In ho

Staring at you

You stared back what was his problem what was your problem why was your face feeling red-

“Lights out!”

And just like that it was pitch black

You turned your head pretending to be in some deep slumber

For five minutes…

Ten minutes…..

Nearly an hour

Dammit! Why can’t you sleep?!

Maybe you needed to go to the bathroom? But it’s lights out they probably won’t let you…..

…

Well you can atleast try right?

Here you were walking steadily to the bathroom it was pitch black your only source of light the piggybank filled with the money from the loss of peoples lives…

You really hope Gi Huns plan works

You walked towards the bathroom as quietly as you can unaware of the eyes following you

“Uh excuse me?”

You knocked on the door outside to the bathroom seeing a triangle guard guarding it

“Uh can I…..use the restroom?”

“It’s unacceptable to use it at night”

You sighed obviously you knew that

Before you could even say anything else a voice interrupted you

“There with me I need to use it too they have some problems…”

You blinked seeing In ho standing in front of you the guard barely seemed to buy it

“Ten minutes”

You walked in with In ho following behind

“Uh thanks”

There was the awkward tension again

He only smiled “It was nothing I needed to use it myself I’m shocked they actually agreed..”

You nodded “The funny thing is i don’t think i needed to go to the bathroom i just needed space to clear my head”

He nodded understanding “Well if you wanna talk I don’t mind as according to the triangle we have ten minutes…why is something bothering you?”

You sighed “I don’t know this game is a bothersome already but….do you think Gi Huns plan will really work?”

He seemed to ponder in thought for a bit

“Well there’s many ways it couldn’t but I believe Gi huns a stubborn man so I believe it’s possible…why do you think we’ll fail?”

You sighed “I don’t wanna sound pessimistic but the plan is really illogical plus I don’t wanna sacrifice other lives to save other lives…that’s the whole reason we came here in the first place to save everyone”

In ho seemed to be taking everything in he seemed almost out of it for a bit “Well what do you think we should do?”

You sighed “That’s why I didn’t say anything I don’t know what to do the games are rigged like this so only one or two people at best can win…..I hate to be pessimistic but we’re all gonna die in here.”

In ho stared at you in silence for a second a small smirk took place

“You’re really fucking strange you know that? You make me…..feel all these things”

“What?” You could only muster in confusion

There was the tension In ho stepped closer and in not even seconds In ho placed his lips roughly across yours you kissed back

He backed away sighing the tension finally felt good…..why?

He smirked “Well let’s see you tomorrow”

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling: A Stroke of Intimacy - One Shot

Author’s Note:

I’ve been seeing some set pictures pop up again, and it’s made me miss Hank, so here’s a piece I’ve had sitting in drafts for a while.

Word Count: 5,304

Masterlist

The attic at my mum’s house smelled like old wood and dust, with just the faintest hint of lavender from the sachets she insisted on hiding in every corner. It had been years since I’d been up here, but it looked almost exactly the same—a time capsule of mismatched furniture, faded holiday decorations, and boxes full of forgotten treasures that Mum had always sworn she’d sort through “one day.” That day had apparently come.

Mum had roped us in to help her with a long-overdue clear-out, claiming she’d finally reached her limit with the clutter. “I don’t even know what half of this stuff is anymore,” she’d said, hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess. “It’s time to let go.” Whether or not that would actually happen remained to be seen, but Hank, of course, had jumped at the chance to help.

Now, a couple of hours in, I was starting to think he regretted it. From my spot on the landing, I could hear him shuffling around up there, the occasional curse muffled by the beams as he ducked and dodged low-hanging obstacles.

“You alright up there?” I called, grinning to myself.

“Never better,” came his reply, tinged with sarcasm. “Your mum’s got enough Christmas decorations to start a department store, by the way.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Tell me something I don’t know. Did you find the box labelled ‘mystery trinkets’? That’s her favourite.”

There was a pause, followed by a muffled groan of exertion. “If by ‘mystery trinkets’ you mean twenty different snow globes, then yes. Got it covered.”

Mum appeared at the bottom of the stairs just then, holding two mugs of coffee. “Is he still alive up there?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye.

“Barely,” I replied, loud enough for Hank to hear. His exaggerated sigh echoed down to us, making us both laugh.

It had been Hank’s idea to turn this into a full-day event, complete with lunch breaks and frequent coffee runs. “Might as well make it fun,” he’d said with that easy smile of his, already rolling up his sleeves before Mum could even ask for help. It was one of the things I loved most about him—the way he made everything feel lighter, even tedious chores like this.

“I’m almost done!” Hank called down, his voice slightly breathless. A second later, there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floorboards, followed by an impressive thud.

“Hank?” I called again, my tone edging toward concern.

“Fine!” he shouted back. “Nothing broken. Except maybe my pride.”

Mum chuckled, shaking her head as she handed me one of the mugs. “He’s a keeper,” she said with a knowing smile before heading back to the kitchen.

By the time Hank finally emerged, hauling the last box down to the landing, he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a particularly vengeful spider. Cobwebs clung to his hair and shirt, and there was a faint smudge of dust on his cheek. Despite the state of him, his grin was full of smug satisfaction, like he’d just conquered some great feat.

“Last one,” he announced, dropping the box with a dramatic flourish. He wiped his hands on his jeans, glancing at me with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re welcome.”

I bit back a laugh, stepping closer to brush a stray cobweb from his shoulder. “You look like you just survived a horror movie.”

He swiped a hand through his hair, only managing to make it worse. “Pretty sure your attic’s haunted. I’m half convinced I heard something whispering ‘leave while you still can.’”

“You’re fine, drama queen,” I teased, plucking another cobweb from his shirt before reaching up to brush the smudge of dust from his cheek. “It was probably the lavender sachets.”

