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applekeu · 4 days ago

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TAILSPIN — part one

〔 𝒾 〕 "I'm sorry that I can't be her," you say, tears interlaced with every word. You circle back to her endlessly, the loop remaining unbroken. The dead girl's footfall is everywhere, and you're breaking with every step she takes across Caleb's heart. "I'll never be. We both know that, but don't expect me to be waiting around for you to realize I deserve more than a man who looks at me and only sees a ghost."

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱𝐢𝐚 𝓍 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐦𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 8805 (estimated 20k for full story) ⋮ 18+ ⋮ angst with a happy ending, smut, canon divergent as mc dies in the initial explosion and not caleb (he still gets injured thus requiring his biomech arm), coworkers au, rivals to lovers, fwb, miscommunication + jealousy, semi-toxic dynamics, mentions of ptsd and grief, dom!caleb, semi-public sex, size kink, manhandling, gagging (glove as a gag aye), multiple orgasms, marking, dirty talk, degradation kink, "sir" kink, spanking, edging, overstimulation, oral (f + m receiving), cum-eating, unprotected sex, creampie

⌗ 𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── First story on this blog! I decided to release this first part because I'm so excited to post the first chunk! I hope you guys enjoy it because it was a pleasure to write. Shoutout to @tinycatharsis @xylatox @aeristudios @frenchkisstheabyss and @xomakara for reading this first part as well as @hyukalyptus for doing editing magic on it, I love you all so much ♡

Caleb doesn't know what to do about the dog tag.

The present is years old by now, but it looks the same as it did when he received it. It's not rusted or faded, and there are no dings or scrapes to buff out. The care of its owner shows with every gleam and glisten of the necklace in the sunlight. He hasn't taken it off, not once. Not until a few days ago. Not until the clasp came undone from the impact.

The only sign of wear on the jewelry is the missing gemstone at the center of the silver apple that rests next to the dog tag. It's ironic in a sense, but Caleb can't fathom how.

His and her friends sniffle and hiccup with every inch of dirt that's laid out over the coffin. Caleb insists on doing this part of the service alone, no matter how long it takes. The act stains his suit pants through the process of covering each square foot, but he doesn't care if he looks unkempt or not. Most things don't matter now, anyway.

The funeral home director suggested Gran’s and the hunter’s services and burials be over the course of two days—yesterday and today. “You’ve already been through so much,” he whispered with an authoritarian sympathy only elders possessed. “Take this one day at a time.”

One day at a time is hellfire, a kind of agony one only understands when life crumbles around you at once. The gut-punch of losing his caretaker would've taken enough time to heal from on its own. But Caleb doesn't understand how to navigate this additional pain that pales in comparison to the previous set of wounds, still fresh as the day they were inflicted upon him. “How does a person recover from the devastation of watching the girl he loves die right in front of him?

The Deepspace Aviation Administration's mandated grief counselor recommended grounding techniques for wandering thoughts, especially ones related to the accident. "It wasn't an accident," Caleb interrupted him when he used that word. "Don't mince words."

"However you see the situation, Mr. Xia, focus on what is in your current nexus of control when your mind spirals."

Following the doctor's orders, he takes a deep breath and tries to feel the ground underneath his feet. All the while, he clutches the dog tag around his neck tightly as the ceremony concludes.

She gave it to Caleb the day he left for Skyhaven. He promised her, foolishly, he’d return to their childhood home as often as possible. Time constraints of their everyday lives that kept them apart could not sever their bond; Caleb wouldn't let it. She might’ve been a hunter, and he a pilot, but their constant course was always back to each other, no matter how briefly those lines converged.

If only he knew their time together would run so short, too short for him to finally pluck up the courage to say he couldn't live without her. And now he has to make peace with the fact that that lost declaration is his new reality.

Without thinking, Caleb lets the metal dog tag pierce his skin. The necklace slices the inside of his palm open slowly. It takes ten minutes and the crowd around Caleb dissipating for him to notice blood running down his shirtsleeve. The loneliness gives way to an indifference that shields him from physical consequences. All he senses is the thrum of his heartbeat as the wind meets his open wound.

If nothing else, the hollowness will remind him it was real and he was once whole. That's what will keep him from spiraling ever again. From expecting the world to be kind to him now that his soul is irrevocably destroyed.

2 YEARS LATER

"And this is the loading bay for each squadron and their respective aircrafts. Yours will be around two dozen, and you'll meet your subordinates later on today once we establish your security clearances." Damien, your new boss and one of the many majors of the fleet continues with the tour of the base. His harping about the procedures and commandments is background noise as you navigate the space together. You're aware of what you can and cannot do as a Farspace Fleet member, even more so now with your new rank.

It's not as if lower-leveled privates don’t know their way around. You've been to the loading bay many times, taking the route to and from excruciating missions in the past year like clockwork. You could label each piece of a plane's equipment and list their purposes by heart if given the opportunity.

With your recently appointed title as First Lieutenant, you are well aware things will change. Subtly, for sure, but just enough to tilt you off your axis, hence the necessity of such a tour. "We need to show you what it means to be a part of the company with a fresh lens, so to speak," Damien had said curtly during the first hour of the tour, like you were a child on her first day of preschool. Maybe it was more for them than you, seeing as you already felt the shift in your previous colleagues' demeanor. Some of them were happy to see you move up in the world, while others sneered from the sidelines.

It didn't matter to you, regardless. Ty, your best friend and a newly appointed Second Lieutenant, is the only person you need beside you to face the career change. And she's even more elated than you are. It's been three days, but she's remained star-struck, especially by the glamour of her new badge and uniform.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she repeats for the third time in two hours. "Wonder when we'll get to see our new guns."

"Seventy-two hours and you're already chomping at the bit for target practice," you comment with a smile. She's still playing with the golden stars on her coat as she walks, and you nudge her in the shoulder to remind her to stop.

"Don't pretend you're not antsy either. If the rumors are true and they have our names engraved in them, you're gonna shit yourself," she says with a wink.

"Fleet personnel are forbidden from tampering with company equipment, especially for cosmetic purposes,” Damien interrupts with his objective voice. “It's sanction number twelve if you need more clarification on the matter.” There's no admonishment in his tone, but no humor either. You and Ty look at each other, biting your lips to keep the laughter from escaping.

Damien proceeds with his lecture until everyone is at one side of the bay. Masses of opaque grey clouds melt into the surrounding concrete and you could almost forget you’re at work. The city without-a-doubt lives up to its name—the sky is your haven in every sense of the word.

You always dreamed of flying away one day and it seems possible now more than ever.

That is until a masculine hand yanks you from the edge of the runway, the strength of his forceful fingers burning your right bicep. "Watch it!" a voice you've never heard before cuts through the air, domineering and deafening.

Within seconds, your face is inches away from Caleb Xia. The colonel’s violet eyes sear through your own while his shoulder-length hair blows in the breeze, letting the edges of his wolf-cut glint in the sunlight.

The only information you gleaned on the colonel came from company paperwork and sultry whispers of nurses and comrades. Never expecting to see him in person, you took all the gossip as myths at worst and warnings at best.

Now, you see why the rumor mill spins with his name on each spoke.

"Did you forget this base is almost five thousand feet above Linkon? You could kill yourself if you're not careful." His voice is threateningly calm. On-lookers would say his demeanor is on the cusp of normal if it weren't for the intensity of his gaze, the heaving of his chest, and the tightness of his fingers around your upper arm. His grip loosens, but his stare remains staunch.

You gulp and respond in haste to avoid furthering your newfound embarrassment. "Apologies, Colonel."

Though his grasp releases, his gaze lingers across your face and you wonder what assumptions he's making in his mind. Have you already stunted your career growth before it's had the chance to bloom, like a seed plucked too quickly from the soil?

"Are these the new lieutenants for Squadron Eight, Damien?" Caleb says the words without looking at the major. His words come with an aura of mystified disdain, and your jaw clenches. Initially, you were nervous in his presence, but now you feel talked down to and rightfully agitated. One mistake during a first impression did not dictate your entire worth to the fleet. Ty sees your eyes beginning to blaze, and she pleads with her own for you to calm down.

You grind your teeth together to keep a response from leaving your mouth, but the second the next words come off of his tongue, it's over. "Looks like this one has to remember the boundaries of her bearings."

"Nobody asked you to remind me of my faculties, Colonel Xia. I'm more than capable of that responsibility."

Suggested edit: Preparing for Caleb’s harsher words—or even another death grip on another one of your limbs—he chuckles instead. The edges of it sting your pride once again. He beckons your group of three to walk alongside him. Only then do you realize his second-in-command, Gideon, is standing by and waiting for the colonel to finish his impromptu business.

Clearly, Caleb has other plans.

You remain close to Caleb's side as the other three in your party stay a distance behind, all of them clearly intimidated by the man at your left. You walk for a while before stopping a few meters away from a set of aircrafts parked on the opposite runway. They're painted with the classic fleet colors of gray, black, and red, along with their squadron numbers marked in white text on one side.

After clearing his throat, Caleb smirks. "If you're so aware of things, you must know the fleet wouldn’t exist without the power of our arsenal." He turns to face you head on again, expression hardening with a smile so bright it stuns you. "So, First Lieutenant, what was the original—"

Too easy.

"The C-5M Super Galaxy was the prototype for the fleet's F35s. Taken from the American Airforce until its dissolution in 3012, the bones of that plane are in use today across all our operations through the Deepspace Tunnel and beyond," you finish Caleb's eventual question seamlessly.

But you refuse to look at him directly and instead train your gaze on the faraway planes, tracing the slopes and curves of their structures in a loop. "The only alteration the fleet made to the C-5M," you continue, "was lighter aerodynamic design so squadrons and cargo could move across the space-time continuum more efficiently."

You can't contain your smug smile or how wide it spreads before you turn to meet Caleb's eyes once again. "And that's just for our carrier crafts. Do you want the origins of our reconnaissance and bomber planes too, Colonel?"

In a move you don't expect, Caleb's expression softens. An emotion lurks beneath his irises; it refuses to let the smile meet his eyes. He still steps forward again to shake your hand, his touch much gentler than before. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. You may actually survive moving up the ranks."

Silently, Caleb motions for Gideon to make their exit. Damien stutters out a comment on needing to speak to the colonel further about a different matter, leaving you and Ty alone to reflect on whatever that intrusion was. Caleb doesn't look back once, but you sense the longevity of his purple eyes lingering over your form. The ghost of his presence still pierces past your muscles and buries deep into your bones, even as he continues further down the strip of pavement toward the fleet's headquarters.

"So, he seems like a peach," Ty comments first before a breathless laugh spills from her lips. "He is very attractive, though."

He's definitely something, you think to yourself. You're just unsure of what that something is.

"Firearm accuracy estimated as follows: ninety-four percent. Firing distance could be a factor in the remaining six percent deficit. Please practice again for an updated calculation."

The Shotbot's cheerful voice threatens you, or at least you think so. It wants you to throw its spherical body across the room with the way it taunts you. Back when you were too green, you might have. But you have to be better than that, calmer than you used to be. Quality results for a lieutenant don't come in haste, and definitely not with heightened emotions.

"Will do, bitch," you mutter, breathless from the exertive exercise. You kick a few spent shell casings on the training floor as you walk back to the practice bench, your hammering heart in tow. You place new bullets in the magazine, one at a time with quiet precision until it feels hefty in your palm again. The gun's weight lowers your frantic heartbeat, your rushing pulse steadying to an even tempo.

When chaos is all you’ve known, you make peace with storms and weather through until they’re over. Weapons make weathering those storms easier.

A deep chuckle comes from one edge of the training space, and you recognize it like a windchime above your front door despite only hearing it a few times. It holds curiosity with a sharp gleam. Its sound cuts through you like a knife as its owner waits to see if it's worth striking what's on the other end of the blade.

"Ninety-four. Is that your personal best?"

You laugh, but it's too airy to hold any emotion. It's more for theatrics than anything else. Your gun clanks sharply on the bench when you set it down.

You turn to see Caleb staring you down smugly in his tank top and sweatpants, training clothes immaculate in comparison to your crew shirt and spandex shorts drenched in sweat. You don't let his appearance faze you, though. You keep your spine straight and your face steadfast as you reply. "What's yours, Colonel?"

Caleb tsks, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I asked you first, bluebird." Seeing the surprise in your eyes, a laugh erupts from him again. "Don't freak out. It wasn't that hard to find your old code name."

"You were investigating me?"

He contemplates his next words with a pout. "Think of it as gainin' intel. It's a small part of my job description to oversee the new fish in our big pond. Especially one so close to drowning the other day."

You roll your eyes, leaning back behind you to grab your pistol. "I think we established that I can handle myself just fine."

"Prove it."

You quirk an eyebrow. "You want more oral history on the fleet? You could've just said so."

Caleb's smirk sits in contrast with the tick of his jaw. A million emotions flash across his face, but it's indecipherable past the two tells he's shown. He raises a hand, and your gun shoots out from your palm. It whips through the air until it lands in his own. "Hand-to-hand combat. I'm curious to see if your accuracy is better in this facet of battle strategy."

Damn him and his gravity evol.

Many comrades of yours who fought with him on the frontlines commented on his physical manipulation of guns, melee weapons, and even body parts that left them stunned. He clearly knows how to use it to his advantage, particularly in times like this to humor himself.

"Will you be using that trick of yours when we fight?"

He shakes his head, crossing his heart with the hand not holding your weapon. "Promise," he responds, but you don't trust it. Not until you see him in action.

Caleb can't figure it out.

He's dodged most of your combos, your left fist considerably weaker than your right. Has to be her stronger hand, he thought when he cleared another punch aimed for his jaw. He even landed a small jab to your ribs after one too many exertions left you open in a reckless move.

Yet you're still standing.

You remain stubbornly active in the fight all the same, throwing more hits out and blocking where you can like you haven't exhausted enough energy already. Caleb has to respect the moxie you possess. It's admirable for any soldier to continue on in the presence of an opponent who outnumbers them in a multitude of ways.

You won't win; he knows this. But the hope in your eyes—coupled with the thought that you still believe you can—confuses Caleb further.

He likes your eagerness to find his weak spot in the fight, the vulnerable point that will give you the upper hand. It begs the question of what he still has yet to learn and admire about you. This then leaves him in a stalemate with his original set of unanswerable questions: Who are you? What is it about you that's pulling me in? Why do you remind me of someone I don't want to remember?

Caleb's questions turn into frustration as the fight carries on. He regrets starting this at all. He wishes now you would concede and admit defeat, throw down your arms and stop stirring up the contents of his heart that have sat comfortably untouched for so long.

He could finish this dance and let all of it go, accepting the fact his curiosity will peak here with no definite resolution to his inquiries.

Still—

"Damnit, just quit already," Caleb barks. He hits and blocks faster in an attempt to drain what's left of your stamina.

You laugh, the sound deflated from your fatigue but still possessing a spark of challenge. "That'd be too easy."

Caleb doesn't recognize he's pinned you down to the floor with both his body and gravity evol until he feels the rubber of the floor mats against his calloused fingertips. You gasp in surprise when you fight to get up with no success, his evol keeping you supine. Your reaction spurs more of his irritation to the surface, the emotion rising faster than he's prepared for.

"You have no self preservation, do you?" he asks with bite. His body is equal parts taut and tense above you. Both arms rest on either side of your face as he tries regaining his composure. His chest bumps yours with every respective inhale and exhale you both take.

You smirk up at him. "Just enough, Colonel."

A metal bard pricks Caleb’s side, thankfully not yet piercing his skin. With each inch pressing harder into his skin, it cuts through his tank and the threat of it puncturing his skin is unnerving. But you don’t let it, not when you’re the one controlling it.

Caleb may not know much about you, but he estimates you won't go so far as to kill him during the first week on the job. At least, he doesn't think you will.

He huffs a breath of surprise, his interest spiked more than before. "Your file never said anything about an evol."

A corner of your mouth quirks up, and his breath catches. "Nobody ever asked."

He feels like a teenager again, caught sneaking out by his Gran or flunking a big exam. To name the ticking in his chest feels impossible. The time bomb is indecipherable, one Caleb doesn't know the wiring for.

"Ninety-seven."

Your eyebrows quirk, the skin between them folding. Caleb commits the expression to his memory without meaning to. It's too cute, somehow. "What?"

"My accuracy. It's ninety-seven," he whispers. His lips are a few feet away from yours that are molded into a small grin. Both of your sweat-covered faces sit a handful of breaths apart.

It's unprofessional, his behavior. From using his company clearance to dig into your file to training with you like this, he sees every misstep he's taken to get to this point and recognizes what an idiot he is. He should pull away quickly before he moves any closer, and he knows he will.

But an unnameable force tugs him down, holds him there in the moment for a little bit longer. He's helpless; the damn weighted bomb in his chest won't let him escape.

You look around the room in a clear display of nerves, unsure how to continue. "I need to get back to the armory. Ty will be looking for me."

Caleb nods like he's ready to let you go. His own survival skills kick in, telling him to sit up and step away from you. "I'd say," he starts while recollecting himself, "your evol would be incredibly useful in battle. I'll update your file to reflect this fact and consider your potential for upcoming missions."

You rub your sore arms and wrists as you acknowledge his words. "Noted, Colonel. Thank you."

He clears his throat suddenly, hiding the blush of his cheeks behind his fist. "Caleb is fine, Lieutenant. I think we've skipped the need for titles when we're in situations like this."

"And what situations are those?" you jest.

Caleb chuckles. You ride the ebb and flow of his emotions like a wave, your banter a match for his without much effort. He likes that, too, maybe a little too much. "When we're alone, I guess."