His expression softened, and for just a moment, he leaned into my touch, his cheek pressing lightly against my hand. The simple act sent a pang of warmth through me, but before I could dwell on it, he straightened, flashing me a lopsided grin. “Don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“Get the boxes down myself?” I quipped, earning a mock glare.

As I glanced down, my attention caught on the label of the box he’d carried down—my name, scrawled in my teenage handwriting. “Hang on,” I said, crouching beside it. “This one’s mine.”

Hank followed me down, crouching behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his curiosity palpable as he peered over. “What’s in it?”

I shrugged, peeling back the tape. The smell of old paper and charcoal wafted up as I opened the flaps, revealing a stack of sketchbooks, some loose papers, and a few half-empty tins of pencils. “Looks like my old art stuff.”

“You used to draw?” he asked, his voice soft with interest.

I nodded, flipping through one of the sketchbooks. “Yeah, all the time. I took art class in school—actually thought about pursuing it for a while before vet school won out.”

He kissed my shoulder, his lips warm and soft against my skin. “Why’d you stop?”

I hesitated, skimming through the pages. “Life, I guess. Vet school took up all my time, and then… I don’t know. I just kind of fell out of the habit.”

Hank didn’t say anything, just hummed thoughtfully, his breath brushing against my neck as he studied the page I’d turned to. It was an old drawing of a bowl of fruit, complete with the wonky shading I’d never quite mastered. I laughed softly at the memory, tracing a finger over the edge of the paper.

“That one’s not bad,” he offered, his chin nudging my shoulder.

“Not bad,” I echoed with a smirk. “Wait till you see the next one.”

I turned another page, showing him a rough sketch of a model seated on a stool, her pose casual but elegant. “We did a lot of life drawing back then.”

“Life drawing?” he repeated, his brow arching with interest. “Like people?”

“Yeah. We had a different model every week. It was… fun. Relaxing, in a way.”

Hank hummed again, his eyes lingering on the sketch. “You’re really good.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I was okay. It’s been years, though.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still be good.” He pressed another soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You ever think about picking it up again?”

I shrugged, closing the sketchbook. “Maybe. Life’s been busy.”

Hank didn’t say anything else, just nodded thoughtfully, his arms giving my waist a gentle squeeze before he stood. I could see the gears turning in his head, but at the time, I didn’t think much of it.

A week later, I came home to find the apartment eerily quiet.

“Hank?” I called, stepping into the living room and setting my bag down on the sofa. My voice echoed slightly, the usual hum of music or clatter from the kitchen conspicuously absent. “You here?”

“In the bedroom!” His voice drifted down the hall, warm and inviting, with a trace of something that made me pause. Curiosity piqued, I slipped off my shoes and followed the sound, my steps slowing as I approached the door.

When I opened it, I stopped in my tracks.

The space had been transformed. The bed had been pushed to one side, replaced by a single stool set in the centre of the room. A soft, golden glow came from the table lamp in the corner, bathing the space in warmth, the light catching on a makeshift easel positioned at the perfect angle to the stool. Beside it was a neat stack of fresh paper and an array of pencils and charcoal sticks, all arranged with careful precision.

And then there was Hank, standing by the stool in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his arms crossed over his chest, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He looked like something out of a magazine, the sharp lines of his body softened by the warm light, his posture both casual and confident. My breath caught as I took it all in.

“What… what is all this?” I asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me, the words tumbling out in a mix of awe and disbelief.

He shrugged, the grin widening just a bit. “Thought I’d surprise you. You said you liked life drawing, and I figured… well, I could use a bit of sitting still. Not something I’m particularly good at.”

I blinked, my heart swelling with affection. He wasn’t joking—he’d really gone through all this trouble just to recreate something I’d casually mentioned in passing. My throat tightened as I struggled to find the words. “Hank…”

“It’s no big deal,” he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just thought it might be fun. You’ve been working so hard lately, and… well, you deserve a break.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to speak, but I managed a small, wobbly smile. “This isn’t just ‘no big deal,’ Hank. This is… really thoughtful. Thank you.”

His grin softened, and he gave a little shrug, suddenly almost shy. “So… you up for it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I crossed the room to run my fingers over the pencils. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”

“Yeah, but it’s only fair,” he said, his tone teasing but genuine. “You’ve always got my back. I just wanted to do something for you.”

The warmth in his words settled over me, filling the space between us with something soft and intimate. I reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, my fingers trembling slightly as I picked up a sheet of paper and placed it on the easel. “Alright,” I said, my voice steadying. “Let’s do this.”

Hank’s grin returned, this time with a playful edge. He stepped over to the stool, dropping onto it with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, coach. How do you want me?”

“Comfortable,” I said, smirking as I selected a pencil. “But… maybe sit a little straighter. Hands on your knees.”

“Bossy,” he muttered, adjusting himself with mock reluctance. Finally, he settled, his posture relaxed but composed, and the sight of him made my breath hitch. The light from the lamp painted soft shadows over his shoulders and chest, highlighting the lean definition of his muscles. There was something about the way he sat there, completely at ease under my gaze.

“Like this?” he asked, his brow arching in a way that made my heart flutter.

“Perfect,” I murmured, swallowing hard as I brought the pencil to the page. My hand trembled slightly, the weight of the moment pressing on me, but before I could make a single mark, Hank spoke again.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.”

The laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it, loud and sudden, and I had to put the pencil down for a second, wiping tears from my eyes. “Oh my God, no talking.”

He winked, leaning back slightly. “Gotta keep it fun.”

Still smiling, I picked up the pencil again, letting the familiar rhythm of sketching take over. At first, it felt awkward, my strokes hesitant, my mind too caught up in the fact that I was sketching him. But as the lines began to take shape, the old familiarity returned, the movements soothing and exhilarating all at once.

Hank stayed still, his eyes soft and steady as they followed my every movement. The quiet stretched between us, comfortable and filled with the sound of pencil on paper. Every now and then, I’d glance up, my gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the way the light played over his collarbone.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured after a while, his voice breaking the spell.

“Hmm?” I glanced at him, blinking as if coming out of a trance.

“Drawing. You’ve got this… focus.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s kind of hot.”

I laughed, shaking my head as heat crept up my neck. “You’re supposed to be still.”

But the longer I worked, the harder it became to focus. The lines blurred as my mind wandered, and I found myself watching him more than the page. There was something intoxicating about the way he sat there, so open and vulnerable, he looked so effortlessly beautiful it made my chest ache.

I set the pencil down and stepped around the easel, my feet carrying me to him without a second thought.

Hank’s eyes met mine, a spark of curiosity lighting up his gaze as I stopped in front of him, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Finished already?”

“Not quite,” I said softly, reaching out to brush my fingers along the curve of his shoulder. His skin was warm, his muscles taut beneath my touch, and the way he leaned into it made my breath catch.

“You’re supposed to be drawing me,” he murmured, but his voice lacked any real conviction.

“I think I’m done with that for now.”

I closed the distance between us, my hands finding their way to his jaw as I tilted his face up to meet mine. His breath hitched, and then his hands were on me, sliding around my waist, pulling me into his lap in one fluid motion. The warmth of his skin seeped through my clothes as our bodies pressed together, and I couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped my lips.

His gaze flickered to my mouth before meeting my eyes again, I leaned in, my lips finding his in a kiss that was soft and tentative, a gentle exploration, slow and full of promise.

Hank’s lips parted under mine, the soft brush of his tongue coaxing me further, drawing me into the warmth of him. My hands slid up from his jaw to thread through his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as I tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His grip on my waist tightened, anchoring me against him, the heat of his bare skin beneath my palms sending a shiver down my spine.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world—slow, deliberate, his lips and tongue exploring mine with a precision that made me forget everything else. The makeshift studio, the forgotten sketch on the easel—it all faded away, leaving only the quiet, electric intimacy between us.

I shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his hands as they slid lower, settling just above the curve of my hips. His thumbs brushed against the hem of my shirt, teasing the skin there, and I felt his breath hitch as I broke the kiss, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Hank,” I murmured, my voice catching as his hands moved, slipping beneath the fabric to rest fully against my skin. There was something about the way he touched me—like he couldn’t bear to be separated by even a thin layer of clothing—that made my heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then another to the line of my jaw. His lips trailed lower, finding the sensitive spot just beneath my ear, and I felt myself melt, my fingers tightening in his hair as a soft sigh escaped me.

“Every time,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough. “Every time, you undo me.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, my chest tightening with the overwhelming need to show him just how much he meant to me. My fingers slipped from his hair to cradle his face, gently guiding him to look at me. His eyes searched mine, softening as they held my gaze.

“Do you even realise what you do to me?” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. My thumb brushed over his cheek, tracing the faint stubble there. “It’s not just the way you touch me or kiss me—it’s everything. The way you care, the way you make me feel seen, the way you make me laugh when I need it most.”

His brow furrowed slightly, as though my words caught him off guard, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that lopsided smile I loved so much. “You know that goes both ways, right?” he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with something vulnerable. “You’ve changed everything for me, Y/N. You make me feel… whole. In a way I didn’t even know I was missing.”

Hank’s lips curved into a soft smile, his blue eyes holding mine as his hand brushed lightly over my back. “You know, I still think about that night you walked into Paul’s,” he said, his voice quieter now, reflective.

I tilted my head, my fingers idly tracing a line along his collarbone. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, his tone gentle but insistent. “It’s not every night someone like you walks into a place like that. You… stood out.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “I didn’t feel like I stood out. I felt completely out of place. I wasn’t even sure why I went in. I just…” I hesitated, the memory of that night still vivid. “I couldn’t face another night of being alone. I needed to do something different.”

His hand stilled against my back, and I glanced up to find him watching me, his gaze soft and unguarded. “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad you did. That night… it felt different the second you walked in.”

I raised an eyebrow, my lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Different, huh? What, you don’t get random women walking into your bar all the time, asking you to surprise them with a drink?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not like you.” His voice dropped slightly, taking on a more serious note. “You weren’t there to impress anyone. You didn’t try to be something you weren’t. You just… were. And I don’t know, it caught me off guard. In the best way.”

I felt my cheeks flush, the sincerity in his words making my chest ache. “I remember seeing you as soon as I walked in. You were leaning against the bar, looking like you owned the place.”

His grin widened. “What can I say? It’s my natural state.”

Rolling my eyes, I laughed softly. “You looked so at ease, like you belonged there. And then you caught me looking, and… I don’t know. It felt like you could see right through me.”

“That’s because I could,” he said simply, his hand sliding up to cup my face. “You walked in looking like you’d rather be anywhere else but there. But at the same time, you stayed. You didn’t turn around. You sat down, and you let me surprise you.”

I smiled, leaning into his touch. “It was a good drink.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “It was an Old Fashioned, not exactly revolutionary.”

“Yeah, but it was exactly what I needed,” I said, my voice softening. “And so were you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the city beyond the window. Hank’s thumb brushed over my cheek, his gaze searching mine. “You know,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful, “sometimes it feels like… fate.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “Fate?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “I mean, think about it. You could’ve walked past Paul’s that night. You almost did. But you didn’t. You came in. And I just happened to be there. It feels like… like we were supposed to meet.”

I blinked, his words settling over me like a warm blanket. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic,” he said with a shrug, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his belief.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You might be right. Maybe it was fate. Maybe I was meant to walk into that bar, and you were meant to be there, leaning against the counter, looking at me like you already knew me.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was slow and full of unspoken emotion. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, his hands steady against my back. “Whatever it was, I’m glad it brought you to me.”