You giggle too, so softly he thinks he imagines the sound. You stand up from the floor with weak limbs, but you manage to extend a hand to him in agreement. "Also noted, Caleb."

Caleb may not understand it or you just yet, but once he does, he'll be able to put it to bed for good without issue. Only then will he feel less tepid, less like something inside of him has just cracked.

Caleb wasn't kidding when he said he would consider you for future missions because of your evol. It was only a month into your new position when your squadron became a staple of the fleet's recent set of cleanup jobs and intergalactic conquests. You liked to assume it was by your own merits and not due to the glowing recommendation Caleb passed to his higher-ups, but you knew better.

Slowly, you proved you were capable of more than even Caleb anticipated. Despite your efforts, it didn't stop conspiratory eyes passing over you when you and the colonel were in the same vicinity. He sure gets close whenever she's around, don't you think?

The murmurs of your comrades couldn't keep you from doing your job, though. It may have chipped at your patience day after day, but you could only show so much of your crumbling resolve. You initially believed the fleet was all about space travel and battlefields. Now, you realize it's a tightrope of commands and surface-level courtesy, a constant rotating door of fighting and pony-showing.

The return to Skyhaven for a few days is necessary, to say the least.

Exhausted and drained, you slept in until noon the first day you arrived home and ate takeout alone for the first time in months. You could do as you see fit, with nobody to answer to or have under your wing. Your apartment is as messy as you left it, but you prefer it that way.

And now, walking through the city via the intricate skyway bridge, your battery recharges with every step. Almost thirty hours ago on the aircraft you called your second home, you were on the verge of fraying from the ever-present spotlight. Now, you can be a silent spectator without a title or set of responsibilities. It may be for only a few more days, but it's enough.

As you watch the cotton-candy clouds adorning the dusk sky, your mind wanders around the same unrelated subject. What’s Caleb doing now? Is he enjoying time off? Did he opt out of a home visit? Is he still working?

Maybe you shouldn't be thinking of your boss's boss in this manner, but you have to assume it's normal given how much time you spend together. Besides, neither him nor anyone of importance is around to tease you, so what does it matter?

"Galileo, wait!"

The second before you’re given the chance to shout, a gargantuan German shepherd tackles you, forcing your back to the ground with her forepaws. The pup, apparently named Galileo, brushes her brown and black fur against your cheeks, sniffing and licking your face as you sit up by your elbows. Why she opted for kisses as a greeting to a random stranger instead of a bite, you don’t know.

But you recognize the owner in question like the back of your hand. He runs up to the both of you, his eyes blazing with horror. "Shit—Gal, come here!"

At Caleb’s command, Galilea jumps off your lap, circles around him, and sits perfectly in front of him with a pleased expression. Her tails wags as she awaits Caleb’s behind-the-ear scratches. Clearly, she loves him, letting you finally release the chuckle caught in your throat from meeting her.

Caleb joins in on your laughter with his own. This time, it's not accompanied by the cockiness or calculation you're used to. It's carefree, light but stuffed with pleasant surprise.

You quirk an eyebrow up at him. "Is this how you charm women? Stick your dog on them?"

He extends a hand out to you, chest still rumbling with humor. "Only the pretty ones. Can't help Gal for knowing the difference."

You're about to bite back with a snarky comment—Oh, so you think I'm pretty, Colonel Xia?—until you flinch.

You feel the burn from your palm coming into contact with his, realizing your skin is covered in scrapes from the fall. What felt like nothing from the fall now feels like the sting of a thousand papercuts.

"Damn," he exclaims. "You need to disinfect those now." He helps you up by the elbow rather than the hand, so gently you think he's mistaking you for a feather instead of a full-sized adult. His gaze lands on the towering apartments at the bottom of the bend. "We need to get you back so you can get cleaned up."

"Yeah, I have a first-aid kit in—" A sudden realization cuts your sentence short. "Caleb. Did you look up where I live in your intel-gathering mission?"

Caleb smirks. "Gotta be thorough, right?" He releases you to tug on Galileo's leash, signaling for her to start walking again. As you both follow suit, Caleb says, "Besides, you can't be upset at me. That's no way to treat your neighbor."

Some time after the two of you make it to Caleb’s door and you stand by as he rifles through his cabinets, he appears from the bathroom with bandages and ointment in his hands, his steps quick and deliberate. "This won't take long."

You giggle to yourself, stifling the laughter with the back of your hand. When a crease forms in his brow, you say, "Why do I get the feeling you've said that line before?"

Caleb chuckles and brushes you on his way past you, patting the spot next to him on the couch once he sits down. "Careful, Y/N. I don't think it's wise of you to make assumptions."

Caleb's apartment in the building opposite of yours is immaculate, not a speck of dust or any embarrassingly opaque stains in sight. He expects absolute precision when you're on the base, so it shouldn't be a shock he's as regimented in his everyday life.

Galileo settles near Caleb's feet as he inspects the wounds on your hands. "They're really shallow. Shouldn't need more than a few days of bandaids and antibiotic cream."

You huff a breath. "Didn't think you could pass yourself off as a doctor, too."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "I know a guy, who actually is a doctor. Taught me a few tricks before I joined the fleet."

You hiss when the first splash of ointment coats your cuts. The pain ebbs once Caleb rubs the cream in, the numbing agent working quickly. "Better?" he asks.

"Much. Thank you."

He hums, pleased by your gratitude. He takes a bandage and begins unwrapping it, careful not to tear the plaster. Your eyes flit across his living room as he works on your hands. Many see him as an enigma, an uncrackable puzzle. But sitting between his legs as he mends the cuts still spotting with blood, you realize there's two men in Caleb Xia that only few people get the opportunity to witness.

This fear-inducing colonel, someone who you initially found to be far too patronizing, is one half of him. He takes no prisoners, does not ask before he does, and seems to chill every man below him to the bone. Yet, this part, the Caleb that is often hidden from public view, intrigues you to no end.

He has few friends yet clearly dotes on his dog, many chew toys on the floor the only form of disarray in his space. He plays his role in the sky with domination and smugness, yet has shown intense care for you that goes well beyond normal boundaries. And, funnily enough, he seems to be incredibly efficient at assembling airplane models, many plastic aircrafts lining his bookshelves.

You don't know this Caleb like you do the colonel, and yet it feels like you could figure out what makes this version tick easily if given more time. And you want to discover those ticks, so much it rattles you. Maybe it's because some part of you recognizes his framework, his ease with being comfortable alone. Or maybe it's because he gives you the same inquisitive stares you're starting to throw his way.

Is he as curious to understand you, too?

"Wanna share your thoughts with the class?" Caleb asks with a close-mouthed grin. A dimple pops out from his cheek, one you didn't notice before.

"What made you want to join the fleet?"

Caleb laughs, but it's entirely artificial. It's too measured, more careful than careless. You can tell the difference by now. "I thought I would find answers to this thing that happened to me a long time ago. And once I realized I wouldn't, that it was a dead end that didn't really have a resolution, it was too late to turn back. Now, I like the shiny attire and equipment."

You giggle at the tail-end of his answer. "Is that why you climbed up the ranks so quickly? Because you were on a search for something that mattered to you?"

"That, and I'm devastatingly handsome. Who wouldn't want to see me in a colonel's uniform?"

The smile on your lips doesn't wane, but the remainder of his answer comes back to the forefront of your mind. His need to repair what broke him a long time ago flicks at one of your subconscious nerves viciously, although you don't show it on your face. He senses it though, looking up at you with those violet eyes brimming with curiosity. You know he wants to know how you would answer without him having to repeat your question back to you.

"I wanted to belong," you confess. "I've always been very out of place, no matter how hard I tried to fit in. At school, at the foster home…" You trail off, immediately regretting sharing such a private part of your life. Caleb may be friendly, but is he truly a friend, someone more akin to Ty than Damien or Gideon? "The fleet's always given me structure, a purpose to fulfill, friends that understand what it's like to struggle and succeed together. Ty used to think it was crazy to like being on the brink of death all the time, but—it's better than being alive and alone."

You hoped Caleb wouldn't laugh at you or craft a funny comment in response to your honesty, but you're more than relieved to find your hope in him wasn't misplaced. All he does is nod and continue fixing up your hand, a solemn expression dressing his face. "I didn't grow up in a traditional home, either. I had a caretaker and…a sibling, but…" The muscles in his face tighten, his jaw bone practically protruding from the skin. He has to be biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from going completely over the edge. You've never seen him like this, skating past his usual composure to leave himself incredibly open.

You shake your head at him, unable to see him torture himself further. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I thought since you told me the truth, it's only right to do the same."

The smile Caleb gives you in response upends all the contents of your stomach, stuff that has to be the makings of both butterflies and livewires. As he takes your bandaged hand in his, his breathing regulates itself as your skin touches. He rubs the outer edges of your palm with his thumb, and your previous regret eases a little. It makes you believe the needle is moving closer to friendship, to being safe in your vulnerability. Maybe even something more. You've never been good at emotions or letting them fly freely, but with him, you want to be.

And that makes a piece of you shift back into a place, a piece you believed was buried way before you could give it a home.

An hour into the gala, Caleb's ready to go home.

The liquor tastes too cheap for him to be drinking on purpose. The rooftop venue overlooking the entirety of Skyhaven isn't anything special, sans the twinkling lights surrounding the bar and dance area. And Caleb's schmoozed more than half of the current partygoers a million times before this event, so there's nobody worth impressing tonight.

Worse yet, the person Caleb wants to put his effort into talking to hasn't shown up, and most likely won't.

"Parties aren't my thing," you told him a few days ago on the aircraft, taking you both home for another mandated break. "Besides, it's for some brigadier general's retirement right? Nobody will notice me missing."

Caleb does, though—so much so that your absence twists in his gut. In every search he's done across the sea of faces for your daring eyes and smart mouth, he grows more restless. Does that not matter to you by now?

"Smell this," Gideon interrupts Caleb's thoughts with a drink an inch from his face. The younger guy practically dumps all the liquid onto his boss's jacket in the process of…whatever he's doing.

Caleb sets his whiskey sour down on a nearby glass table. "Man, kiss my ass."

"Seriously! That battlefield medic Anya gave it to me, and I can't tell if it's laced with a love drug or something."

Caleb sniffs the rim lightly. Nothing out of the ordinary to report, but it's cute how inept his subordinate is to this stuff. "Smells like a classic strawberry margarita to me."

Gideon huffs. "You say it like I shouldn't be concerned."

"Because you shouldn't be. Be grateful someone's interested in buying you a drink in the first place."

"Says the guy who hasn't gotten any since his DAA days," Gideon spits back before taking a sip of his margarita.

Caleb has the next barb on his tongue, prepared to strike Gideon like a viper eager for an easy kill, but it disintegrates. He can't be bothered with a comeback now, not as he loses all sense of gravity seeing you walk through the double doors like a vision.

Your dress, bordering between modest and suggestive, is the richest red Caleb’s ever seen. Like a ripe apple ready to be plucked from a tree. The silk hugs your curves while the drop sleeves show off your shoulders and neckline—a mouthwatering view.

Caleb shouldn't look at you like a dog with a bone dangling in the air in wait, but he doesn’t remember why. Even if he did, would it matter? He’ll gravitate back regardless, the instinct to admire you like second nature. It’s easy, letting you to steal every coherent thought from his grasp. All that matters right now is you and the garment that's inducing his lust-filled eyes and dry mouth that begs for some form of relief.

No— not just any relief. Caleb knows this, knows the name of the remedy he seeks. But he doesn't know if it's worth it to cross that line, lay himself bare for you when he's been burned before.

Then again, he was burned for not risking anything back then. Perhaps he should do the opposite this time.

Just as he's about to greet you, he sees an underling that he knows too well creeping over to steal the honor first.

Caleb's body has to be on fire from the way the sight in front of him eats at his flesh. Jace Lee, a major above your rank but leagues away from Caleb, pulls grins and giggles from you like a charlatan with a cheap magic trick. And you feed into his ploys, entertaining a man that isn't Caleb with no hesitancy.

He wants to scream, kiss the idiot's jaw with his fist, and pull you away from this place without a second thought. The feelings that bubble to the surface are almost foreign. He hasn't felt this way since…well…

He downs his whiskey in a few sips before excusing himself from Gideon's side. He saunters to you and Jace, and he sees your demeanor change. It's a lot clearer now, the curtain lifting with every step. Jace is a courtesy, a polite conversation you have to entertain. But when you see Caleb coming over, your amiable smile becomes one of challenge and eagerness just for him.

It can't be in his head what he's witnessing change before him. "Jace, pleasure to see you. Apologies for missing you before." Jace eagerly takes the higher-ups hand. Caleb lets the idea of clenching down with a vice-grip level of strength pass across his brain. He can't be an asshole right now, not when you're this close.

Caleb then takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, his own action creating an electric tingle in his spine. "You clean up exceptionally well."

Trying to hide the new color on your cheeks is of no use, but he finds you captivating all the same. "Thank you, Colonel. Actually, Jace and I were talking about a new carrier mission planned for next month. Can I find you later?”

As if you needed to ask.

Caleb retracts his hand and nods all the same. His heart rests in his mouth as he walks away to leave you to your conversation. It remains there, heavy and pulsing, when he walks to the bar to order a glass of vodka.

Caleb shouldn’t feel jealous right now. He thought his jealousy ended with the thoughts he had long ago about MC, his heart a tangle of emotions he had no words to justify unraveling back then. Now, you’re the cause for his undoing, and he’s unsure how to reconcile the war in his heart.

He orders another drink with a shot of tequila. The alcohol burns as it slides down his throat, but it doesn’t matter to him. He’ll drink anything if it helps to take the sting away from his racing thoughts and unkempt feelings.

Caleb stirs in his bed with the urge to rise quickly and find you. He’s unsure how he’ll get up with a dull ache in his skull from all the drinks he consumed, but all he knows is that he can't take it anymore—the unsaid words, the tension in every sinew that he’s composed of, the way he yearns for you.

In the haze of liquor, he remembers your arms wrapped around him on your way into his apartment, body hefty but his thoughts heavier as he came through the door.

“You looked really pretty tonight. I forgot to say so. I mean—You always look beautiful, but this dress is…” He ran his fingers over the material, each passing of his hands against the silk torturous.

“Thank you, Colonel.” Your giggle caused a deep knot in his chest.

“I wanted to kiss you the second you walked into the bar,” he confessed, bashful despite the boldness of his words. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, actually.”

Your body tensed as you dropped him on the bed, but you still ran your fingers through his hair, admiring each gold-spun strand like a treasure.

“Sleep it off, Caleb.” You looked at him so gently; it drove him crazy to not press his lips to yours then and there. “Tell me all of this when your head's clear in the morning.”

Nothing could have kept him from remembering every word and action. He’d say it all again on a loop if you wanted him to. He tossed and turned in his bed two hours after that, willing the fog of alcohol to clear from his brain. If he waited and saw it pass, then he could do what he's wanted to this entire frustratingly slow night.

He definitely can’t wait until morning. That's not possible.

Now, with a semi-sober head and a chest overflowing with desire, right now, he needs to know for sure what you want before he goes any crazier.

He tiptoes into the living room on bare feet, trying to stay quiet but still focused on his mission. His heart clenches seeing you belly-down on his couch, snoring lightly with no blanket or pillow to provide you comfort.

The guilt creeps down his body for leaving you in this state while he was buzzed, but relief runs straight past it once he realizes you didn't leave for a reason.

You wanted to stay; he can't imagine the pain he would've felt if you hadn't.

He sits on the ottoman nearby and runs his fingertips over your cheek, his feelings firm on his palate yet partially stuck in his throat. Saying the words came so easily with liquid courage, yet repeating them is like walking through quicksand.

"Wake up, bluebird," he whispers. The only other sounds outside of his voice are your gurgles and whines from being pulled from your dream.

The minute your eyes open, a hazy smile creeps past your teeth. He feels his heart ease and jackhammer in the same second.

You rise from your spot with a yawn. "How are you—"

Caleb doesn't give you a chance to continue your question. He presses both hands to either side of your neck and acts rather than thinks, slamming his lips down onto yours.

The moan that slips past his mouth when he presses his tongue to the roof of yours is instinctual; it's too good to keep quiet about. He presses you into the cushions behind your head as he kisses you deeper and longer without reservation. Maybe the key to the courage he needs is savoring every bit of you he can before releasing it all verbally.

When you part, a string of saliva connects your mouths together, and he almost groans again at the sight. He wants to go back to kissing you breathless and forgetting the rest of the world around you both exists, but he needs to say the words again so you know he means it.

“You told me to tell you this when I had a clearer head," he whispers. "And I think it’s more than clear now.”

One breath to focus on the present moment. Another to quiet the fear. And one more for good measure.

"I want you. I've wanted you for weeks, and I can't stop myself. So don't ask me to…unless it's not what you want." A piece of his heart withers at the thought that your first kiss could also be your last, but he continues on. "I'll do my best to walk away and we can stay friends, but if you feel the way I do, let me give you all of me. Because it's killing me not to."

By the end, he isn't sure if he's breathing. With the quiet contemplation on your face, he's questioning if you're breathing as well. Dying on that couch in front of you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, forever eager to know the thoughts swimming in your mind. If he has to go out that way, so be it.

Then, one side of your mouth quirks up, and he thinks he might see another day of existence. "Show me how much you want me."

Your words are his wreckage and his freedom.

In a flash, your dress is draped over the ottoman like it’s worthless. Caleb's an inspector by nature, a pilot who looks on all sides before committing to a course of action. He has to admire each line of your body with a kiss. Take his time with each pass or squeeze of his hand on your skin.

He pays great attention to your chest specifically, kneading one breast as he keeps the opposite one's nipple in his mouth. Sucking, biting, tugging. He's not innocent, and you should've known the second you met him. But it's another thing to experience the sin he's eagerly providing, and he doesn't mind teaching you every lesson he has to offer.

You're incoherent by the time his hands rest on your hips, mumbling and moaning in a language he gathers isn't English. He's itching to take your panties off, but is too enraptured by the wetness that's soaking through the fabric to do so.

"You're drenched, sweetheart." Caleb kisses the damp spot on your underwear, your puffy clit thrumming from the sensation of his lips, even through the cotton barrier. "This all for me?"

You nod like it's all you know how to do, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Only for you."

He chuckles darkly and pulls the panties to the side. His tongue licks a fat stripe across your folds, taking its sweet time on the trail up to your clit. A wanton sigh escapes your lips from the sensation.

Another laugh escapes him from your eagerness to meet his lips with your center. “You’ve never felt this way before, have you, sweetheart?” he asks between more licks and slurps. “Nobody’s ever touched your pussy like this?”

“Shut up,” you respond breathlessly. He continues on, lost in lust and admiration for your body. Why did it take so long to get to this point?

"You like it, beautiful?" Caleb asks rhetorically, knowing the answer in the way you raise your hips to meet his face. "Do you like how my tongue feels?"

"Yes, yes—oh fuck—yes." It must be hard to form logical sentences once he slips a finger through your wetness. He sets a pace meant to scissor you open thoroughly. What will it be like when his cock is inside of you? It makes him ache between his lungs thinking about it.

His mouth wraps around your clit as your walls clench around his digit, eager to keep it inside when he retracts. "You’re sucking me in so well." Caleb admires the view, his hand exiting and entering you like it's where it's always meant to be. "Maybe I'll keep you like this forever. Never let you leave and fuck you stupid every second of the day." Another drag of his tongue against your clit, and your breath hitches. "Do you want that beautiful? Want to be here with me?"

"Of course, please," you plead. "Oh god, please let me be yours, Caleb. Will you let me?" Most girls confessing such a thing would blush something scalding, but you don't care an inch or a mile. You just want him to let you fall apart, and he senses it.

The urge to whine threatens your lips as he pulls himself off you, but it dies when he yanks his suit pants and underwear down in one swoop. Pre-cum coats the tip of his cock, the skin of his length red and throbbing. He's ravenous by now, his patience up to this point kept him at bay to prepare you for what's been coming. What he's been so eager for the second he pinned you down in that training room.

"I want to feel you around me when you come," he whispers before taking another kiss like a thief in the night. You curse at the taste on his tongue and he hums, pleased in knowing it’s your own arousal.

Tapping the head of his cock against your clit, he coats it in your arousal like he’s dipping a finger into a pot of honey.

When it presses against your gummy walls, Caleb almost comes right there. He doesn't know how he's survived up to this point without knowing how you feel. If this was what was waiting for him all this time, he's a fucking idiot for denying himself. His hip bones press to yours when he's fully inside, sheathed completely despite the tightness encasing his cock.

He wants to move, but he's too busy staring into your twinkling eyes already glazed over from pleasure. Thinking back to your earlier question makes him pulse against your heat.

Will you let me?

He needs to give you the answer before he loses himself in you again. "You never had to ask, beautiful. We've belonged to each other for a long time now." He swallows your resounding cry with his mouth as he thrusts his hips.

It's heavenly, better than any plane ride he's ever taken, the funniest jokes he's ever heard, and all the desserts on the planet combined. It's just the two of you, your bodies glistening in the moonlight and his soul being wrapped up in you like he's wanted it to be since the start.

If this is what it's like to fall, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to hit the ground when it's all over.

He moves at a faster speed, thrusting in and out of you with a precision that is just as sharp as his marksmanship. You bite down on his neck to stop from screaming out in pleasure, and Caleb laughs like he's still drunk. He likes his skin between your teeth more than he imagined.

"That's it, sweetheart," he says between two brutal thrusts. "I want all of it."

All of it you gladly give. Running your nails along his back, you mar the skin there in your quest towards your high. You thrust up and into him with your own hips, and Caleb almost loses it then. You're too good at this, too perfect for even his fantasies. "God, sweetheart, I'm gonna come if you keep it up."

"Do it," you murmur. "Fill me up, Caleb. Give me all of it so I never go without you again."

That does him in, like Icarus flying too close to the sun. He falls without protest or trepidation. And you fall with him, clinging to his shoulders as ropes of his cum coat your insides white. It's warmth, heat, desire overflowing past maximum capacity.

Caleb clings to you in the aftermath like a life preserver, chin in the crook of your shoulder and his hands tightly wrapped around your middle. You feel spent and sticky, but he still litters kisses all over your skin like you're the oasis in the middle of a desert. You've never looked more beautiful.

And when you stare into each other's eyes coming down, your shared arousals seeping out from where you two meet, you both know everything has changed.

"Caleb, I can't breathe. Loosen up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

The ends of his sweat-soaked hair tickle your neck as he nuzzles in closer. "I can breathe for the both of us just fine."

"Caleb!" You turn in his hold to protest further, but he steals another kiss from your lips before you can gladly give it. Once again, like a bird called back to its flock, you're lost in him. And, in you, he's found.

He's freed from the fear you're going anywhere without him. The physical reminders you're here keep his doubts at bay.

They keep him from admitting how much of a liar he is. How he's keeping a part of his life from you. How he'll always tuck away the fraction he's certain will make you run from him without a second thought.

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@filmnings @innocygnet @prkhaven @frenchkisstheabyss @xomakara @tinycatharsis @pinkjellyz @bambiihee @xylatox @asiatic-apple @humanjarvis

#lads #l&ds #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb #caleb smut #caleb x reader #lads x reader #lads smut #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #— applekeu #applekeu — caleb

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dcafanzine · 2 months ago

Text

May Update

Helllllooooo everyone! Sun and Moon and the Fanzine crew have been quietly working away here at Glitches and Glitterglue HQ but it’s about time you lovely people had an update! I think Moon is ready for a break after being worked so hard, but Sun will not accept anything less than perfect for you all!

Well, we are well on our way! We’ve now ironed out the last wrinkles with all our production companies and we’re super excited to share the results of our labour! We are just awaiting final proofs for the last changes on a couple of items and to give the green light to produce the goods.

Our next steps will be receiving the goods, boxing up and dispatching in waves! We cannot express how excited are to be so close to the finish line and have these bundles in your hands.

A few of you have been asking about tariffs and what these will be impacting. The tariffs (from our understanding and research) would mostly affect items being imported to the US, the zines and merch coming directly to our shipping team from manufacturers from overseas. We are planning on our US items being shipped to backers from within the US and many of our international items being shipped from the UK, with a few exceptions. This was always our plan to both help split the load for our team and this should also help with tariff issues should there be further problems and fees trickling through the shipping systems.

The honest answer is we’re charting uncertain waters with this but to our current understanding, this shouldn’t impact you but may slightly increase the waiting times for things to arrive with us. Should there be any need for further guidance, we will let you all know via update.

Sneak Peeks! Aren't they amazing? Some snippets of works you have to look forward to from the talented RAVLIKSBLOG, LYCANKEYY and ELDRITCH-BEETLE!

Annnnd here’s an updated timeline!

Updated Fazwatch Timeline

What's happening next? Here's the up to date estimated outline as of May 2025!

There were some small issues that have been resolved with our manufacturers, but after reviewing and finalizing proofs, items are in production!

We expect to begin receiving some items in the next few weeks and into June. Here is the updated timeline reflecting the delay.

February-March 2025: Funds Received & Items Ordered! We have received the funds from Kickstarter and are in the process of finalizing our order details and sending all of the amazing art to our manufacturers. Proof and Production times can vary, but we will send updates to backers as details are finalized and items go into production.

April-May 2025: Proofs Reviewed, Revised, & Approved. Printing and Manufacturing is underway! Proofs received from manufacturers and our team has reviewed everything for quality and accuracy. This process can go back and forth multiple times. With the final approval of the art, the manufacturers will begin production!

June 2025: We will send out Backer Surveys to confirm everyone's shipping details. We are planning on surveys being sent out in June, but will send an update prior to sending and to remind backers to look for them once they are sent.

Mid June-July 2025 (estimated): Items arrive and fulfilment begins!

July-Sept of 2025 (estimated): Packages are Shipped & Digital Rewards are Sent! Once we have confirmed where everything needs to be shipped, we will begin to send out packages in waves. This does mean that everyone's packages will not arrive around the same time, but this in unavoidable with how many of you there are! It will be during this time we plan to send out the digital rewards.

More detailed information on digital reward fulfilment will be coming in a future update.

These are estimated dates that we’ll be able to further refine as we get farther along in the process. These may change depending on manufacturing, and other factors we have done our best to plan for.

Thank you all for your patience and I’m sure you’ll hear more good news from us soon!

#dca fan zine #dca fanzine #glitches and glitterglue zine #zine update #dca fandom

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imyimsorryy · 7 months ago

Text

i bet you think about me

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: kidnapping, usual cm violence, kinda emotional cheating (not on each other), mentions of a hook up, angst —> fluff

no use of y/n

word count: 7k

“This isn’t working.”

It’s a punch straight to your gut. The words echo in your mind as you drive home, void of any emotion. The radio is muted, and the dull falling of snow does nothing to help your melancholy.

You love him, part of you always has. From the moment you stepped into the BAU, you knew he would ruin you. You just didn’t think it’d be like this—so close to the holidays you cherish.

Your phone rings from the empty passenger seat, you glance over, spotting Penelope’s picture flashing on the small screen. You ignore it, you aren’t in the mood to talk to anyone. The call ceases after a minute, but then the screen is lighting up again with a voicemail and a text message. You sigh, reaching over to press play on the message.

‘Hey babydoll, me and Prentiss are going Christmas shopping tomorrow, you in? Call me back, love ya.’

At least she doesn’t suspect the heartbreak you just experienced.

It had been a long case, the grueling cold of Minnesota only heightened everyone’s grumpiness. Christmas is in a week, everyone just wanted to get home to their loved ones.

Aaron had been snapping at you—and then when you separated from him and Derek to capture the unsub, he had snapped. He never yelled at you in front of the team like he did that day. You felt like a little kid again, being scolded over anything. You can’t get the pitiful face of JJ out of your mind.

You type a quick, ‘Sorry, I’m busy’ before throwing your phone back on the seat, redirecting your full attention to the road in front of you.

Your apartment is dark when you open the door, the bare walls and cold floor are what drive you to open the bottle of red wine stashed in your pantry.

The loneliness of it all—of having someone so tantalizingly close, and then losing it too much. His touch, his lingering glances, and whispered promises linger in your mind. The way his hand would brush yours while passing files or how he’d tap his knee to yours during a briefing; all of it is etched into your memory.

By the third pouring of wine you abandon the glass, opting to just drink it straight from the bottle. The TV plays a shitty reality show, you almost laugh as you listen to the rich snobs complaining about what to wear.

You lay your head on the back of the couch, and in the process of kicking your feet onto the coffee table you accidentally knock the glass over, spilling the remaining droplets of red wine and glass shards onto the light colored rug beneath you.

Normally you’d have cursed the universe for it, laughed a little, then cleaned it up. But now, you just stare at it. Broken and bloody—as dramatic as it sounds it’s how you feel at the moment, and you can’t bring yourself to get up and grab the broom.

You twist your body so you're laying down on the couch, and you fall asleep listening to the annoying voices on the TV and the smell of grapes.

You’re awoken to the sound of an incessant knocking on your front door. You’re not sure what time it is, but the sunlight peeking in through your blinds gives you enough clues to estimate.

You contemplate ignoring it, but then the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s Aaron. Maybe he’s hurting the way you are, maybe he’s sorry. In the process of getting up you feel glass crack on your bare foot, followed by a searing pain and a red footprint when you step off of it.

The knocking still doesn’t stop, and you conclude that you have to answer no matter what, so you can at least make whoever it is patch your foot up.

Blonde and black hair are all you see in the peephole, of course they came to get you anyway.

“Hey sweets.” Penelope is far too happy for you to understand, your head is already pounding from your previous wine drunk state.

You open the door wide enough for them to come in, and Emily notices your pained expression, before casting her eyes downward. “Jesus, what happened?”

“I stepped on glass.” You stumble slightly, gripping her shoulder to hold you up. Emily looks around your living room. She notices the empty wine bottle, the stained carpet, the messy blankets thrown about the room. She turns her attention back to you as Penelope searches for a first aid kit. “Are you drunk?” Penelope laughs, Emily gives her a look.

You hear Penelope mumble something about profilers as she approaches you with bandages and tweezers.

You try to get out of Christmas shopping, but part of you can use the distraction. The holiday lights flicker on the street, the sunlight making it hardly noticeable, but you notice.

“Aaron, where are we going?” You laugh, his hands around your eyes causing you to lean into him to steer you. “Just wait.”

A few more feet and he’s finally removing his calloused hands from your eyesight, you open your eyes in awe at the sight in front of you. Christmas lights blind you, from every direction.

In the center of the festively lit town is a large Christmas tree, it’s one you would see in a cartoon with how comically large it is.

Different strings of lights shine brightly and he watches with a wide smile as you take in the site. You love Christmas lights, he’ll never forget when you two drove past a house decked out in them after a hard case. Your eyes had glistened with joy in the passenger seat.

You turn back to him with a smile that could make him faint, and then the whole park goes black.

You’re the first to laugh, the idea that he brought you here to show you the lights just for the power to go out as soon as you arrive makes you gasp for air next to him. He looks grumpy beside you, preparing to pull his badge out to make them fix it for you.

He’d have captured a star for you if it made you smile, but hearing your laugh beside him was enough to snap him out of his annoyance, instead focusing his attention on the beautiful sound coming from you.

He laughs then, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are almost touching. “It was beautiful.” You whisper against his lips, he almost tilts his head back with how overwhelming your presence is.

It’s embarrassing, how much of a lovesick teenager you make him feel by just being near him.

“I’ll make them fix it.” He says in return, causing you to laugh again as you press your lips to his pout. “You’re sweet to me.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, instead he presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling away in order to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, there’s more to do.”

Penelope snaps in your face, jolting you out of the trance you found yourself in. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.” You sniffle, wiping it with your glove. “Seriously, it’s just cold.” You try your hardest to smile, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and you know Emily notices, but she doesn’t say anything as you begin walking ahead of them.

You don’t buy anything, your Christmas shopping is long out of the way. You do it every year, you get excited by the upcoming holiday and accidentally buy everyone’s gifts the first week of November.

Aaron had found it endearing, how excited you got at the idea of giving people gifts they’ll enjoy.

“Let’s go in here.” The universe must be out to get you, because the store Penelope turns into is the same one you and Aaron would frequent on your occasional days off. It’s filled with antiques and books, something he didn’t particularly enjoy looking at, but you did.

The day continues on, little things remind you of him everywhere you go. You curse yourself for being so miserable, for letting someone have this effect on you.

You sip a hot chocolate as the sky darkens, pushing the memories of him kissing the whipped cream off your upper lip out of your mind as you wipe it away with a small napkin that Emily hands you.

Penelope is talking to the woman at the booth, asking her all about where her outfit is from, when Emily sighs next to you. “What’s going on?”

You turn to her, a little shocked at her question. You ramble as you attempt to come up with a reason for your sour mood. “Please—I’m fine. What makes you think something’s wrong? Seriously Em—”

“You ramble when you lie.” Emily says as she lifts her paper cup up to her lips. “So, spill.”

You hesitate, you can’t say anything. Nobody on the team even knows about you and Aaron. You’d kept it a secret for a year and a half, you definitely weren’t going to give it up now.

“Did something happen…with Hotch?” It’s like she can read your mind, and you bite your tongue in order to not talk and reveal your lie. Then your eyes widen, remembering that you hadn’t told her about Hotch.

“Hey,” She says your name. “It’s okay, nobody else suspects anything.”

“I don’t…” You stop yourself from rambling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you guys, a few months ago. You know, he smiles more these days.”

You laugh bitterly at that, suddenly angry at her revelation. He wasn’t smiling when he broke your heart.

“Nothing happened Em. Let it go.” Your tone is clipped, and she puts her hands up in surrender, dropping the topic as Penelope approaches the two of you.

Once they drop you back off at home you flop onto your bed. A few seconds pass before you grab one of the pillows and scream into it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The next weeks are torturous. Christmas is spent on a case in Florida, it would have been bearable if Aaron were still yours.

He knows you hate it, a white Christmas is your favorite thing, and the humidity of Florida is the complete opposite.

Hot weather has never been your favorite, the past summer you would complain you were dying every time he forced you to run with him. He thought it was adorable, and the image of you tinged with heat and sunburnt cheeks was one of his favorite sights.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” The current case is a local one, something you’re very grateful for. Sleeping in your own bed is much better than being in a suffocating hotel.

He calls your name, his voice void of his usual softness for you. “I need your report from the Michigan case.”

“I’m working on it.” You say, trying to remain civil as he stares at you. His eyes would usually soften when your tone was like that, stressed. Now he just stares. “Is that all?”

He nods, his voice suddenly dry as he tears his gaze away from you. You shoulder past him out of the conference room, heading towards Spencer as he works the geographical profile.

“There’s something there.” Aaron isn’t sure where Dave came from, but his shoulders slump slightly at the older man’s discovery. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about Dave.”

“Sure Aaron.” He claps his shoulder as he walks past him, standing in the same spot you just had. “She’s good for you—after everything.”

Aaron has to fight his scoff, if only he knew how good you were for him. He has no idea that he’d already indulged, already had you for the entirety of a year, and then some.