“Me too,” I whispered, my heart swelling in my chest.

I smiled, brushing my fingers along the curve of his jaw, my heart aching with how much I loved him. “It’s funny,” I said softly. “Sometimes I think I’m the one who’s got it all figured out. Then you go and do something like this—set up an easel in the middle of our bedroom just because I mentioned I used to draw. You always know exactly what I need, even when I don’t.”

Hank’s hands tightened on my waist, his grip grounding me as his gaze held mine. “It’s not hard,” he said simply, his tone filled with quiet sincerity. “Loving you? It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

The way he said it—not as a grand declaration but as an unshakable truth—made my chest tighten, my throat burning with the weight of my emotions. I kissed him, my lips brushing over his in a soft, lingering caress. His hands moved, sliding up my back as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss until I was completely lost in him.

I broke away just enough to rest my forehead against his, my fingers tracing light patterns along the back of his neck. “I don’t say it enough,” I murmured. “But I hope you know how much I love you.”

The corners of his mouth curved into a soft smile, and he brushed his lips over mine again, the kiss tender and unhurried. “You show me every day,” he replied, his voice steady and full of quiet conviction. “And I’ll never stop showing you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I let out a shaky laugh, resting my hands on his shoulders as I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Hank let out a quiet chuckle, his hands moving to cradle my face. “Funny,” he said, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since the moment I met you.”

I kissed him again, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude I felt for him into it, and his response was immediate, his arms wrapping around me like he couldn’t bear to let me go. The kiss deepened, his lips and tongue coaxing me into a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the world fade away. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—just full of quiet, unspoken promises, every touch and caress saying what words never could.

And in that moment, with his hands steadying me, his warmth grounding me, and his love surrounding me, I knew with absolute certainty that he was it for me, just as I was for him.

Hank’s hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing over my ribs before they settled on the buttons of my shirt. His gaze met mine, quiet and intent, as if asking for permission without words. I gave a small nod, my breath catching as his fingers deftly undid the first button, then the next, his movements slow and deliberate.

He leaned forward as he worked, his lips pressing soft kisses to my skin with each button he freed. The hollow of my throat, the curve between my ribs—his mouth left a trail of warmth that sent shivers cascading through me. By the time he reached the last button, my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

The shirt slipped from my shoulders, pooling behind me, but Hank didn’t rush. His hands came to rest at my waist, his thumbs brushing over the bare skin there as his lips found the swell of my chest. He kissed me slowly, unhurried, his mouth lingering as though he wanted to savour every inch of me.

“Stand for me,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with need.

I did as he asked, my knees trembling slightly as I rose to my feet. Hank followed the movement with his hands, sliding them down to the waistband of my trousers. He knelt in front of me, his fingers hooking into the fabric as he began to ease them down. His lips brushed along my hip as he worked, his touch sending sparks dancing over my skin.

When the trousers pooled at my feet, he held onto my hands lightly for balance as I stepped out of them. His hands lingered, steadying me before trailing back up my legs. His lips followed, brushing kisses along the bare skin of my thighs, his gaze never leaving mine.

Once I was free of the last layer of clothing, Hank rose to his feet, his hands finding their place on my hips again. The heat of his skin against mine sent a rush of warmth through me, and when his mouth captured mine, it was slow and deliberate, his lips moving against mine with the kind of unspoken devotion that made my chest ache.

We didn’t speak as we shed the final barriers between us. My hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, my fingers trembling slightly as I pushed them down. He stepped out of them easily, his hands steady on my waist as though he could sense my nerves and wanted to ground me.

Together, we made our way to the bed, the world narrowing to just the two of us. Hank lay me back against the sheets, his body following mine as he settled over me. His hands moved with a tenderness that felt all-encompassing, tracing the curve of my waist, the line of my thigh, as though committing every part of me to memory.

His lips found mine again, their movements slow and deliberate, a quiet exploration that deepened with each passing second. He kissed me as though we had all the time in the world, his touch reverent, his body pressing into mine with a warmth that left me breathless.

When he finally aligned himself, the tip of him pressing at my entrance, he paused, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver through me. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside, the stretch of him filling me completely, stealing the air from my lungs. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, his jaw tightening as he stilled, letting me adjust, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

The warmth of his breath fanned over my lips as he exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on my hips as if grounding himself. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke, the words barely audible. “Perfect,” he murmured, his tone filled with reverence.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm, every thrust deliberate and precise, the pressure of his body against mine igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. My fingers found their way to his back, tracing the hard planes of muscle as they flexed beneath my touch. His movements were unhurried, each one coaxing a soft sound from deep in my throat, a sound that only seemed to spur him on.

I gasped softly as his lips found the curve of my shoulder, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed his way up my neck. His hips pressed forward again, a little more insistent, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped me, my head tipping back to give him more access.

His lips traveled down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive skin there. Each touch of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I could feel the way his breath caught against my skin whenever I moved beneath him. My fingers dug into the broad expanse of his shoulders, holding onto him as the slow, steady rhythm of his hips began to build.

“God,” he groaned, his voice low and gravelly, the sound making my stomach tighten. His hands shifted, one sliding up to cup the side of my neck, his thumb brushing over my jaw as he tilted my face toward his. His other hand gripped my thigh, pulling it higher around his waist, anchoring me closer as he moved. The sounds he made—soft groans and low, broken murmurs—wrapped around me, adding to the symphony of the moment: the creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets, the whispered breaths that passed between us.

I couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping me—the soft cries, the whispered breaths of his name. His hips pressed deeper, the angle sending a rush of sensation through me that made my toes curl. His mouth captured mine in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against mine with a deliberate slowness that made my entire body tremble. The air between us was thick with heat, each shared breath feeding the fire that burned between us.