“I’ll remember that.” His tone leaves no more room for Rossi to speculate on his life, and with that he’s walking out of the room in order to go look at the latest body with Emily.

If Spencer notices your sadness, he doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s become your thing lately, a constant frown decorating your features. “Hey pretty girl.” Derek could usually get you to smile, but lately even those attempts are futile. “Oh come on, nothing? Baby, I don’t remember the last time you shined those pretty teeth.”

“3 weeks and 2.5 days.” Spencer says without looking up from a spot he’s working on the board. “Jesus.” You mutter. You spin your chair to face Derek, mustering up a big smile.

“Here.” You grit through your teeth. “Okay, that’s creeping me out.”

“You wanted a smile.” You shrug, causing Derek to laugh as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you, we all love you.”

This has you turning away from him. We all love you.

“Hey, I think I’ve got something here.” Spencer saves you from continuing your dreaded conversation with Derek.

The case seems to drone on forever, but once you finally find the unsub’s identity you grab your gun, preparing to retrieve your vest.

“You’re staying.” Aaron looks to you, his expression unreadable as you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“I need you here with Reid.” It’s bullshit, and you know it. But you don’t care enough to fight him on it, so you scoff before walking towards the small kitchen to get yourself some coffee.

Emily walks up behind you, placing a comforting hand on your back. “He’s protecting you.”

“Emily, don’t.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?” She persists, moving around you. “Don’t you need to go with them?” You ask, shrugging her off. She doesn’t say anything else, and you make a sour face at her pitiful expression.

Aaron spares you a glance as he leaves, your eyes meeting for a split second. But as quickly as the spark was there it was gone, and you're returning to the paperwork in front of you. He notices the shuddering breath you take, and the tired slump of your shoulders.

He wants to reach out, to console you. But he can’t, he can’t let himself do it because if he does he’ll never be able to leave you again.

You’re gone once they get back, their killer in custody and the young girl he had kidnapped returned safely to her family. He rubs his hand across his forehead before heading up to his office.

Months ago you would have flashed him a pretty smile and the doe eyes that have him bending at the knees in order to get him to leave the papers and go home with you.

“Aaron, come on, please.”

“I’ve got reports to do honey, just give me an hour. I’ll make it up to you.” You smile at him as you snake your arms around his waist, earning a warning glare from him. “Come on.” He shakes his head at you as he peels your arms off of him.

You sit with him for one hour, then two. After two you sigh, shuffling some of the papers out of the file and picking up a pen from the metal cup he keeps on the corner of his desk. He looks at you for a moment before going back to his papers, a fond smile remaining as he continues writing on the boring documents.

Another hour passes when you finally stand up. You stretch your arms dramatically, pairing it with an overexaggerated yawn. He knows what’s coming, and before he has the chance to look up you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his hair. “I’m going to make some coffee.” You press a kiss to the temple of his head before jumping off of him in favor of the door. You turn around with a smile on your way out, one he reciprocates instantly. “Thank you.”

You return with two cups of coffee in your hands, you kick the door closed with your foot. “I got donuts too.” You grin goofily as you place the navy blue mug down in front of him. “Black coffee, horribly plain.”

“You drink sugar with a side of coffee.” He smirks as you take a bite of your donut. “And you’ve got the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen.” You stick your tongue out at that before lifting the donut up to his mouth. He shakes his head. “Right, I forgot you’ve got to be in shape for your triathlon.”

“You’re doing it too.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You laugh before taking another bite of the chocolate donut. You look back down at the papers in front of you, careful not to get any chocolate onto the white sheets. You can feel his eyes on you, and you can feel your cheeks flush at his unmoving gaze. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his eyes still on your face. “You’re beautiful.” You smile at that, pulling your lip between your teeth as you avoid his gaze. “You know how to charm a girl, Hotchner.”

“Only you.” He shakes his head as he lifts your chin with his thumb, rubbing it across your lip once you move your head towards him. It’s one of his favorite things, how easily you lean into his touch. You smile brightly at him as he leans in to capture your lips.

His mind snaps out of the memory as he opens the door, the once warm office filled with your presence now bare and dull.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster. It’s not something you believed in the past.

In high school when Jessica Blake flirted with your boyfriend in front of your face you didn’t even flinch.

You didn’t want to believe that Aaron was dating again when Garcia mentioned it. But then Rossi started teasing him when he thought no one else heard, you heard it though.

“You’re staring daggers.” JJ whispers in your ear. “What?” You turn, your tone more clipped than you intended. You soften as you face her, mumbling a sorry. JJ puts an arm around your shoulders, “I know you have a thing for him, maybe she won’t last long.”

He just finished his triathlon, the one that you were supposed to run with him. You had trained with him for weeks. Weeks of your life you spent doing something you hated just because he wanted you to do it with him, wasted. “JJ, I don’t have a thing for him.”

It should’ve been you kissing him at the finish line, instead it’s Beth. You haven’t met her, and really you shouldn’t be jealous.

“Aaron, I can’t run any more. I think my side is going to explode.” You huff, bending over at the waste to try and catch your breath.

He laughed from his spot ahead of you on the track. “I’m not joking!”

“I’m not laughing at you.” He lies, the smile on his face giving him away instantly.

He grows more concerned for you as you don’t move from your spot, instead you plop down on the ground of the indoor track. “Honey, we can go get some water, come on.”

You laugh as you stare up at him from your spot on the ground, causing him to shake his head. “I think you need to carry me to the car.”

“Come on you dork.” He pulls you up by your arm, placing a hand on your waist to stabilize you. You lean into him as you two walk out towards the locker rooms. “I’ll meet you back out here.” He takes his arm off of you, causing you to stumble dramatically.

“Go change, we can get takeout and you can pick the movie.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You giggle as you turn your back to him, heading into the women’s locker room to change into warmer clothes.

Once you’re finished changing you meet up with him again, taking his warm hand into your cold ones once the freezing air hits your skin. “I forgot my mittens.”

“I’m not surprised.” He chuckles. “So you should know to bring them for me, you know I always forget.” You pout, and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to your puffed out lips. “I’m horrible.”

The next time he forced you to go to the gym, he brought your mittens and a scarf to match them.

From your spot on the sidelines you can tell she’s a way to forget you.

He won’t forget you anytime soon though, you can see it in the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes even while he’s surrounded by people who care about him. You can tell by the way he still searches for you in the huddle your team has formed around him, and you can tell by the way his eyes lock onto yours from across the park.

You decide to walk up to the rest of the team then, making sure to not look away from him. Beth talks to him, and you can tell he’s giving her incoherent mumbles as responses as he finally breaks eye contact to turn towards her.

Derek wraps an arm around you. “Babygirl, out of you four, you may be the happiest one today.” He gestures to the very hungover women of the BAU, you had opted out of ladies night in favor of wallowing with a tub of ice cream. “And that’s saying something.”

You look at Aaron after Derek says the last part, making sure he knows that the jab from Derek was his fault. He looks away, unable to bear the guilt you’re trying to seep into him. “I need something greasy and fried.” JJ says, breaking the silence that took over the group.

“I need a drink.” You mumble to Derek, who smiles as he ruffles your hair. “We’ve missed you coming out with us, you know.” He says as you all walk towards the parking lot. Jack comes up next to you, and you realize then how you haven’t seen him in months. You smile, unable to be annoyed at him over his father’s doings. “Hey Jack-O.”

He smiles at you, tugging your hand to get you to pick him up. “How are you buddy?”

Aaron watches as you hold Jack in your arm, and it physically pains him. He brushes it off as an ache from the swimming portion of the triathlon. That was your favorite part, your giggles as you splashed him with the pool water during training echo in his mind.

He turns back to Beth, reminding himself this is who he needs. Beth is simple, uncomplicated. She doesn’t work a job that puts her life at risk daily. She smiles at him, completely unsuspecting of his yearning for another woman.

But then he hears your laugh and he’s ready to drop everything for it. It’s the kind of laugh that even the greatest musicians couldn’t capture into a song. The way your lips curl and your head tilts back is a site that even the most talented of painters couldn’t put onto a canvas.

“Hey, good job out there. I’m going to have to train more to beat that.” Beth jokes to him, once again regaining his attention. Beth is good for him, she even enjoys running as much as him.

You set Jack down, and smile as he runs back towards Aaron. You hear him ask his dad to invite you over again, which you quickly tune out to avoid the awkwardness.

You miss her approaching you. “Hey, I’m Beth. Jack is over there singing your praises, I had to meet you myself.” She’s friendly, and you can see why Aaron likes her. You wish you didn’t hate her so much, she seems like she’d be a good friend.

“Hi.” You smile as much as you can, reaching your hand out for her to shake. “Aaron told me you're great too, at the job.” At the job. “I’m sure he did.” Your response is light, but if anyone knew about you and Aaron they’d know there are layers to it.

He watches as you interact, carefully watching your movements. At the restaurant when everyone is occupied in conversations he looks at you. You can tell what he’s asking without any words being spoken. You shake her head, rolling your eyes in annoyance. He wants to make sure you were civil with Beth.

The next morning you roll over in bed, your hair splayed across the pillow as you listen to the sound of the shower in the bathroom connected to your room. In your sleepy and hungover state, half of you expects Aaron to walk out.

Instead it’s a man with strikingly similar features. It’s not him, but he was a good hook-up to take your mind off of him. You know you're using this random guy as a surrogate, and you know the psychology behind it, but you don’t care.

“Hey baby.” The stranger leans down to capture you in a kiss, you duck to avoid his lips. They don’t feel like Aaron’s, you remember how chapped they were last night when he had kissed you.

“I’ve got to work.” You slip under his arm in favor of the kitchen. “I made you some coffee.” You groan, annoyed at the fact that this stranger had rummaged through your kitchen while you were still asleep. “I’m not the biggest fan of coffee.” It’s a lie, and if the man was smart he’d realize it due to the vast selection in your pantry, but alas he is not the brightest.

“What’s your name?” He asks, coming up behind you in the kitchen. “Look, please, let’s not do this. I have work in..” You check the time on the microwave clock. “30 minutes. Shit, you have to go.” You usher him towards the door, barely giving him a chance to grab his shoes. “Come on, you can be late once. Let’s go again.”

“Get out.” You roll your eyes. “Bitch.” He scoffs, but retreats down the hallway of your apartment complex. Once he’s out you set your security alarm before racing towards the bathroom.

Five minutes is a new record time for you to be ready, you quickly grab a muffin and mug of coffee before leaving.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You take a seat at the round table, conveniently the only one available is next to Aaron. “Dang mama, rough night?” Derek laughs from across from you, earning himself a glare. “Alright, let’s get started.” Aaron snaps, gaining the attention of everyone.

Once everyone disperses from the room, in order to prepare to leave, Aaron stops you, placing a hand on your upper arm. You freeze, not turning to make eye contact before shrugging him off. “Sir, I need to go get my bag.”

He says your name, causing you to turn towards him. You scoff when he doesn’t say anything. “Coward.”

“Excuse me?” He gives you the same stern look he gives to everyone, but there’s something else in his expression. “You’re a coward.” You repeat, pointing a finger to his chest. “I suggest you cover that..mark..on your neck, Agent.” He moves away from your hand.

“That’s what this is about?” You narrow your eyes at him, if looks could kill he’d be a puddle on the floor at your glare. “It’s unprofessional, and distasteful for you to present yourself like that at work.”

“Get off your high horse Aaron. There’s barely anything there.” You adjust the collar of your shirt to make sure it’s fully covered. “You’re upset with me, when you’re the one who went and committed to someone else. I mean, you’re the one who ended this in the first place. Go to hell.”

It was late when the team got back from Minnesota, and everyone was tired. Aaron couldn’t focus on that though, all he could see was the scar running across your cheek, and the bruise on your eye.

“My office.” He doesn’t touch your shoulder like he usually does when walking past your desk. His orders are cold, and leave no room for argument.

As soon as the door is closed he’s berating you. “I should suspend you. I should have you evaluated for being so reckless. You endangered the lives of everybody today, and that’s unacceptable. You got lucky out there today.”

He’s angry, you know it’s because you almost died, but he’s deflecting like always. You don’t respond, you know you did the right thing and it resulted in a young girl being saved. “This isn’t working.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“What?” You attempt to take his hand, he pulls back. “This. It’s over.”

“Aaron,” You pull his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes as he breaks your heart. “You don’t mean that, you’re angry.” He shakes his head, pulling away from the touch he usually craves. “Emotions have nothing to do with this, it’s a fact. We aren’t going to work. I’ll expect your case report on my desk first thing in the morning.”

“You want to fight? I can fight, I can scream.” You sound pathetic, and you never thought you’d be begging a man not to leave you. But he’s different, he’s everything. “I don’t want to fight. I want you to go home and think about what you did wrong, Agent.”

“What I did wrong?” You scoff as you swing his office door open. You’re gone before he can realize what he just did, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of floral perfume in your wake.

The unsub is kidnapping victims who look increasingly similar to you. Aaron can’t fight the unease in his chest as he stares at what he was doing to these women. It’s hard for his mind to not drift to images of it being you instead of them. He makes sure to pair you up with Morgan everywhere you go, already knowing that him being with you won’t do either of you any good.

You were just stepping outside to catch your breath, it was dark out, but there were people around you, how much danger could you really be in?

You remember pulling your phone out, and you remember a searing pain in your shoulder, only registering that you’d been shot after seeing the silencer in the attacker’s hand. “Don’t scream, or he’s dead.” You don’t need to ask who, your mind immediately flashes with images of Aaron.

Your hands are bound in the back of his van, you fight a black out as you take in your surroundings. He’s disorganized, he shot you and left a witness outside of a station. From the brief look you got of his face you know he’s young. “What do you want from me?” You ask, as calmly as you can muster in your bleeding out. “I–I need a doctor.”

“You’re not getting a doctor!” He shouts, turning around while driving to point his gun at you. “Then I need you to hurry, before I bleed out back here.” You move to get more comfortable in the cramped spot he put you in. “I know you don’t want me to die.”

“I read about you, I’ve been to all of your lectures and conferences, and you never noticed me!” You squeeze your eyes shut, Aaron has noticed you’re gone by now, you know he has. “I knew I had to get your attention somehow.”

Back at the precinct Aaron is reeling. The woman who had witnessed it was shaking in one of the chairs. “I didn’t hear the gun—but when I looked up she was bleeding and this guy was yanking her by the hair.”

He puts his hands over his ears, trying anything to avoid the thoughts that you could be dead, that the likelihood of you being dead is high. Derek pats him on the shoulder, a reassurance that does nothing to ease his mind.

“What if this is about her?” Emily looks up from the file. “The women all look extremely similar to her, but he never kidnapped any of the previous ones.”

“But why shoot her?” Rossi asks, taking caution with his words as Aaron paces back and forth. “She—she just did a bunch of lectures at the ivies. Over our vacation last year.” Nobody questions how he knows that, but they nod. Derek pulls his phone out, dialing Penelope’s number. “Hello my furry friends. How can I be of service?”

Derek fills her in on what happened, gaining a large gasp from the woman on the phone. “Garcia, we need to cross reference all of the people who recently attended her lectures across New England. Ivy leagues–Harvard, Yale, Princeton.”

“Yes sir.” She responds, tight-lipped, to Hotch. “And Garcia?”

“Yes sir?”

“You need to be more professional.” Derek shoots Aaron a look at that. “Come on man, she didn’t know.”

Aaron doesn’t respond as he walks outside to investigate the scene where you were taken from. Your blood is pooled on the ground, bringing tears to his eyes. Dave comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Aaron quickly regains his composure, wiping the tears away from his face. “She’s strong Aaron. She’ll pull through.”

“He shot her Dave.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t–I can’t lose her.” Dave doesn’t say anything to that, he knows Aaron will blame himself for the rest of his life if he loses another woman he loves. “She’s everything, we–we were fighting last time we talked.”

“Then let’s go in there and find her.” He claps Aaron’s shoulder before turning back towards the precinct.

You gasp as he pushes the bandages to your arm. The bullet was through and through, thankfully. “I lost a lot of blood.” You say, trying to sound submissive. “Come on, take these off my hands and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, pushing the gun to his head. “Stop talking.”

You shake your head, fighting back the tears threatening to surface. You have to be strong, the team will find you. “What–” You shift. “What’s your name?” He twitches at you moving closer to him. “Come on, you know mine. I like to know the name of the man I’m with.” You want to throw up at the thought of flirting with him, but it’s the way to gain his trust.

“Paul.” You nod at that. “Ok, Paul. I remember seeing you at my lecture. I…” You twitch slightly as he turns the gun around on you. “I wanted to talk to you, but you were gone before it ended.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” You’re gaining his trust, you can tell by the way he lowers the gun ever so slightly towards the ground. “Untie me Paul, we can have some fun. I want you.” You fight the shudder taking over your features as he smiles at you.

He unbinds one of your hands, the other is still cuffed to the chair behind you. “This is all I can do for now.”

“Thank you.” You contemplate kicking him hard, but ultimately it’s a fight he would win due to one hand still being stuck behind you. You’ll wait, and get him to trust you enough to unbind the other one.

“I’ve got a name.” Penelope’s voice is professional, a stark contrast to her usual bubbly mood. Aaron doesn’t feel guilty for what he said to her, his attention too focused on not breaking down in order to find you. “Paul Danver. He attended every one of her lectures, and even began making obsessive comments about her in various articles.”

“So he’s a stalker. That doesn’t explain the torture to the victims. He doesn’t want to kill her, he wants her attention.”

Aaron thinks for a moment, racking his brain. He was at your lectures, he sat in the back to avoid attention. “The one at Yale, she was asked a question about how we pick our cases. She–she avoided answering at first but when he pressured her more she said we pick the most urgent ones. He went to these extremes for our attention, he knew it would bring her here.”

Paul runs his fingers over your skin. Your shirt was gone, he had ripped it off in order to care for the wound on her shoulder. “Paul, I think it’s time. Untie this hand and we can be together.”

You don’t expect him to actually do it, and you fight your sigh of relief when he does. You wait a beat after he’s done it, giving him a second to lean back. He smiles as he takes in your compliant state, before leaning forward again to kiss you. This is your chance, you bang your head into his face, sending him stumbling backwards. “You bitch!” He roars, racing forward with his finger on the trigger of his gun. You push the hand holding it towards the wall as he pulls the trigger, narrowly avoiding a shot to the head. “I’ll kill you.”

You struggle for a moment, before getting the gun out of his hand and pointing it at his retreating form. “I don’t think you will, Paul.” Aaron’s voice rings in your ears as the team fills the room. Derek puts himself in front of Aaron, knowing he’s too emotional to be confronting Paul.

“Get on the ground.” Derek growls. Paul complies after realizing there isn’t a way out of this.

“Let’s get a medic in here.” Aaron says into his mic before striding over to you. He breathes your name as he stands in front of you. He takes his vest off immediately, then his jacket to clothe your bare form. “I knew you’d come.”

“Always.” He sighs as he wraps it around you. A tear falls from your eye before you wrap your arms around him. He’s hesitant, not wanting to further injure your bandaged shoulder. “Please hug me back Aaron.” With your whispered plea he’s reciprocating instantly, breathing into your hair.

“I should have killed her!” Paul shouts as they drag him away. “Get him out of here.” Aaron says harshly as he pulls away from you. “Come on honey, we need to get you to the ambulance. Can you walk?”

The team doesn’t dare say anything to the term of endearment that Aaron used for you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

“I heard he broke things off with Beth.” David says to you one day while you're staring into his office. “Huh.” You make a noise without looking up from your case report. “Come on, go talk to him.”

“Rossi, I’m working here.” You gesture to the paper, your pen has been unmoving for the past ten minutes, but he doesn’t need to know this. “You just got kidnapped, if now isn’t the time for a grand confession then I don’t know when is.” He retreats after that, heading back towards his office.

The next day Aaron approaches you, muttering an quiet ‘my office’ just loud enough for your ears to pick up.

You smooth your sweater out as you stand, suddenly nervous at the thought of being alone with him.

The soft click of the door has him looking up, he almost seems surprised that you actually listened to him. “Yes?”

“Sit.” He gestures to the seat, at one point in time you’d have pulled it around to sit next to him. Now you sit on the edge, like you’re ready to jump up and escape at any time. “Agent, I think it’s in the both of our best interests to put our personal ties behind us. For the efficiency of our job, we should remain strictly professional.”

You scoff at his audacity, leaning back ever so slightly in your chair. “You want me to fight you on it. You want me to be the one who pieces this back together.”

He doesn’t respond to that, instead focusing his attention to the paper on his desk. “That’s all, I need your latest report as soon as you finish.”

He looks up slightly when you don’t make a move to leave, gesturing slightly to the wooden door.

“How’s Beth?”

He puts his pen down at this, finally looking you fully in the eyes. “She’s good.”

“Huh, I could have sworn Rossi said that she was old news.” You twirl a thread from your sweater around your finger. “We are still friends.”

“Oh, you can stay friends with her and not me?” You ask, leaning in closer to him. After narrowing your eyes you lean back in the chair again with a scoff. “Oh wait, I know why, you love me. Being friends with me would just be torture for you.”

“Agent.” His tone is warning. “Hit a nerve? I know you Aaron, I know you better than anyone. Did you tell her that you’re in love with another woman, or was the breakup mutual?”

“Enough!” He slams his hand onto the desk in frustration. “I love you, is that what you want me to say? You’ve almost died, twice in the past few months. Do you understand what that would do to me?”

Your eyes soften at his tortured expression. It’s full of many things—yearning, love, sadness. You stand then, and he prepares for you to turn around and walk straight out the door. Instead you shake your head, walking around to his side of the desk.

You place your hands on his face, cupping his jaw with one while the other moves towards his hair. He sighs, wishing you had slapped him instead. It would hurt less.

“Aaron, I love you.” You move his face so he has to look at you. His eyes are glossy, and tears brim them. “Aaron.” You whisper.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t recover.”

“I’ll be careful.” You smile as a tear rolls down your cheek. “Please.” You whisper, and that’s what causes him to break, the desperation in the singular word.

His hands find solace on your waist as he stands, wrapping his arms around your frame. He inhales the scent of your shampoo as you hug him back. “I missed you, so much.” His voice breaks as he speaks, it’s a side of vulnerable you’ve never seen from him.

You pull back slightly, smiling the smile that always has him putty in your hands. You lean in, pressing a light kiss to his pursed lips. “Kiss me.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, his lips are slotting into yours instantly.

You bite his lip lightly as you pull back, earning a throaty laugh. “Not here, I’m going to take you to dinner.”

“Always a gentleman, Hotchner.”

The team all watch with open mouths and shocked expressions as you and Hotch walk out together, hand in hand.

“Well it was a matter of time before they got together.” Derek shakes his head as he turns his chair back towards his desk.

“I thought they never would.” JJ admits. “They’ve been pining for so long.”

Emily smirks from her chair, toying with the pen in her hand. “They’ve been together for over a year.” She looks up at them, watching as their jaws drop even more. “Lousy profilers you all are.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you

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tldrthor · 7 months ago

Text

things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result.

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her.

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it.

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come.

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it.

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities.

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip.

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile.

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team.

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.”

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow.

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air.

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield.

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him.

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues.

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents.

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound.

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit.

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.”

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward.

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away.

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

================================================

part two: promises we intend to keep

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darylmydix · 11 months ago

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THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon – 001

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you're forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you're left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

word count: 1.7k

Warm water trickles your skin, washing away your filth. Physically you weren’t dirty, but subconsciously you felt that way; you’re curled up in the fetal position on the bathtub floor, as still as a frightened rabbit. Your body felt numb, and you envisioned yourself anywhere but where you were now.

You had been laying in this position for about 20 minutes now. You knew eventually you’d have to get up. You didn’t want the wrath of your stepmother banging on the door shouting about how you were running up the water bill.

You finally find your strength to get up, turning off the water. You sit for a few more minutes in silence. It was quiet in the house. You figured your stepmother had gone to bed. You grab your towel from atop of the toilet tank, standing up to wrap it around your body.

You step onto the shaggy rug outside of the tub, drying your feet off. Last thing you wanted to hear was complaints about how you left the floor wet. Your stepmom would bitch about anything if she could.

You open the door, peeking your head out to make sure she wasn’t walking around the hallway. It was radio silence, and dark. You shuffle down to your bedroom, your feet pattering against the hardwood floors. You notice your stepmother’s bedroom door was closed, officially confirming that she was indeed asleep.

You softly close your bedroom door behind you, letting out a meek sigh. You dry yourself off, quickly trying to change so you could head out for the night. You needed the fresh air. You felt suffocated the longer you stayed in here. You grab your set of house keys from your nightstand, leaving back out of your bedroom. You tiptoe past your stepmom’s room, making your way into the living room.

You slipped on your shoes that were sitting by the front door, and you were almost home free until you heard her voice. “Going somewhere?” You jump in surprise, the lights suddenly flicked on to reveal your stepmother sitting at the dining room table. She’s sitting with a bottle of tequila on the table, the glass she was drinking it from in her hands. She was drunk to all hell.

“I’m– I’m just going for a walk…” You stutter, timidly. She scoffs. “Don’t lie to me. You’re going to those trailer parks to see that hillbilly Dixon boy, aren’t you?” You don’t respond, and she snickers. “Those boys ain’t nothin’ but trouble. I don’t see why you even go over there. What’re you doing? Letting them run a train on you?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, holding back your tears. “I’m just going for a walk.” You repeat, opening your front door to leave. “Make sure you get your money's worth, you slut!” She shouts. You slam the door behind you, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.

You stuff your hands in the pockets of your sweater as you make your way to the trailer parks. It wasn’t too far from where you lived, probably like a 20 minute walk if you had to estimate it.

Your best friend Daryl Dixon, who you were on your way to see, used to live a couple blocks down from you. That was before the house fire that claimed the life of his mother happened. Now he, his older brother Merle, and their father Will were living in a shaggy trailer park neighborhood.

“Right where they belonged” your stepmother would say. You make it to the trailer parks, walking through until you get to the Dixon residence. You notice their lights were on, meaning they were likely awake. As you readied yourself to walk up the stairs, the sound of a loud crash makes you freeze. “You ever talk to me like that again, boy, I’ll make you wish you died in that fire too. Ya hear me?!”

Will Dixon could be heard yelling from inside. A pretty normal occurrence for the Dixon home. “Man, get off me!” You hear Daryl shout back, his heavy southern accent easy to distinguish. “You leave out that door boy, you can sleep out there tonight.”

“Like I give a damn!” The door is suddenly ripped open, and Daryl steps outside, slamming it close behind him. The brunette pauses as he sees you at the end of the stairs, staring up at him. He’s quiet for a moment. “You heard all that?” He asks, coming down the steps towards you.

“Just the end of it.” You say. You notice there’s a cut on his lower lip. Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you reach up, letting your thumb gently brush over the wound. “Your lip’s busted.” You frown. Daryl winced, moving his head back from your touch.

“To hell with it.” He mutters. “Whad’ya doin’ here?”

Your head tips to the side slightly, and you give him a small smile. “I’m always here.”

You and Daryl sat without a word, your backs rested up against a southern magnolia tree in the woods. This was a spot you two always went when you wanted to get away from everything. It usually involves you both in silence listening to wildlife. You didn’t mind it. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words anyway. Hasn’t been since his mom’s death. Regardless of if you guys did talk or not, you were just happy to be in his presence.

“Merle’s in jail.” He disrupts the silence, picking a stick off the ground before he begins to break it apart piece by piece. Merle was always in jail so that didn’t surprise you one bit.

Both the Dixon boys weren’t strangers when it came to trouble, but Merle was the worst of the two. Anytime Daryl caught himself in any trouble with the law it came from dumb shit Merle dragged him into.

You truly couldn’t stand Merle, but you could never tell that to Daryl. His loyalty to his older brother was impeccable. You hope one day he could get out of that phase and come to the realization that Merle wasn’t good for him.

“What did he do this time?” You ask, not really needing to as you could guess that it probably involved him assaulting someone. He wasn’t exactly a people person. “He beat the hell outta some guy in a bar.”

‘Bingo. Right on the mark.’

“That brother of yours isn’t gonna be satisfied until he’s locked in there for life.” You mumbled. Daryl shoots you a look. “What? You can’t just go around beating people up without consequences. That’s not how the world works.”

“Asshole probably deserved it.” He murmured, chucking the stick. You roll your eyes, deciding not to push the subject any further. You hear Daryl wince, and you look over to see him messing around with the cut on his lip.

You dig in the pockets of your sweater in search of something you could wipe the blood off with. Great forces are on your side as you pull out an alcohol prep wipe. You often carried them around for moments like these. This isn’t the first time you’ve cleaned up a wound left on Daryl by his father, or even a wound on yourself.

You rip open the package before gently grabbing the brunette’s face to make him look over at you. “Hold still.” You say, placing the wipe on his open wound. He winces again, trying to move his head back but you don’t let him. “Oh cut it out you big baby, it’s not that bad. You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”

Daryl grumbles, but sits still to let you work. It’s quiet as you do, nothing but the sound of an owl hooting. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you, and your focus shifts from his lip to his blue hues. “What?”

“That come from her?” He questions, nodding his head to the choke bruise on your neck. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before. You swallow a lump that was beginning to well up at the back of your throat and shake your head. “She had another guy come by today. This one was into choking…”

Daryl’s jaw clenched in anger. Every time he heard about the men your stepmother invited over he just wanted to go there himself to rid you of the burden once and for all. But he didn’t want to put you in a worse situation than you already were in. “You don’t deserve what she’s doin’ to you.”

“Neither do you.” You remark. “But that’s just our reality.”

“Don’t have to be.” He declared. You pull the wipe from his lip, deciding it was clean enough. You ball it up, tossing it wherever on the ground. “Done.” You smile faintly, moving on from the topic. You didn’t want to think about it right now. “S’gettin’ late,” he comments. “Want me to walk you back home?” He offers.

“What’re you gonna do?” You remember his dad telling him not to come back. You’d think that he truly didn’t mean that but even you knew that Will made sure there was no way Daryl could get back inside the house tonight. “I’ma come back here to sleep. Ain’t the first time my old man’s kicked me out. Damn sure ain’t gonna be the last.”

You nod. “Then it looks like I’m staying.” You insist, settling against the tree. Daryl shakes his head. “I don’t need you to-”

“Shut up.” You cut him off before he could argue. “I’m staying.” You lean your head against the tree, your eyes closing. Daryl stares at you for a moment. Your stubbornness amazed him sometimes. It was worse than his own, but he knew he couldn’t fight you when you made up your mind on something.

“Fine.” He says, settling against the tree along with you. You scoot a bit closer to the brunette, letting your head fall on his shoulder. He tenses a bit, but calms his nerves. His body relaxes underneath you.

“Hey.” Daryl mutters, unsure if you’re awake or fast asleep already. You hum in response. “You really ain’t gotta be here.” He tries once more to change your mind. You smile.

“I’m always here.”

Taglist:

@daryldixmedown, @supernaturalstilinski, @vampiresluv, @myassisasolarsystem

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pseudophan · 8 months ago

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PHANNIE COOKBOOK SIGN-UPS!!

Do you have a really good recipe you think Dan and Phil would enjoy? Consider submitting it to this collaborative phannie cookbook that will be given to DnP at a meet & greet! It will also be available to everyone to download as a PDF.

Family recipes or your favourite dish from your country/culture is a bonus, but it doesn’t have to be that personal. All I ask is that you don’t go rip something random off the Internet right now just to be in the book, I want food you genuinely enjoy!

I’ve decided the most efficient way of doing this is to let you submit up to 3 different options, that way if there are any repeats (and I’m certain there will be) I won’t have to message everyone it concerns to ask if you have any alternatives. Besides, that way I can choose which version gets in based on your other options rather than which one “sounds better” to me, cause I think that would be a little unfair. I also have no idea how many people will actually participate in this yet, which is currently the biggest hurdle in terms of planning. If only a few sign up there is a chance we’ll end up using multiple recipes by some, and if somehow we get too many I’ll have to pick and choose. I do really want to include as many people as possible, but until I actually see the recipes it’s hard to tell what will end up happening.

The main focus of this will be actual food, but we obviously need to include a few desserts, so feel free to submit those as well just be aware the chances of those getting picked might be lower. The same goes for soups, I assume a lot of people have soup recipes and we might include a couple, but for obvious reasons it's a low priority.

Some key things to keep in mind:

Phil is a bit picky and has some dietary restrictions! He shouldn’t have dairy or chocolate and he doesn’t like cheese or mushrooms, among other things. That doesn’t mean you have to avoid these things entirely, but maybe your grandma’s mac and cheese recipe isn’t the best choice

While neither of them is vegan they do eat a lot of vegan food, so we definitely need some vegan dishes. I also think it would be really great if you suggested vegetarian and/or vegan substitutions you know work well with your recipe! That isn’t a must for every dish, but it’s a nice addition where possible

Tragically, Dan and Phil are British, meaning they won’t necessarily have access to all the same ingredients as you. Luckily they are also rich and live in a major city with a lot of options so they aren’t limited to what they can find at their local Tesco, but since the aim of this book is to encourage them to cook we probably shouldn’t be sending them on a scavenger hunt either. I don’t think this will be a huge issue, but if your recipe calls for something you think might be very niche or local to you it might be worth googling it or asking around

The final book will be using UK measurements, but if your recipe doesn’t then don’t even worry about it for now. We’ll get to that later. You also don’t have to worry about typing out the whole step-by-step in detail in the sign-up form, I just need a list of the ingredients and roughly how to prepare it to gauge whether it’s a good fit.

I promise I’m almost done yapping but lastly, about some of the questions on the form - you don’t need to know exactly how long the dish takes to prepare, that will depend on the person or people making it anyway, but we do need a rough estimate. The difficulty level is obviously quite subjective, but I just want to hear how you personally would rank it, and if there is a specific part of the process you think someone who doesn’t cook a lot might struggle with. As for the last question about photos, I’m asking both if you have the time and opportunity to make the food and if you are able to take a good photo of it. Obviously it doesn’t have to be anything professional, a phone camera is fine, it just needs to be well lit and decent quality.

Okay, I think that’s everything-

Here's the sign-up form

The deadline is in a week, at midnight Thursday to Friday CET :)

(I also made a blog for this @phookbook for information and updates! A lot of it will probably still be on this blog, but I'll try to post/reblog the most important things on there for those who want to keep up with everything but who may not want to deal with all the chaos of pseudophan)

#i'm so sorry that this is five hundred thousand words long #dan and phil #phan

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loganficsonly · 2 months ago

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an independent woman ☘ 2

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 2: cleaning up ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

masterlist

worst!logan x fem!reader, 4.3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 1 SUGGESTIVE LINE, angst, mentions of alcoholism, many inner thoughts, descriptions of somatic release, laura <3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: very nervous about what you think, please let me know how i did

Logan wakes up with bleary eyes.

There is an uncharacteristic softness underneath him. Things smell different, too: a refreshing combination of musk and cedarwood, a whiff of pulp. They all betray a sense of gentleness that he most certainly isn’t accustomed to. Wade’s couch usually smells like burnt bacon and worn blankets—

Wade’s couch?