His pace quickened slightly, his movements growing more insistent, the tension building with every roll of his hips. My body arched into his, chasing the friction, the heat, the undeniable connection that bound us. His groans grew louder, mingling with the broken whimpers that spilled from my lips, the sound of us filling the room, raw and unfiltered.

When we finally reached the peak together, it was like the world stopped for a moment. His body tensed, a low, guttural moan escaping him as he buried himself deep, his grip on me tightening as he shuddered against me. My own release followed, a wave of heat and light that left me gasping, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as my body trembled beneath his.

He stayed there, his weight a comforting pressure against me, as we both caught our breath, our bodies still entwined. The room was quiet save for the sound of our breathing, the stillness wrapping around us like a cocoon, the steady beat of our hearts slowly evening out as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. His hand brushed along my side, his thumb tracing idle patterns over my skin, grounding me in the warmth of him.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his lips curving into a soft, almost shy smile. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “I love you sweetheart,” he murmured, the words carrying the same quiet sincerity as every touch and kiss that had come before.

I smiled, my hand sliding up to cup his face as I leaned in to kiss him again, slow and tender. “I love you too,” I whispered against his lips, the words a quiet promise, an anchor in the aftermath of the moment we’d just shared.

“Can we stay like this?” he murmured, his voice hushed and filled with quiet wonder.

I nodded, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close as we sank into the stillness together. My fingers traced light patterns along his back, a quiet rhythm that mirrored the way we moved moments before. The world outside faded into nothingness, and I found myself wishing I could capture this feeling somehow—every curve, every line, every breath—like a sketch I’d never forget.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Ozzie: Well it's not on mine and I'm handing over to you since you're back.

Adam: What?

Ozzie: There is only so much I can do without you here, like finalizing shit and putting the fear of you into people to make them work.

Adam: Which one is it this time?

Ozzie: Who do you think?

Adam sighed, performers were such fucking divas and could be such a pain in the fucking ass.

Adam: I'll deal with it, just this once. Be a dear and show Luci to my office.~

Ozzie nodded and gestured for Lucifer to follow him. He did and looked around. Okay, here it was very clear that people were having sex either under the table or in the booth.

Ozzie: This is his office.

Lucifer walked in and marveled at how elegant everything was, even if some things were rather sexual in nature it was still nice, oddly Adam.

Ozzie: Look, you seem like a nice guy so I'll give you a heads up.

Lucifer: About what?

Ozzie: Don't get too comfortable, when he gets bored of you, like he always does with his little escapades, he'll throw you away like a used condom.

Lucifer looked down, he didn't know why that hurt so much. It's not like they were deeply in love but the thought of Adam just casting him aside like he was nothing, like he meant nothing hurt deeply. Everyone else in his life could just throw him away, he didn't see why Adam wouldn't.......

Ozzie: I'm not saying it to be mean, but just so you're not blindsided. It might happen for hundreds of years, but still.

Lucifer: ...... Thanks Ozzie......

Adam walked in wiping sweat of his brow: There, the bitch should be working now and-........ Why are you sad? Ozzie, why is he sad what did you say to him?

Ozzie: The truth...... Thanks!

He took off before Adam could give him an earful.

Adam: What did he say?

Lucifer: .........

Adam: Luci-

Lucifer: To prepare myself for when you throw me away like you did everyone else.

Damn it Ozzie.

I am CRAVING some demon nun!Adam right now!

Help me, Things! 😫😫😫

Okay, I can help you.

*Cracks knuckles*

What about Demon Nun Adam x Human Priest Lucifer. Like maybe he's losing his faith a bit but is sticking with it for his father.

And Adam is the new "nun"

[syluss-karaoke-teacher]

Headcanons: which rings LADS men would use to propose 💍

Now, I'm a married woman, and I made it very clear I want a practical ring that doesn't cost a fortune and that I can wear daily. But that doesn't mean I can't use my own tastes to create silly little what-ifs for MC and her love interests in Love and Deepspace.

I found different types of rings for each of the current 4 LIs based on what we know of them and their relationship to MC. These are *not* based on the rings the player receives in-game for Affinity 100, as I haven't wanted to spoil myself, and because all of us have differing tastes anyway. 😊💕

Minor spoilers of some of their backgrounds/myths.

Note: photos of rings are obviously not mine but scoured from Google and used for silly entertainment purposes only.

Xavier

he can't help but think back to the jewelry the ladies of the court used to wear, and what was the acceptable standard for nobility to court their sweethearts with

isn't in a hurry to find the ring, so he takes his time going around different jewelry stores around Linkon city and beyond. He will know which ring is the one once he spots it... at least he thinks so.

The ring should be elegant with a bit of a futuristic flair: e.g moonstone instead of a diamond or stardust/meteorite embedded in the metal. To make it more special he would offer to supply the stardust himself, locating one that would have fallen around the time you two met.

In the end gets a bit too indecisive, goes a bit too much into his own head, and proposes without it. You don't even notice as the romantic proposal under the infinite stars of the Milky Way is enough to take your breath away. The next day he takes you to the jewelry shop where they have a few custom designs waiting for your pick.

Rafayel

Oh the fishie is designing the ring for you himself. He already knows some jewelers through his work and will only settle for the most talented one. He will agonize over the design, until on one of your romantic getaways inspiration strikes and he stays up all night, just about managing to hide the sketch from you before you wake up.

He is very aware of the importance of the ring in human mating rituals, and wants everyone to take notice of it once you start wearing it. Make no mistake, this is a one-of-a-kind art piece with nothing to match its beauty. Just like you.

Howeverrrr he does realize that carrying around a 30k+ ring isn't practical, so he would also get you a matching simpler band with a romantic engraving that you could wear daily.