He blinks, focusing his hazel gaze on the unfamiliar plaster ceiling above him. Then he looks at the rest of the room.

Bare, save for an opened cardboard box the size of one and a half dishwashers sitting in a corner. Big enough for what little items he’s accumulated in the three months he’s been here.

Right. He officially moved in with you yesterday.

Spent the afternoon getting the place clean enough to live in. Ate pizza for dinner—his first meal with just you. Helped you unpack and move things around before deciding to call it a day. He lets out a soft grunt, slowly shaking off the sleep.

Everything smells… comfortable. You must’ve sprayed some kind of air freshener when you cleaned the bedrooms.

He knows the apartment is empty before he walks out into the short hallway. Your heartbeat isn’t home. No sounds from within the space, though there are plenty of them outside. Unlike him, the city has been awake for a while.

There’s no clock on the wall yet, but by his estimates, it’s sometime around nine. You must’ve left for work.

A rumbling hunger beckons him to the kitchen, his bare feet pattering on the hardwood flooring. He squints at the refrigerator light when opening the door. The only thing there is a box of leftover pizza from last night. You had the foresight to order more, something he’s endlessly thankful for right now.

He places the pizza on a big plate—porcelain white with a bunch of flowers on its edges, one of yours—and into the microwave. The box buzzes alive at a press of a button. His mind turns slowly, just as the plate does.

He doesn’t have work today, so he can go straight to the grocery store. Buy coffee. He grunts, feeling a little grumpier at the fact that there’s none around, putting in a mental note to text you about it later. He has no idea how you like your coffee.

That’s something he plans to fix quickly.

Because that’s what good roommates do, he quickly convinces himself.

You’ve been nothing but kind to him, so if he’s going to stock up the pantry, might as well pick stuff that you like. Right? No other reason to know your preferences.

He abandons the thought process as he feels his heart rate hitch up slightly. Instead, he resorts to making a list in his head. He’s good at that.

Unpack. That’ll take fifteen minutes tops.

Take a shower, then go out to the grocery store. If the one he saw around the block is open, that’ll also be less than an hour.

Get a clock.

That will leave him about six hours to kill until you come home. He can probably do some errands for you—he’ll have to ask. He frowns, thinking about what he should get exactly. You cook, so you’ll need spices, seasoning, oil…

His brain mentally scans the imaginary aisles of the grocery store, window-shopping before he sets foot in it—a habit, so that he can be in and out of that overwhelming place as quickly as possible. He recalls the rows of soup, canned tuna, dried tomatoes, turning to a different aisle to beverages. Soft drinks, milk…

He opens his eyes, as if broken away from his browsing, the space between his brows deeply creased. A jolt out of his musings, interrupted by a memory. Memories, rather.

Blurry flashes of his past, hazy blues and yellows and what looks like black but smears to bright red. Glimpses of faces he’ll never see again, people he’ll never be able to apologize to. Then the aftermath—nothingness and desperation, too gone to mind the jeers of heads turned towards him, scowling. The sounds of a glass bottle knocking against a wooden counter. One, then another, then another…

Until he doesn’t remember anything.

How this caustic string of thoughts surface while picturing grocery store aisles is beyond him. They were once tucked under the metaphorical rug of his consciousness, buried under busyness.

Always bigger fish to fry when it comes to making this universe a home. Had to earn money so he’s no longer squatting at Wade’s. Try to be in Laura’s life and help her adjust, though it seems like she’s taken to it like a duck to water, compared to himself.

But now, three months in? Now he hears what sounds like a small dog barking in the distance. Street chatter. Bicycle bells.

Peace. He barely recognizes it. It’s disfigured, distorted. Maybe because he punches it in the face every time he sees a mere glimpse of it—mostly by getting himself hammered.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like there are no more bigger fish. No more excuses. Nowhere to run.

A lump in his throat at the thought of facing it, the thing he’s never allowed himself.

It’s intimidating. For a man who’s faced horrors like him, that means something. His jaw tightens.

He decides he’ll do it tonight, anyway.

As if on cue, the microwave dings.

It’s about 11am. You’re in the middle of reading a document when your phone pings with a text.

It’s from Logan.

Hey. Got a minute?

You realize it’s only, like, the fifth text in your conversation thread with him. The ones above it were ‘thanks for helping me carry the groceries’ from you and a simple ‘no problem’ from him.

Real life interactions with Logan are pretty limited. Group hangouts at Wade’s are one of the ways you’d see him, but you had to share him with other people—that sounded weird even in your head. And if you drop by at Wade’s, Logan’s not always there.

That, along with the fact that he was probably already a century old when the first iPhone came out, meant that he barely uses his phone, and therefore you don’t text often.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest. Now that you’re roommates, it’s safe to assume that you’ll be talking to each other more…

Fuck, woman, can you be normal about this? your brain scolds itself.

Of course you and Logan are going to communicate more often—you live under the same roof. Frequency does not equal intimacy. Especially if you’re most likely going to be talking about mundane things like ‘the detergent is running out’ or ‘can you help me get a bunch of triple-A batteries?’.

Yeah, maybe living with your crush was not such a good idea.

Taking in a deep breath, you dial his number and put your phone up against your ear. Yes, you can talk, if it spares you from working even just a minute.

He picks up after the first tone.

A ‘hello’ grunted from the other end of the line. You realize this is the first time you’ve heard his voice over the phone.

“Hope I’m not botherin’ you at work,” he continues. It sounds like he’s outside—an overly cheerful piece of stock music is playing in the background.

“Hey, not at all,” you reply, eyes glued to your screen but registering none of its contents. “What’s up?”

“I’m at the grocery store. Want anything?”

You blink. He could have texted you that, but you’re not complaining about getting to talk to him. He’s probably just bad at it, his large hand cramping against the little touchscreen keyboard. Laura joked about that before.

“What are you getting?”

A beat. “Coffee. Milk. Apples. You like apples?”

“Yeah, I like ‘em.”

“What kind of coffee do you drink?” he asks, the question quickly following up your answer as if he had it locked and loaded.

“Any kind,” you answer easily. “I take mine with a bit of milk.”

“What about pasta shapes?”

There are static crinkles of plastic through the phone. You find yourself smiling, imagining Logan with a hand holding his phone, the other hovering a bag of linguine next to the spaghetti to see what the fuck the difference is.

“Honestly, Logan, I don’t mind most of them, you can get whatever you want,” you laugh lightly.

“Which ones do you mind, then?”

You feel a pleasant twinge in your chest. His voice sounded so low and warm and gentle just then, like he really cares. Swallowing, you find your voice again.

“Angel hair. They’ve got no bite.” You murmur.

There’s a short chuckle that provokes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach, unbidden.

“What else d’ya need?”

For a good two minutes or so, the two of you ping-pong items back and forth. You list down some seasonings and condiments. He asks for your thoughts on brands. You smile at the way he pronounces some of them—“Graze-a? Grah-za. Whatever.”—and at the fact that he’s thoughtful enough to check with you on your preferences.

Quietly giving you a choice. You bite your inner cheek. How can something so simple make someone feel so special?

By the end of going through the shopping list, it feels like you don’t want to hang up, and neither does he. There are beeps now, audible from the phone. He’s probably queueing at the checkout.

“Can I get a wall clock to hang in the living room?”

“Sure,” you reply softly.

Another silent beat.

“I’m up. Talk to you later, sweetheart.”

“See you later.”

The line is cut. You stare into your phone, slowly placing it facedown on your desk.

Did he just call you sweetheart?

You blink, focusing back on your monitor, failing miserably.

That nickname has to be a side effect of being alive for so long. He lived through, what, all the wars since the Civil War. It doesn’t mean anything, just a thing they called the ladies back then. Don’t read into it.

The echo of his voice remains, nevertheless. It takes you five minutes to lock back into the document you were reading.

There is an off-white wall clock hanging in the living room when you arrive home. Logan works fast.

You are in the midst of eating some apples—the ones in the fridge, no doubt the spoils from his grocery shopping trip earlier—when you hear the keys turn. The man in question walks through the threshold.

His simple presence made the space feel so much more comfortable, it’s almost scary.

“Hey,” you smile from your seat on the island, wondering what he did on his day off. “Did you go out for dinner?”

The first concerning sign is that there is no sliver of acknowledgement: not a nod, a grunt, and certainly not the rare small smile. He doesn’t immediately reply to you, closing the door and just standing there. Gaze taking in the bare walnut floor, before it sweeps onto you.

The second sign is his eyes. There’s something unrecognizable in them, like he got hurt but he let it happen.

“Logan?” you call out softly, unease woven in your expression. You stand up from your seat.

He takes off his boots at the entryway before moving closer to you, though not quite close. His lips part, and you can tell he’s deliberating whether or not to speak.

“I… went to AA,” he says, voice low. The words are hushed, void of his usual belligerence, a little scratchy from a dry throat.

You look at him, surprise taking over your face.

Wade has made references to the monumental drinking problem he found Logan in when they first met, but from what you can tell, Logan’s been doing much better lately. In gatherings he mostly steers clear from wherever the bottle is. Asks if dessert’s gonna be boozy. Even declines offers for beer.

His relationship with alcohol is clearly a complicated one. And it’s Logan. The fact that he not only reached out for help but also told you about it…

There’s a moment of silence, and then your feet closes the distance, walking towards him until he’s an arm’s length away.

You look up at him, almost timid. “Can I hug you?”

The hard expression on his face melts. You wonder if he thought your reaction was going to be something else other than acceptance.

All it takes is a short nod for you to gently wrap your arms around him, hands settling at the center of his back. For a moment, he’s all you perceive: the warmth of his body, his breathing, his scent.

And then there’s a gentle sensation of his own arms reciprocating the gesture, his movements slow, as if wanting for you to stop him if you’re uncomfortable. You allow yourself to lean in, a signal that it’s okay.

His chin lands softly near the top of your head, arms tightening just the slightest, and your heart just about burst.

“I’m so proud of you,” you say, muffled by his flannel shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he replies.

There it is again. The second time he’s called you that today, and this time, you can feel the rumble of those two syllables from deep within his chest. It shouldn’t intoxicate you the way it does, not when this moment is about him.

You force yourself to pull away.

“We should celebrate,” you suggest, smiling.

His face morphs into an amused look—a little kink in one eyebrow and the lightest lopsided pull of his lip. At least it doesn’t seem like he’s despondent.

“Save it for the coin,” he counters.

“You know people don’t just celebrate achievements, right?” you grin, letting go of the hug. “Come on. A nice meal. We can celebrate moving in, too, just… let me treat you to something.”

His jaw clenches playfully at your insistence, biting back his own smile.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

You take that as a win. Pleased with yourself, you saunter to the kitchen, looking for something to ingest as a commemorative treat. Perhaps a bag of potato chips will do for now.

“There’s this Mexican place down the street, it looks nice—”

He calls your name, and you look over your shoulder.

“Hm?”

There’s that deliberating look on his face again that makes you stop rummaging the cabinet. When he speaks this time, he sounds almost… bashful?

“Could you, uh, cook instead?”

Your eyes widen. He wants you to cook?

“Are you sure you’d like that?” you stammer.

He places a hand in one pocket, eyes still looking into yours. “The fried rice you brought to the potluck was good.”

The potluck last month for Al’s birthday. True, the container was cleaned out by the end of the night, but you didn’t think Logan particularly enjoyed it enough to remember it.

He shakes his head, looking away, voice tight. “Forget I asked, don’t wanna bother—”

Crap, you must’ve stayed stunned for a second too long.

“No please, it’s no bother! I just… I didn’t realize you liked it.”

He looks at you sternly, pausing for a moment. “It was good.”

You nod, convincing yourself that this is real and happening. “Okay. I’ll cook, then. We should invite Laura. Wade too—”

He looks away. You examine his face, registering a change.

“Have you told anyone else?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

You feel a dangerous warmth seep into your bloodstream, travelling to your hands and feet and god forbid your cheeks. How did you end up becoming the first person to know about this, this, this exceedingly vulnerable thing that he did?

“I’ll tell Laura in a bit. Wade…” he falls silent for a moment. He hasn’t been vocal about his gratitude to the merc. It’s for a good reason, or at least that’s his excuse—a simple ‘thanks for everything’ would probably make Wade combust and blabber a series of orgasm-related jokes.

Despite that, though, he really does owe everything to the damn motor mouth. Including the fact that he’s standing in your living room right now, as your roommate, asking you to cook for him—fuck, did he really ask you that?

“I’ll tell Wade when I get the coin,” he decides firmly. The last thing he wants to do is let down yet another important person in his life.

He puts his hand back in his pocket, clenching a fist. That being said, he doesn’t want to disappoint Laura either… and certainly not you. Funny how he finds himself caring about your opinion—the person he’s known for the least amount of time.

You nod, feeling a little overwhelmed from the conversation—the good kind of overwhelm.

“Just Laura then. Can you ask her what food she’d like?” you say. “Something to go with your fried rice?”

He nods.

“How’s Friday for dinner?”

He nods again, pulling out his phone. Probably texting Laura.

“I’ll prep the stuff on Thursday then.”

“I’ll help,” he replies quickly, eyes meeting yours. When he speaks again, it’s a little softer. “I’ll buy the ingredients. And I ain’t a chef, but I can chop.”

“Please, there’s nothing much to do.”

“Then I’ll clean up,” he adds.

You frown. “Logan, the dinner’s for you, remember?”

“Just let me clean up. Least I can do.”

You put a hand on your hip, shrugging. “Fine. Leave the food to me.”

A roguish smile on that handsome face almost makes you so weak, you have to steel your legs for a second. His voice is once again that smooth, guttural baritone.

“’preciate it, sweetheart.”

Third time’s the charm. You huff, trying to appear relaxed.

“I’m going to shower,” you announce, escaping the room.

It’s a little past ten.

Logan lies in bed. His hands are holding up his phone that looks too small for him. The light from the device is almost blinding, but he doesn’t bother—not like his eyesight can get ruined or anything.

He has a text typed out. Staring at it for a few more seconds, he presses send.

Went to AA today.

There’s no immediate response, not that he expects one.

It’s really no surprise if Laura is busy.

She’s probably got it harder than him: young with a hunger to find her place in the world, mature beyond her years but still having so much to learn.

This new universe might not be that different from hers, but the struggles aren’t the same—because it’s her first time in community college. He doesn’t remember what it feels like being a student, but working and studying at the same time sure sounds like a hell of a life.

He blinks. A series of three animated dots appear on the screen as she types a response.

Just like that, they’re gone. He frowns.

And then the dots are there again, only for a second, replaced by Laura’s reply.

i’m really proud of you

Another message.

seriously, i mean it

congratulations

He allows himself a smile in the privacy of his room, before resuming to text Laura about the celebratory dinner you insisted on having. When she’s free, what she wants to eat…

She turns out to be good with Friday—less resident assistant work and assignments for her to worry about.

The answer to the second question is pulled pork. Haven’t tasted a good one in a while.

i can bring the salsa

it’ll be like a deconstructed burrito but with fried rice

Your fried rice was not just good, it was excellent. God, he hopes he didn’t cross a line, blurting the request out of the blue like that.

It was instinctive. Completely unplanned. Why did he do that, anyway? The Mexican restaurant would’ve been nice, something Laura would like.

But it’s outside, it’ll be crowded and loud… He’d rather have a conversation without the background noise. Plus, you just moved into an apartment of your own. Wouldn’t dining outside be a waste of space?

Maybe he should’ve suggested takeout instead of inconveniencing you. But you said it was your treat, and his stupid old heart betrayed himself by saying what it wanted without running it by his brain.

And what a selfish thing to want, too. A kind of gluttony that torturously gnaws at him. It’s getting harder to ignore despite his special brand of stubbornness, honed by the long, long decades. He has a feeling it’s exactly the stubborn part of him that is making this feeling grow, too.

It wants more of you.

For now it’s content with little scraps: the glimpse of your shoes at the entrance, the sight of your toiletries in the bathroom, your scent lingering around the house…

But who knows what it’ll demand next. A little more.

You, smiling at him, laughing at something he said.

Your thighs pressed against his on a crowded couch.

Your plush bottom lip between his teeth as he bites it, drinking in a small sound of pleasure that bubbles out your throat when his hand runs up your inner thigh—

He locks his phone as the conversation with Laura concludes, a cue for him to snap out of it. His mind turns elsewhere, and decides to mull over the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting he attended earlier.

That meeting was about as difficult as a thousand and one sleepless nights. At least, it felt like that when he had to walk up to the library. Adamantium bones never felt heavier.

There were about seven of them when he finally walked in, and another seven arrived after. A mixed group. Reminded him of the family he used to know. There were almost a handful who were older than him—though he’s undoubtedly the oldest despite his looks—and others who looked like they barely hit twenty.

Amidst the chatter, they were polite, asking if it was his first time and giving him a rundown of what would happen. He wasn’t the only new face, which brought him slight relief, and they assured him he didn’t have to share if he didn’t want to.

Then they sat in a circle. The chair spoke the preamble smoothly from memory—just how many meetings has he been in?—and people began introducing themselves.

His eyes are half-lidded, recounting the memory with his head on a soft pillow, but the reality felt like hard concrete.

He remembers how dry his throat felt when the room looked at him, how clammy his palms were against the roughness of his jeans.

Tension.

And yet it was a kind that he wasn’t accustomed to. Instead of one that threatens to spring violence loose, it demands a calm release.

Above comfortable sheets, he can still hear his own voice battling shakiness as he spoke.

I’m Logan… and I’m an alcoholic.

Those few words were cathartic then, but somehow he felt it more intensely as he relives the moment through memory. Pressure builds behind his eyes and in his jaw.