A design resembling the beauty under the sea, to suit the Sea God's bride. He would go hunting for the suitable gems and/or pearls himself.

Zayne

Zayne is not one to make a big fuss about the proposal, even if he is inwardly maybe even more excited about it than you, and perhaps a bit terrified as well. He knows you don't like to wear anything too extravagant even on your days off, so he would go for more traditional ring.

He first starts paying special attention to your wardrobe and other jewelry to do the ground work. He would do googling in incognito mode to figure out if gold or platinum suits your skin tone better, and he would discreetly leaf through women's magazines in the hospital to see what is currently trending. Once decided he snags one of your rings with him to a jewelry store he trusts to have a good selection, so that the ring will fit properly on the first try.

Diamonds are a classic option, and with a gold or platinum band they go well with almost any outfit you might have. In the end the designs he is most drawn towards resemble flowers. And from a practical standpoint, a row of small diamonds fits under your leather gloves better than a big rock.

Zayne would also be the fiancé/husband to take it upon himself to clean both of your jewelry on a regular basis. Not that you can't do it by yourself, he just wants to look at it and reminisce about the memories linked to it.

Sylus

C'mon. This is a man who bedazzles your *gun* unprompted. It's a given that no expense is spared when getting you THE ring. However, just getting a big diamond is boring as all hell, and he knows that just a platinum ring with a big rock wouldn't be to your tastes either.

Instead of just dropping a million bucks to a famous jeweler, Sylus uses his vast network to find someone relatively unknown, but whose talents are unmatched. And almost as importantly, one who will never reveal the designs to another soul. Not only is it to secure the exclusivity, but also to protect the both of you.

As for the materials, he scours the ends of the earth for the rarest ones: volcanic ash, dinosaur bone, or unknown gemstones from the Deepspace. The process itself is exciting, especially when he gets you involved, relishing in the knowledge of you hunting for the materials for your own ring without realising it.

As much as he would like you to walk around dressed to the nines every day, showing off the ring he paid more than most people pay for a car for, he realises it's not only impractical, but also potentially dangerous if people in Linkon start to question where you got such a gift. So Sylus has a matching, simpler band made that you can wear every day, saving the grander ring for special occasions, and hanging around at his base.

[pkg4mumtown]

Special Weapons and Tactics

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader

Rating: Teen (for now)

Summary: You’re an FBI SWAT agent sent to a scene that the BAU is in charge of. There, you meet the team, specifically SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Content Warnings: Male!reader (no Y/N), strong language, first person POV, non-descriptive mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while and I’m happy to share it with you! I’m about half way done with it and will be finishing it as I post the chapters. I will post about every couple weeks just so I have time to keep up with writing. I also have two Spotify playlists on my page for Criminal Minds if you want to check them out!!

Also available on AO3

July 2010

“Listen up. Target’s name is Lucas Bryant. This guy’s got a military background and possibly suffers from PTSD. He’s using various military paraphernalia to subdue his victims, believes his killings were righteous, and believes he’s at war with us, so approach with extreme caution. There’s a high chance that he won’t let himself be captured. The BAU believes he’s holed up in an attic, upstairs, or basement of some sort. Meet the BAU Unit Chief when we arrive.”

Various, “yes, sir’s,” echoed in the tactical van. Metal sliding against metal followed as last-minute weapons checks commenced.

“ETA is two minutes.”

I had been in the middle of poring over a case file when I got the SWAT mobilization order to a house in northern Virginia and was happy to step away. Words had been swimming on the pages of the file for the last couple of hours, so I’d been restless and itching to clear my head. I let myself imagine breathing out any thought of my own cases so I could be fully focused on this one.

Before the van could fully come to a stop, we were all standing and waiting for the back doors to unlock. A sea of olive green and black emerged from the van and we followed the lead SWAT agent toward the group of agents discussing and gesturing toward the house. The house was strangely well-kept, with a maintained lawn, but “No Soliciting” signs were hung on any possible surface. The curtains were all drawn closed, putting the agents even more on edge since we had a visual disadvantage.

“They’ve been briefed, Agent Hotchner,” our lead SWAT agent notified the Unit Chief as we approached.

“Great, thank you,” the tall, dark-haired agent nodded, making eye contact with each of us to make sure we were paying attention. “We’re splitting into three groups. The first group will go with Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid to breach the front door and head upstairs, the second with Agents Prentiss and Jareau to breach the back door, and everyone else with myself and Agent Rossi to the basement. Let’s go,” he dismissed the group, and everyone split up, having seen who they’re going with since the Unit Chief pointed them out as he spoke.

I looked at each of the other's faces as he gestured to them. The only member I was familiar with was Morgan since we were both in the FBI academy at the same time. The younger one—Reid—seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t recall as my attention drifted back to their boss.

My group followed Hotchner and Rossi to the side of the house where two doors indicated the basement access for the house. After we secured the entrance of the basement, we formed up along the side of the house and prepared for entry. I was the last in line of SWAT agents and felt Hotchner’s hand come to my shoulder. The two metal basement doors were firmly closed, prompting our breacher to check for locks. The breacher signaled that basement door was locked and unclipped a saw from his gear. He readied himself to cut the lock, giving us a signal and making eye contact with Hotchner, behind me.

“Is everyone in position?” came Hotchner’s steady, low voice.

There was a resounding confirmation over the radio.

“Breach.”

All of the teams moved immediately. Our breacher made quick work of the lock with the saw while the next agent in line pulled a flash-bang from his vest. With the doors forced open, the breacher jumped away from the entrance while the other agent lobbed a flash-bang down the stairs. As soon as it went off, everyone was following the agent down the stairs and swarming the basement. Rossi stayed outside to watch any windows while Hotchner was the last one in behind me. By the time we arrived, the room was clear and strangely empty besides the typical basement findings. Tall, metal shelving lined the walls with nothing of much interest on them and the floor was littered with boxes and grime. A lingering musty smell permeated the air but nothing else of concern.

“Anything upstairs?” Hotchner asked into the radio.

“Nothing, Hotch.”

He was understandably irritated by that answer and ordered, “Tear this place apart.”

We all got to work as he radioed with his team back and forth, looking around the room for any clues or ideas. Agents ripped into boxes and overturned miscellaneous furniture scattered throughout the basement. Hotchner grew more frustrated by the second judging by his tone over the radio, but his face didn’t show it.

“There’s electrical running down to the ground on the south side of the house,” the older agent—Rossi—sounded over the radio.

The stoic agent’s eyes snapped to the far wall to my left and moved briskly, just short of shoving agents out of his way. His tall frame squeezed between two shelving racks, stepping on a pile of trash in between as he feels the wall.

“Do you see any seams in the bricks?” He directed the question to me, making realize I was the closest to him but far enough to examine the wall from a distance.

“N—oh—yea! A little higher!” I pointed higher up the wall and try to follow the seam down.

I noticed a faint line—no, a wire—lower on the wall ending somewhere under Hotchner’s foot. My nerves lit on fire as I realized what was happening, but I couldn’t move toward him fast enough, “Sir, wait!”

Hotchner lifted weight off one foot to stretch more, turning to look at me as I surged toward him. He started to speak, unaware of what was happening or what I’d seen, “There’s airfl—”

Hotchner was cut off when an ear-rupturing, forceful shockwave echoed throughout the basement, bouncing off the walls and causing the unprepared to stumble. He lost his footing, disoriented and thrown off balance by the concussive blast. I even stumbled back as the blast pushed past my efforts to move forward. At the same time, he and his head were thrown forward into the industrial metal racking with what should have been a sickening thud. Everyone’s ears were ringing too much to hear it. Thankfully, the SWAT agents all had on ear protection and recovered much more quickly than Hotchner.

 I rushed over as the SWAT team’s medic and caught him under his armpits before he could collapse. His body was almost completely lax in my arms, so I dragged him away and propped him against a different rack.

“Sir, are you hurt anywhere else?”

There was no response, and his eyes were barely open and fluttering. I patted him down roughly but found nothing glaringly wrong besides the gushing cut to his forehead.

“Sir, can you stand?”

Nothing. Fuck.

The other SWAT agents were scrambling to open the false wall while being mindful of any more wires. I decided to radio the teams outside before I moved the agent.

“Basement team is working on a false wall. I have an agent down, in and out of consciousness from a concussion grenade. Possible head trauma. Extricating him now.”

“Copy.”

“I’m going to get you out of here, sir,” I assured him as his eyes finally fluttered shut, and his body became completely limp.

I secured my weapon and squatted low until his body could drape over my shoulders. I hooked an arm through his legs and held his dangling arm with the same hand so that I had a free hand for balance on the stairs. When he was as secure as I could get him, I quickly exited the basement, wanting to be out of there by the time they opened the false door so neither of us got shot.

I could only manage a brief nod to Rossi as I carried Hotchner’s extra weight from the stairs to the front lawn. I was keenly aware that the EMTs hadn’t been allowed in the staging area yet since Bryant wasn’t yet apprehended. I got to the edge of the front lawn before depositing him as gingerly as I could on the grass.

“Sir, can you hear me?” I raised my voice and took my helmet off, tossing it in the grass haphazardly.

Fetching a small penlight from one of my pouches, I removed my gloves and opened his eyes to check his pupils. Finding a somewhat normal reaction, I put the light away and got to work on treating his forehead, hoping the stinging would jostle him awake.

“This might sting,” I murmured to myself, basically.

I flushed the wound and press gauze firmly against it, feeling the agent below me tense with pain. His strong hand engulfed my wrist to roughly pry my hands away, but I persisted. I shoved my knee over his bicep and stapled his arm to the ground with my shin.

“Sir, relax. You’re safe,” I reassured him, maneuvering my arm so he could see my face and uniform. He was looking wildly around, probably looking for his team. “Look at me sir,” I requested and offered my rank as an SSA and my last name to him. “You have a laceration on your forehead, okay? I’m stopping the bleeding.”

His breathing began to slow, and he nodded slightly in confirmation. I took my shin off of his arm now that I knew he wouldn’t try to fight me.

“Can you tell me your name?” I began asking him some basic questions to assess for any brain damage.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, louder than he should have been responding but understandably so.

“Good. Do you remember the name of the target?”

“Lucas, mhm, Bryant,” he cringed as my hands worked on his head.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I have up?” I requested, pulling one of my hands away to show him three fingers.

“Three,” he squinted.

“Who’s your Section Chief?”

“Strauss.”

“Goo—,” I started but he cuts me off.

“You want my phone number, too?” he deadpanned, making me huff and smirk at the sarcasm.

“Well, do you remember it?” I challenged him, using butterfly style bandages to hold the wound closed before taping gauze over it.

He effortlessly relayed the numbers to me, giving me a pointed look as if to tell me he was fine now. “If you remember the number I’ll let you buy me coffee,” he rolled his eyes but briefly held my gaze with striking hazel eyes. He attempted to sit up, but I prevented him with a firm hand on his chest.

My brain screeched to a halt as I mentally rewound what he just said to me. Did he just flirt with me? Crap, what numbers did he just say? 5-5-5-0-4-7…6? No—8-6. I repeated them over and over in my head.

I was broken out of my stupor when I could finally hear chatter on the radio again as my ears became more attuned to our surroundings instead of just Hotchner, “Your team is fine. The target’s down.”