He knows this feeling. Why now?

Emotions wash over him in waves that build, growing stronger and taller—shame, guilt, rage, fatigue, hopelessness, the most damning anguish any man has ever experienced. Each of them sits heavy in his bloodstream, overcoming his body as his heart paces. It reminds him of that time he went back to the school, too late to save anyone.

Thump. Anger. Thump. Agony. His chest heaves.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Logan cries.

Did he cry for his friends when he saw their bodies in the mud?

Scott, Jean, Storm, Charles, Rogue, fuck, Rogue—

Or did he dive straight into the massacre, letting hatred blind him?

It’s patchy, his recollection, but the tears fall quietly into the sheets, and he allows them. He’s past the point of stopping himself.

There is no sound. Just a broken dam as he quietly shakes, tremors rushing through his body as the tears wet his cheeks and nose. He looks up at the ceiling.

Amidst the violent purge, there’s a heaviness deep in his gut, a sense of stability. The same feeling that prompted him in the morning, the little whisper of a disfigured sensation he’s long discarded. Maybe this time he’ll let peace take its place.

The same feeling when he felt the matter and antimatter currents surged through his body, each cell in him screaming as they are killed and reborn over and over again, before it stops.

The same feeling when saving Wade’s little world.

The pillow is damp now, but he doesn’t mind, because the more he lets go, the lighter he feels. A knot unravelled slowly in his chest. The memories grow kinder. Dinners with Wade’s friends. Trading stories with Laura.

Ororo laughing at something Jean said. Scott looking at the redhead—even with the vizor, you can tell he’s in love.

Meeting you. Sharing that pizza together.

He falls asleep at the memory of the hug you gave him earlier.

When he comes home from work the next day, dust all over his heavyweight t-shirt, he notices something hanging on the back of the door.

A small whiteboard. To its side is a marker, affixed to the board with a magnet.

“Hey,” you greet from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” he gestures with his chin.

“Oh.” You turn to the entryway to look at the whiteboard. You hung it up not ten minutes ago. “I thought we’d need it to write notes. Things to buy, chores to do, stuff like that.”

Heading towards the door, you grab the marker. “But I guess you can write whatever you want.”

He watches as you stand in front of him, the marker squeaking under your strokes.

You turn to him, smiling before walking away.

Logan’s heart clenches painfully—an occurrence far too often for his health, seeing that it’s barely three days since moving in with you.

He stares at your handwriting for the first time.

Have a great day ahead :)

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx

next chapter

#an independent woman #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #x men #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x you

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jaewritesfic · 11 months ago

Text

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows Au Pt 6

Part 5

Warning for very brief flashback implying vivisection

It is highly amusing to float to Red Robin's rooftop and see up close how intensely vigilant he's being. He looks like if a pigeon took off halfway across the city he'd fucking notice, but the ghost standing next to him and trying not to snicker goes undetected.

Poor guy. He really seems like the type to drive himself up a wall over a mystery - he's certainly been driving himself up a wall over Danny.

Danny has to force himself not to tickle the back of the guy's neck just to watch him flail.

He likes Red Robin, he really does. He didn't set out to torture the poor guy - Red did that all by himself, all Danny has been trying to do is help.

They can't pursue him the way they have been and expect him not to try and get some entertainment out of it. It tempers the annoyance, making their obsession with finding him a game.

Danny considers the box in Red's lap.

He's been doing the same thing with each box they leave him from the beginning: grab box, open pocket dimension, yeet.

Not even Bat trackers can transmit from an entirely different plane of existence, it would seem.

And the thing Danny has discovered about having died when an entirely different plane of existence opened on top of him and merged with his DNA?

He is a pocket dimension, in a way.

In other words, no need to expend energy to tear the fabric of reality to deposit his loot - all he needs to do is phase things into himself.

So Red will definitely notice when the box disappears from his lap and seemingly blinks out of existence, but at least he won't be seeing any neon green tears in reality open up in front of him.

That seems like a good deal to Danny.

He steps forward and reaches for the box-

NA NA NA NA NA NANA

Danny and Red Robin both curse and flail as the Ghostbusters theme rings out across the rooftop.

Red Robin nearly falls out of his lawn chair launching himself away from the sudden sound, almost dropping the lockbox in the process.

Danny frantically searches his pockets for his goddamn phone, pulls it out, has the fear of God struck into him at the idea of hanging up on Sam Manson and thus shoves it into his chest to go to voicemail somewhere where nobody can hear it ring.

In the dead silence that follows, Danny finds himself in something like a startled cowboy standoff where only one of the participants is actually visible.

Red Robin stands with feet braced shoulder width apart, lockbox in one hand and bo staff in the other. He is visibly bewildered and ready to throw hands.

He's staring at the space a little to the left of Danny's head, so at least he hadn't dropped his invisibility in panic.

Welp. No use trying to change plans now.

Danny lunges forward and grabs the lockbox, relishing in the squawk of shock and indignance Red Robin makes as it abruptly leaves his hand and blinks out of sight.

He doesn't anticipate how fast Red Robin will recover or move.

A hand wraps tightly around his wrist and jerks him back in an impressive estimation of where Danny might be occupying space.

Danny almost goes ghost right there. Not because he wants to, but because for a moment there are restraints around his wrists and ectoplasm on the table and bright lights and sharp blades and pain-

He swallows the growl that wants to well up in his throat as he turns and looks at Red Robin, teeth feeling a little too large and sharp in his mouth before he forces himself to calm down.

Red is staring him straight in the eyes despite Danny being able to see he's still invisible. Red’s hand looks to be wrapped around nothing.

“You're not going anywhere,” Red Robin says, voice low and slightly feral with the high of perceived victory. That, paired with the crooked smirk on his lips is kind of, uh- well. Hoo boy, that's all Danny has to say about that.

Well, he does have one other thing to say.

“Bet.”

The way Red Robin's face falls in disbelief when Danny phases out of his grip is nothing short of glorious. Danny's already floating off the roof and out of grabbing distance before Red finishes buffering.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Danny cackles, tossing him a salute he can't even see.

“Better luck next time, Angry Bird!”

“Son of a bitch!”

Masterpost

#dp x dc #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #dead tired ship #dead tired #assume that every danny i write has the ghostbusters theme as his ring tone #im sure this wont come back to haunt him #ba dum tss #tim: obsession intensifies #tim: ranting in an unhinged way about this later #jason with popcorn: so r u guys gonna kiss next time or

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pttedu · 8 days ago

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Planning a build or renovation? This complete guide to Philadelphia construction permits explains how to apply, expected timelines, and the building permit Philly cost. Whether you need a residential permit in Philadelphia or want to know how to get a building permit in Philadelphia, we break down the permit application process in Philly step-by-step. Avoid common mistakes and delays with expert tips for faster approval and legal compliance. Perfect for homeowners, contractors, and developers working on projects in the city.

#Building permit Philly cost estimate 2025 #How to get a building permit in Philadelphia #Residential construction permits Philadelphia #Commercial building permit process Philadelphia #Permit application process Philly step-by-step #Philadelphia construction permit requirements #Expedited building permits in Philadelphia #Electrical and plumbing permits Philadelphia #Where to apply for permits in Philadelphia #Do I need a permit for renovations in Philadelphia

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shadesofmauve · 5 months ago

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Alliance Normandy SR2 interior redesign: Introduction

The Normandy is a sexy sexy spaceship, but the interior we see is defined by game play: corridors are extremely wide so Shepard doesn't get stuck on the scenery, the crew is sparse because animating crew members takes resources and NPCs are also obstacles Shepard could get stuck on, you need larger spaces for camera angles, etc.

I wanted to see if I could redesign the space to fit a crew of 70–90... ...and I got carried away.

This post covers the rules I set myself and the basic process. Each deck will get a separate post (check back for links):

Intro

Loft

Command deck

Crew deck

Engineering deck

Hangar deck

Design rules

Keep major elements in basically the same places. This is the Normandy as she exists in my fic Sunset & Evening Star, and readers shouldn't have to study a floorplan!

Use only space that's 'available' in the game. If we can access it as the player, it's fair game. If it's a mysterious void in-game, I assume it's full of Important Spaceship Parts and the only access is for ship maintenance.

The elevator shaft is vertical. No Willy Wonka/ST turbo lift shit.

*There are inertial dampeners; if there weren't none of this would work. But as an author I like to imagine that any system can be overloaded.

Step one: Align & scale the deck maps

I aligned the deck maps around the elevator, the only element that shows up on every one. Each is shown at a different scale, so I eyeballed their relationship based on furniture, which is the only thing required to have a relatively consistent size. This is a big assumption; game designers resize whatever they need to! Shepard's bed, for instance, has pillows about a meter square. Presumably they needed room to made the pixel dolls have sex. Shepard's bed can therefore not be trusted, and to a lesser extent neither can anything else.

(There are also floor panels that look a lot like standard 4'x8' construction sheet stock, but A) developers can re-size those as needed without the player noticing, and B) If we're still using imperial units to construct spaceships in 2184 I hope the reapers eat us.**)

**...that said, I used a scale of 1px:2ft to draw this. I'm so sorry. I'm American and I've done construction, it's easy for me to visualize. (The scale was two inches to the pixel, if you're curious.)

Step two: Redesign over the existing space

This is where I saw how much I could fit in the space the game design allowed (given my guesses on scale). Y'know, the fun bit that I thought I'd be spending most of my time doing!

(I was so wrong).

Redesign goals

The Alliance refitted the Normandy for an Admiral. Admirals don't captain their own ships, so I needed to account for an Admiral and their staff as well as the captain and crew.

Align bunks fore-aft, so that the most common major inertial vectors* will hit sleeping crew in the least dangerous direction.

Plumbing should be stacked when possible. (I don't know spaceships but I know about plumbing columns. Glamorous!)

Step three: Adjust to the hull

One modeler figured the ship had to be ~370 meters long to fit the decks as-is, which would leave them using only ~20% of the length. One dev is quoted as saying she's 170m. Fan estimates comparing it with other ships suggest somewhere from 210–230 meters.

The hangar deck is the one*** place the interior aligns with the exterior for certain. The hangar needs to fit two kodiaks in the space between the bay door and the elevator, and each kodiak needs to fit 12 people plus the pilot. Additionally, as the lowest deck the hanger is limited in width by the inward curve of the hull (and that limit changes based on how low you go, which is why the drawing above includes a front elevation).

***Yes, we also see Joker piloting right up in the nose. This is impossible to achieve and also stupid, so I've elected to ignore it.

Sizing it to the smallest reasonable hangar — and after drawing a rather stubbier kodiak — I managed a 194 meter hull; ~217 if you include thrusters. At this size the liveable area takes up just over a third of the hull length. It's still an awful lot of nose, but that nose means 136 meters for the main gun, which for my purposes is still a rail gun (so size matters). Sadly it can't be a hull-length gun; it would run into first the elevator, and then the eezo core.

I did NOT pretend to figure out where the Make Spaceship Go parts are, or the Keep People Alive parts. There's a LOT of 'wasted' space; assume it's all in use and accessible through engineering access-ways, though how comfortable or safe they are is questionable.

———

Thanks to @swaps55 for the amazing high-res screenshots of the game maps, and to @faejilly and @sheepishwolfy for the long-ago talks about crew size that started all this!

#mass effect #mass effect meta #mass effect lore #fire the headcan(n)on #The Normandy SR2 #Alliance Normandy SR-2 #Sunset and Evening Star #Normandy redesign #Normandy SR-2 redesign

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reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

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"On a freezing cold Wednesday afternoon in eastern Kentucky, Taysha DeVaughan joined a small gathering at the foot of a reclaimed strip mine to celebrate a homecoming. “It’s a return of an ancestor,” DeVaughan said. “It’s a return of a relative.”

That relative was the land they stood on, part of a tract slated for a federal penitentiary that many in the crowd consider another injustice in a region riddled with them. The mine shut down years ago, but the site, near the town of Roxana, still bears the scars of extraction.

DeVaughan, an enrolled member of the Comanche Nation, joined some two dozen people on January 22 to celebrate the Appalachian Rekindling Project buying 63 acres within the prison’s footprint.

“What we’re here to do is to protect her and to give her a voice,” DeVaughan said. “She’s been through mountaintop removal. She’s been blown up, she’s been scraped up, she’s been hurt.”

The Appalachian Rekindling Project, which she helped found last year, wants to rewild the site with bison and native flora and fauna, open it to intertribal gatherings, and, it hopes, stop the prison.

The environmental justice organization worked with a coalition of local nonprofits, including Build Community Not Prisons and the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, to raise $160,000 to buy the plot from a family who owned the land generationally.

Retired truck driver Wayne Whitaker, who owns neighboring land and had considered purchasing it as a hunting ground, told Grist he was supportive. “There’s nothing positive we’ll get out of this prison,” he said.

The penitentiary has been a gleam in the eye of state and local officials and the Bureau of Prisons since 2006. It has always sparked sharp divisions in Roxana and beyond and was killed in 2019 after a series of lawsuits, only to be quietly resurrected in 2022. Last fall, the bureau took the final step in its approval process, clearing the way to begin buying land...

In his book Coal, Cages, Crisis, Schept noted that mine sites are considered ideal locations for prisons or a dumping ground for waste, rather than places of ecological value, as some biologists have argued. The Roxana site has been reclaimed, meaning re-vegetated with a forest that now shelters a number of rare species, including endangered bats.

Opponents argue that a prison will bring more environmental problems than jobs. Letcher County was 1 of 13 counties ravaged by catastrophic flooding in 2022, a situation exacerbated by damage strip mining caused to local watersheds. The prison slated for Roxana will exacerbate the problem.

The Bureau of Prisons estimates it will damage 6,290 feet of streams and about 2 acres of wetlands. (The agency has promised to compensate the state.)

DeVaughan said the purchase also is a step toward rectifying the dispossession that began with the forced removal and genocide of Indigenous peoples. The Cherokee, Shawnee, and Yuchi made their homes in the area before, during, and after colonization, and their thriving nations raised crops, ran businesses, and hunted bison that once roamed Appalachia.

In all the time since, coal, timber, gas, and landholding companies have at times owned almost half of the land in 80 counties stretching from West Virginia to Alabama. Several prisons sprang from deals made with coal companies, something many locals consider the continuation of this status quo.

Changing that dynamic is a priority for the Appalachian Rekindling Project, which hoped to buy more land to protect it from extractive industries and return its stewardship to Indigenous and local communities. DeVaughn said Indigenous peoples throughout the region will be welcome to use the land as a gathering place...

DeVaughan sees its work establishing a new vision of economic transition for coalfields, one that relies less on “dollars and numbers” and more on “healing and restoration” of the land and the Indigenous and other communities that live there.

She is working with some personal connections in the Cheyenne and Arapaho nations to acquire a herd of bison and plans to work with local volunteers, scientists, and students to inventory the site’s flora and fauna."

-via GoodGoodGood, February 6, 2025

#kentucky #united states #indigenous #first nations #comanche #north america #land back #rewilding #indigenous activism #conservation #prison abolition #bison #forest #good news #hope

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hgfictionwriter · 11 months ago

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Self Control: Part Five - A Glimpse

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: It's time for the first ultrasound. Jessie's overwhelmed with emotion at getting to see your baby for the first time. And if you happen to be feeling better for a spell, no better time for you and Jessie to satisfy some needs.

Warnings: Needy, passionate smut. G!P. Grinding and edging, oral (r receiving), G!P sex, preg and breeding kink, mention of cockwarming, language.

A/N: The rest of the Control series can be found here.

Jessie sat, your hand gripped tightly in hers, next to the exam table in the obstetrician's exam room as you underwent your initial visit.

You'd barely let go of her since you left the apartment. You held her hand the entire time leading up to the point when Jessie had to step back as you gowned up and prepared for your baby's first ultrasound. Jessie's heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears for most of the visit, but she put on a calm, brave face for you.

The obstetrician, Dr. Mal, had been warm and patient as she walked you both through the journey as new expecting parents, and for that, Jessie was grateful. She even beamed proudly, pushing past her bashfulness as the doctor praised her for her dutiful note taking and eagerness to be involved.

A large portion of the visit involved extensive cataloging of family medical histories, reviewing a schedule of upcoming appointments and milestones, and general information and instructions. Jessie released a subtle sigh of relief when Dr. Mal very confidently relayed that she had no concerns about your pregnancy at this point.

Now, it was time for the ultrasound. While it was to confirm the placement and size of your baby, as well as estimate your due date, it was also your first chance to see your baby. Jessie was a bundle of nerves and her mouth was dry.

"We aren't able to do an abdominal ultrasound this early in the pregnancy, the embryo is too small and we can get clearer, better images this way," Dr. Mal explained. "I know this is not the most comfortable, but do your best to relax and let's see what we find."

Your hand gripped Jessie's tighter as the wand was inserted and Jessie rubbed your shoulder with her other hand.

Soon, all three of you had your eyes trained on the monitor next to the table. Jessie's eyes scanned the screen as different grainy images came and went until things more or less were static. Jessie stilled as she saw a little round dark area with an even smaller shape inside of it. She stared unblinking as she quickly made out the tiny figure in the image.

"And there's your baby," the doctor said as she pointed. "They're only about an inch at this point, but you can see here we're starting to see some defined features. Here's their head, their rump - and you can see where their teeny tiny arms and legs are just starting to form."

"Jess." Your shaky voice broke Jessie out of her reverie and she glanced down at you, mouth slightly agape as she tried to process everything. A watery smile crossed her face right away when she saw the tears in your eyes as you stared at your baby on the monitor. She squeezed your hand tightly and leaned down kissing your forehead as her own tears started to form.