He relaxed a little more and I was all too aware of the hand I still had on his chest. He was, too, I saw as he quickly glanced down and then at me but didn’t mention it. I dug my hand into another pouch and brought out an ice pack, activating it with a pop, and pressing it to his head. He took over for my hand and kept the pack pressed to his head.

“Noted, by the way,” I answered his earlier challenge with an upturn at the corner of my mouth.

He gave a hum in acknowledgement. Hotchner was silent for a while, his free hand absentmindedly playing with the grass while trying to crane his head to look at the action behind him to no avail.

“It’s weird being on the other end of this,” he murmured, seemingly to no one in particular.

“What do you mean, sir?” I adjusted myself to sit on the grass more comfortably.

“Hotch,” he corrected, focusing back on me. “And, usually, I’m the one calming victims down. Yet here I am getting flustered over an operator.”

“You could have fooled me,” I laughed, my hand twitching against his chest. Whatever flustered feeling he was talking about, it wasn’t noticeable—to me at least. His features were still void of any emotion beyond the lingering worry for the mission.

“Despite having been in SWAT, the situation was…eye-opening,” his even voice invited a brief moment of mirth.

“You were straight before you went in the basement?” I joked with pursed lips.

“Pretty much,” Hotch nearly cracked a smile. The hint of it soon faded away and he made direct eye contact with me, hoping I would understand, “That’s a joke.”

I was…unsure of how to take that. It was a joke in that he actually is straight or a joke meaning that he’s not straight? Was he or was he not flirting? I mentally sighed and gave him a neutral answer just in case.

“I’m aware of how sexual orientation works, sir,” I forced a chuckle. “Maybe that hit jostled your head a little more than we thought.”

He deflated a little, his smirk dropping, “Yea, maybe.”

In an effort to save the conversation, I latched on to what he previously said, “You did SWAT detail?”

“Mmm, yea, when I was at the Seattle Field Office…tch,” he let out a long breath. “…a long time ago. It was fun,” he raised an eyebrow at me. “Surprised?”

“Only a little,” I shrugged. “You seem capable,” I gave him a once over, imagining him in the uniform I was wearing.

In the distance, I finally saw the rest of Hotch's team leaving the house. They rushed toward me where I had their boss lounging in the grass.

“Your team is incoming,” I notified him and began standing.

I extended my hand to Hotch, and he took it reluctantly as I helped him to his feet. He wobbled for a second, prompting me to still him with a hand firmly planted on his back while his hand clutched my shoulder. If anything, my hand on his back had the opposite effect as he put pressure into my hand instead of balancing himself.

Interesting.

I would have been crazy to pull my hand back.

Rossi approached with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Close encounter with a deadly shelf down there, eh?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter at the murderous look Hotch shot at Rossi. It was only made funnier by the image of the stern agent with a child-sized icepack on his forehead.

I quickly cleared my throat as I noticed the other agents looking expectantly at me, “Just a laceration and probably bruising later. He hit his head pretty good, possible mild concussion so he shouldn’t be alone for 24 hours. Might need stitches and probably worth getting his head checked out but I’m sure he won’t.”

Hotch winced as he accidentally put more pressure on it with the icepack, “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

I fixed him with a pointed look, then glanced at his hovering team, “Yeah, well, they seem to disagree.”

Prentiss stepped forward, concern softening her features. She reached for his forearm, his hand quickly sliding from my shoulder to her hands and leading him away from my hand on his back, “Come on, tough guy. You’re crashing with me.”

No significant other at home? Or is she…? Hm.

It was almost possessive, but what did I know? With the nature of our work, I’m sure they were all pretty close and protective of one another. I might not be a profiler, but I got the idea nonetheless as her eyes flicked toward me like I was a stranger. Well, because I was.

Clearing my throat, I swiped my helmet from the grass and tucked it under my arm. I extended my hand to Hotch, “Great to meet you, sir.”

Despite not knowing them besides Morgan, word did tend to get around the field offices about the BAU, so it was nice to put faces to the team.

“Thank you for your help,” my last name escaped his mouth with a low and soft hum, giving me a grateful quirk of his mouth.

Before I could lose myself in his features, I shifted my attention to Rossi and shook his and everyone else’s hand. As I got to Morgan, recognition flashed across his face.

My last name questioningly fell out of his mouth in disbelief. A bright smile lit up his face as he realized why we knew each other, “How’ve you been, brother?”

“Good, man. I—,” I heard my name called across the street, beckoning me to the tactical van. I acknowledged my teammate and continued my sentence by drawing out the letter, “I…gotta go, I guess.”

“No worries, we’ll catch up soon. Let’s go out some time,” Morgan reached for my hand and pulled me into a brief hug.

“Sounds good,” I smiled at the team and jogged back to the van.

I approached the van, slowing down as I got to the open door where Ramirez was waiting for me expectantly.

“Have fun with the shrinks?” He grinned and held the back door open for me.

“Yea, they’re alright. I went through the academy with one of them,” I climbed in and helped him shut the doors before sitting down.

“Bunch of characters, though,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“Nah, it’s just…I’ve worked with them before. No offense or anything, they’re just…weird, I guess,” he stammered over his words, not quite expecting to be called out.

“And, yet we rely on them for profiles that help us get guys like that,” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the house we had just left.

“Fair enough.”

On the ride back to DC, I pulled out my phone and typed in the number I had been repeating since my interaction with Hotch. 5-5-5-0-4-8-6. I quickly saved it under something practical and not at all indicative of how giddy I felt saving it.

Spoilers, it was just “Hotch BAU”.

 I resisted typing out a text message to him at that moment, not wanting to seem…desperate? Yea, “desperate” sounded right. I decided to send it later that night, which sounded even more desperate considering he would be at that attractive agent’s house. Prentiss? Prentiss. I grumbled to myself for being stupid and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

-

Chapter 2 - Coming Soon