This was your baby. This baby that you made together. They were made out of love, passion and devotion and they were real.

"And look at that. Or rather, hear," she went on with a smile and glance over at Jessie and you. "That sound is your baby's heartbeat. And that flickering on the image there - that's the heart beating. We can't always hear it this early on, so that's fantastic. Really strong."

Jessie's breath caught in her throat and the tears welling at the corner of her eyes started to spill over as a low steady beat sounded from the monitor.

"Oh my God," Jessie breathed in absolute wonder.

"Pretty amazing, right?" The doctor asked.

"Beyond," Jessie said, wiping at her eyes and refusing to tear her gaze away from the screen.

When Jessie looked down at you again, you turned your head towards her and she saw the trail of tears on your cheeks. Jessie's emotions bubbled up again at the sight and she let out a small, happy sob. You looked lovingly up at her and kissed her hand.

By the time you both left the office, you had a couple of copies of the ultrasound, Jessie insisting on getting physical copies in addition to the digital. She hugged the photo to her chest as soon as it was handed to her.

You weren't even back to your car yet when Jessie and you collided in an emotional and tender embrace. Her shoulders and yours shook as you both cried happily at the gravity and relief of this moment.

This was happening. It was no longer a hypothetical or a maybe, it was so incredibly real - Jessie saw your baby with her own two eyes and heard their heartbeat loud and strong. She held the picture that proved they were real; that you and her had come together to create this tiny miracle who would grow. And 8 months from now, Jessie would be holding them and taking them home.

Jessie sniffled as she pulled back enough to see you, laughing softly at herself.

"I'm a wreck," she said as she wiped at her tears again. You laughed and wiped away her tears for her.

"Well that makes two of us. Oh my God," you said still in awe. You looked at Jessie, eyes shimmering as a quiet smile played across your face. "We're having a baby," you said in wonder, your voice thick with emotion.

"We are," she affirmed, feeling her throat grow tight again. She rolled her eyes with a laugh. "I'm gonna cry again." She sniffled and looked at you resolutely. "Thank you. Thank you carrying our baby. For choosing me. I've always thought you were amazing, but what you're doing now," she shook her head, "you are truly incredible. I love you so much."

Jessie kissed you deeply, vainly hoping that she could pour every ounce of her love for you and this family you were building right into her kiss.

"Jessie." Your gaze flit away and you dabbed at your eyes. "Now I'm crying again," you laughed. "We chose each other. There's honestly no one I could want to raise a family with more than you. There never was and there never will be. It's us," you placed your hand on your lower stomach. "and now this little one as well."

------

Originally, Jessie was planning to Zoom with her family over the weekend to share the good news. You both agreed to wait until the first trimester was over before you'd tell friends and others, but Jessie simply couldn't wait to tell her family. The morning after your doctor's visit, she was in the family chat coordinating a group call for that evening.

"You ready?" Jessie asked as she gave your leg a squeeze as you sat next to each other at the table, chairs pressed up against one another's, laptop set up in front of you. She was practically buzzing with excitement. You nodded and kissed her sweetly.

"Least if I have to make an impromptu disappearance, to you know, heave up dinner, they'll understand now," you said with a sly grin.

"Are you feeling sick?" Jessie asked, energy changing completely as she examined your features.

"No," you chuckled as you rubbed her leg. "I'm feeling fi-"

Your response was cut off by voices joining the call. You all waved and greeted each other cheerfully, exchanging some initial pleasantries and updates before Jessie's sister cut in.

"Okay, what's the deal. What's with the call, Jess?"

Jessie held back a smile, but her eyes shone bright and her posture opened up at the prospect of what she was about to relay. You both looked at one another. You gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.

"Uh, well," Jessie said somewhat melodramatically. She glanced to you again. "we, um, have some news."

Jessie caught on the video the way you watched her adoringly. She smiled as she retrieved the ultrasound photo off of the table. She took a small breath before lifting it up to the camera, ensuring it was in focus.

She wore a bright smile and watched their reactions intently, her eyes darting from picture to picture on the screen.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Oh my God!"

"Holy shit!"

A scatter of excited exclamations came through the laptop speakers and Jessie watched on, beaming, as her family reacted with joy.

"I know we haven't talked with any of you about this at all, so it probably seems sudden, but we really wanted this and we're ready. We're so excited."

"Honey," her mom said warmly, "you've been far more mature than your age since you were a kid. I have no doubt you're ready. You'll be amazing parents. Congratulations! I'm so happy - I'm going to be a grandmother! And Y/N, you are glowing already."

"It's probably just the sheen from my morning, afternoon, and evening sickness," you quipped before blushing. "I'm sorry. Thank you," you finished measuredly. Jessie just smiled at you and gave your leg a reassuring squeeze.

"I had it so bad when I was pregnant with Jessie," her mom went on in immediate empathy. "If you're like me, it should go away in the second trimester. How far along are you?"

"Ah, so it's really Jessie's fault," you joked as you gave her a playful nudge. "We're 8 weeks along."

By the end of the call, each of Jessie's family members had committed to flying out sooner rather than later to sneak in the first of what they all hoped were more frequent visits.

They also blocked off their calendars for when the baby was due or the month or two after so they could visit in shifts to help. It was bordering on overwhelming, but Jessie was grateful. You loved her family, taking them on more as your true family than your biological one by this point, so you were thrilled, too.

"It's no wonder you turned out so well," you commented affectionately as Jessie was closing the laptop. "I mean, you're sweet by nature, but growing up with such a loving and supportive family, it's not a surprise you've been able to become the person you are today." Your gaze dropped momentarily. "I hope we can provide an environment as loving and warm as you had growing up."

"We absolutely will," Jessie said without hesitation. "I know you didn't have that growing up, but just you noting this shows how much you want things to be different for our child." You nodded and Jessie saw you actively working to keep darker thoughts at bay.

"You're right. I know exactly what I don't want for our child. I know what I needed but didn't get growing up, and I want to make sure they have it," you said as you rest your hand on your stomach. Jessie leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

"You're going to be an amazing mom. I don't have a doubt in my mind about that." She saw a shred of insecurity still showing on your face. "You know how important family is to me, I wouldn't want to start one with someone who didn't fit into the vision of what I want for one."

"You're too sweet to me," you told her as you squeezed her hand.

"My family's your family, you know," Jessie reminded you. "And now, we'll have our own."

----------

That evening, Jessie laid in bed, splayed out and relaxed, her arm behind her head as she read her book and waited for you to come to bed.

She heard you come in from the bathroom and continued reading as she felt the bed shift as you climbed on. She was mid-sentence when you plucked the book out of her hands. Her hand remained in mid-air, a frown on her face as she processed what was going on. Further confusion set in when you rest your hands on her torso and straddled her hips, clad in pajamas which, as usual, consisted of just an oversized night shirt and underwear.

"How's your book?"

Jessie's frown lingered as she stared at you a moment. "It's fine," she said noncommittally, skepticism in her voice as she finally lowered her hand, letting it rest at the crook of your knee.

"What part are you at?" you said lightly, shifting subtly as you readjusted your position. A jolt shot through Jessie, centering between her legs under the friction and heat of your body. Her whole body began to tense up at your newfound proximity, but she did her best to relax.

With how you'd been feeling, you hadn't slept together in a couple of weeks. Reflecting upon it, Jessie felt ridiculous for even remotely considering it a dry spell. Before you, she'd gone for months or even years at a time without sex. She wasn't a one-night-stand or casual kind of person, and truthfully, the lack of sex didn't bother her. However, since being with you, she couldn't get enough. And since that fateful morning when this whole journey started, she'd been insatiable.

Sure, sometimes you went weeks without sex because she'd be at tournaments, but that was different. Even when you first started seeing each other, though Jessie was fully ready to take it slow, by date two she was in your bed - and stayed there until the following afternoon.

Regardless, she was dedicated to ensuring you didn't feel any pressure to have sex unless you were feeling completely better and ready. And, well, her lonely cock starting to harden in her boxers and jut up into you would harm her cause.

She did her best to think about her book.

"Uh, just reading about how the allocation of parking spaces affects property values and urban development," Jessie said evenly, keeping her eyes trained on yours as you listened attentively.

"Mm. That part's really interesting. Have you gotten to the part about urban heat islands?" You asked, dropping your gaze briefly as you toyed with the hem of her shirt, your hands sneaking under and resting on her stomach once more. Your thumb slowly grazed along her abs. She clenched her jaw briefly.

Right. She somehow forgot in the moment that you already read it. In fact, you're the one who recommended it for her.

"No," she replied, doing her best to not sound abrupt. She gave herself a moment. "I haven't gotten there yet."

"Hm," you voiced as you leaned forward, removing one hand from under her shirt to retrieve the book again. Jessie swallowed a groan as you settled back down on her. She swore you rolled your hips as you did so. You opened the book.

"The prioritization of parking spaces in urban planning not only influences property values but also reshapes architectural design..."

Your mouth was moving, but your words weren't registering in Jessie's mind anymore as you, not so subtly now, began to slowly grind yourself against her cock. Jessie's gaze shot to the ceiling as she tried to retain control.

Her breathing was quiet, but laboured, her teeth now grit together as she returned her eyes to see you oh so nonchalantly reading to her as you rocked your hips and idly traced across Jessie's stomach with your thumb.

With the heat of your core, thinly veiled by your skimpy panties no less, along with your sensual movements made this a losing battle for Jessie. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried valiantly to ward off her arousal, but the blood rushing to her member made it impossible.

"Uh, babe?" Jessie interjected, her voice more strained than it should've been as she subconsciously gripped your legs that were gorgeously spread around her hips.

"Hm?" You asked innocently, your movements stilling as you lifted your gaze from the book to look at her. Jessie's eyes fell to your core before rising back up.

"I'd really like to listen to you, but, um," she swallowed inadvertently, "you might have to move."

"What's wrong?" You asked innocently once more, the expression on your face giving no hint of what you intended as you began to leisurely grind against her growing length once more.

Jessie bit back another moan and her hands came up to your waist now. "You know what you're doing," Jessie said, a slight edge in her voice.

"Oh? Well, thank you," you said as you set down the book once more and gave a flirty shrug of your shoulders. Jessie exhaled audibly as she fought an eye roll.

"Babe. I'm trying to be good, here," Jessie went on, her response stilted as she was distracted by the way you rose and lowered against her.

"No need," you told her simply, not letting up.

Jessie blew out a breath, digging her head back into the pillow and looking up as she struggled to focus on anything other than the way her length was straining up against the fabric of her boxers and how a pulse would jump through her every time you brushed against the head of her cock.

"I take it this means you're feeling better?" She grunted out as she met your gaze again, doing her best to ignore the way your whole body sensually moved as you teased her.

"At this moment in time? Yes," you smirked.

"What brought this on?" Jessie inquired further. You cocked your head to the side in mock contemplation before you responded.

"As I was getting ready, I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you. You're sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, funny," you paused, "and then I came in here and was reminded of how incredibly hot you are, too." You leaned in, capturing her lips between your teeth and tugging before kissing her. "Besides, I haven't had any action or relief."

Jessie shoulders slumped as she recalled you teasing her about her extracurriculars in the shower. Another blush formed on her face.

"The doctor said we're allowed to have intercourse throughout the pregnancy. Or as I call it, dirty, hungry, needy, rabid fucking."

You really were worked up.

"Hey, stud?" You asked, a teasing lilt in your voice as you pulled Jessie's earlobe between your teeth and gave it a teasing lick. "She was pretty impressed with how quickly you knocked me up."

Jessie's eyes rolled into the back of her head, made worse by how you gave a particularly needy roll of your hips against her now rock hard cock. She was already aching and desperate for release.

"Guess it's a good thing we always used protection before," you whispered. "Who knows - you might've put a baby in me that second date." Jessie groaned. "God, this would be our fourth or fifth by now."

"Oh shit," Jessie said, her voice both warning and pleading. She grabbed your waist and rolled you both so she was on top. She held herself up and off of you as she looked down at you with a bemused look. "I'm gonna blow if you don't stop. Let me take care of you first."

You looked up at her with a very self-satisfied look and Jessie narrowed her eyes playfully at you.

"Yeah, you fucking know exactly what you're doing." She huffed before stealing a quick kiss. "You love it."

"Love making you blow your load without me ever really touching you? Yeah," you replied nonchalantly with a mischievous quirk of your shoulders.

Jessie exhaled and let her head fall before smiling and lifting it once more. She gave it a shake.

"I don't think I could love you more," she said with an amused laugh and began shifting down the bed.

She lifted your shirt and very gently kneaded your breasts, being mindful of how sensitive they've been. She kept it short, not wanting to push you, but leaned down and took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking lightly and flicking her tongue across it. She grinned as your back arched off the bed.

Jessie continued to kiss her way down your body. Her hands grasped your waist and she planted extra soft and tender kisses on your still-flat stomach.

"I can't wait until you start to show," Jessie nearly groaned.

Jessie had to keep herself in check. The image of you in her head - you walking around the apartment, one hand on your back and the other rubbing your belly that was so full and heavy with her baby - had her throbbing. She would've never anticipated these urges, but you being pregnant with her baby not only made her love you impossibly more, but it ignited some primal part of her DNA. Thankfully, you didn't seem to mind.

She blushed at how she found herself absently grinding her still-restrained hard-on against the mattress.

"Mm," you moaned, oblivious to Jessie's pining, your legs fidgeting in arousal as you shifted beneath her.

Jessie stayed on task. She shuffled further down, hooking her fingers into your panties and inching them down your legs. She pulsed as a string of cum stretched from your dripping pussy to your underwear as she removed them.

You bent your knees and planted your feet by Jessie's shoulders as she began to kiss her way down the inside of your thighs. She loved the way you gripped the sheets in anticipation.

Jessie teased you, making her tongue firm as she traced up and down between your lips, before softening and giving a faint lick across your sensitive clit, relishing how you jerked in response. She dipped her tongue inside of you, making several passes to scoop up the arousal she found there. She swallowed.

"I swear you taste even better somehow," she said, mesmerized.

A small whimper worked its way up your throat followed by her name tumbling out of your mouth. That was all the encouragement Jessie needed. She wrapped her arms under and around your thighs, tugging you down the bed and tight against her face as she buried herself in your pussy like there was nothing in this world she wanted more.

Jessie's face rocked up and down and side to side as she devoutly looked after you. Your moans of pleasure were like music to her ears.

It wasn't long before you gripped Jessie's forearm, nails digging in and you panted, "Fuck. Jessie, I'm gonna cum."

Soon, you were convulsing, your hips jerking off of the bed and into Jessie's face while you gasped high in your throat. While she relented to some degree, letting you unwind slightly, eventually slowly lapping at your entrance to drink up your juices, Jessie's mouth didn't leave you.

You were just starting to relax when her slow, languid licks started to pick up again. Low moans started to fill the room once more as your hand came to Jessie's head, playing softly with her hair.

"Oh shit, Jess," you whimpered as you began to subtly grind into her once more.

She turned her attention again to your clit and even with your thighs flexed around her head, she could hear the way your breath hitched as she tended to you.

She opened her eyes as she felt your legs start to quiver. By now, your fingers were digging into her crown, sure signs that you were nearing the brink for a second time.

You gripped Jessie's hair and gave a sharp tug. The force was enough that it jerked her head forward. Alarm went through her momentarily, worried she'd done something wrong when you spoke urgently.

"I need you up here. I need you inside of me," you begged, words clipped as you struggled to speak. They weren't even out of your mouth as you grabbed her wrist and tugged again.

Jessie was all too willing. She was climbing up your body before her mind even fully registered it. Her gaze was fixed on yours as she positioned herself between your legs, so caught up in the moment she only now remembered she still had her boxers on. She went to move back to remove them, but you grabbed her by the waist pulling her in again.

"No, I need you now," you told her desperately as you pulled her into a kiss. She moaned heavily into it, a second later reaching down to open her boxers to release her painfully erect cock. She broke your kiss momentarily as a small grunt caught in her throat when her fingers met the wet fabric of the front of her boxers, damp with precum.

She kissed you hard again as she reached in and pulled out her cock. In her frenzy, she uncharacteristically blindly poked around, fumbling a couple of times before positioning herself appropriately and slipping inside with greater force than intended. She apprehensively held herself still inside of you, relaxing as soon as she heard your wanting moan. Your hands were immediately on her ass, gripping hard and urging her to move.

Jessie began pumping into you with urgency. The part of her brain that was working determinedly to delay her orgasm was losing resolve quickly as her senses were overwhelmed with you.

She grunted, pulling back from your kiss to look down at you as she continued to make love to you. Your lips were parted and your cheeks were flushed as you held her gaze. Most notably though, your eyes were dark with lust and you ran your fingers through her hair, caressing her.

"This is the exact position I was in when you put this baby into me."

A stuttering groan fell from Jessie's lips and she threw her head back, eyes fixing on the ceiling. She panted above you, nearly wincing as she tried to hold off, but her impending climax became undeniable.

She lowered herself onto you, her ragged breath in your ear as she pumped into you. A desperate whimper escaped her as she started to speak. "You know what this means. You're truly mine now. And I belong to you. We're connected forever."

Whether it was her actions or words that did it, your blissful cry was suddenly in her ear and you gripped her length so tightly she immediately came with a small yell, her cum pouring into you with strong, jetting pulses. She gasped several times as her climax washed over her.

She collapsed on top of you as the tension began to drain from her body. You were both so spent and exhausted that neither of you spoke as you stayed in your embrace. Your fingers tiredly weaved through her hair, absently caressing, until sometime later your hand stilled and your breathing evened. She peeked one eye open - you were asleep. The last thing Jessie was aware of was the soothing warmth of your body as she fell asleep inside of you.

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