#I am once again blaming Taylor Swift

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

I Want To Kill Her (Part 2)

Au where Y/N and Harry are neighbors who find out their spouses are cheating with each other.

Based off Fortnight by Taylor Swift

Part 1

CW: Smut, cursing, unprotected sex, emotional abuse.

Word Count: 10,085

The months following the gut-wrenching discovery of Teddy's affair were a chaotic storm of emotions and turmoil. The idea of my spouse, the person I trusted most in this world, being unfaithful was unbearable. But without any concrete evidence, doubt enveloped me like a thick fog, suffocating me as I struggled to regain my footing. Though I desperately wanted to believe he wasn't cheating, the blatant signs and whispers from those around us made it impossible to deny the painful truth.

Rage and heartbreak battle within me as I struggle to forgive Teddy, to find a way to salvage our relationship. But each attempt is met with the painful memories of his infidelity, burning like acid through my veins. I'm terrified of losing my British citizenship, my sense of identity and belonging, if I leave him. And even worse, I dread the thought of calling my family and confessing the truth - that not only did Teddy betray me with another woman, but in some sick twisted way, I am also to blame. My family adored him like a son, and he gave me a life beyond my wildest dreams. How could I ever reconcile these conflicting emotions?

Harry's sudden decision to divorce Rosie sent shockwaves through the once peaceful fortress of their home. In just a week, he had packed his bags and walked away, leaving behind a cold and empty shell that was now up for sale. As new potential buyers roamed the halls, I couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal from Harry's abrupt departure. The last time I saw him was in a dingy motel room, where we spent a desperate night together before he vanished without a trace. His disappearance was calculated and cruel, fueled by his seemingly endless wealth and power. Meanwhile, I was left with nothing but uncertainty and the option to return home to Florida. But Harry's resentment only grew as I hesitated to make a final decision. He wanted me to walk away with no regrets, but real life is messy and complicated - far from the neat and tidy ending he desired.

I was trapped in a prison of a house, held captive by a man who claimed to love me but had truly only created a tangled web of chaos and pain. We forced ourselves into therapy every week, desperate to salvage something from the wreckage he had caused. But even after all the sessions, I still felt like I was drowning in the suffocating grip of his selfishness. It was never enough, and I could feel my sanity slipping away with each passing day.

Evenings rolled into nights and days blurred into months. Each moment seemed agonizingly long as I begged time to fly quicker, to wash away the stale taste of betrayal and deception from my existence. The house that once echoed with laughter and love now felt eerily silent, its walls whispering Teddy's betrayal during the quietest hours. My heart ached in ways I never knew possible, each pulse a reminder of the pain he had caused. 

In a bid for relief, I threw myself into cooking elaborate meals, organising closets, watering the drooping plants Teddy had once loved. Yet every activity was tainted with the memory of him - his laughter rings in my mind as I repeat chores we used to do together. It was a desperate plight to keep myself sane amidst the storm that threatened to break me down.

Teddy's unfaithfulness took its toll on my spirit, but Harry's abandonment shattered me entirely. I played over our last night together again and again in my mind. There was something feral about that night; lust mixed with desperation and an underlying tone of finality. He left without any explanation, disappearing like a ghost only leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and a raw wound that refused to heal.

The cracks were beginning to show. Laughter seemed forced, smiles rarely reached my eyes. The weekly therapy sessions felt more like an interrogation than relief, talks of my own explicit night replaying session after session. Hours spent scrutinizing every detail of our dysfunctional relationship only amplified my misery. Every shared secret, every stolen glance, every whispered promise – all now seemed meaningless and distorted under the harsh scrutiny of reality.

In the end, it was not Teddy who broke me; it was me who had allowed myself to be broken by him. My judgment clouded by love hindered me from seeing the man he truly was – a master manipulator cloaked in charm and charisma. The truth was painful to accept but liberating in its own cruel way. I was no longer in denial. I was no longer the woman who would bend over backwards to accommodate the whims of unfaithful men. I was stronger than my heartbreak, stronger than their deceit. And most importantly, I learned the toughest lesson of my life – not all love is meant to be cherished; sometimes, it's better left discarded.

As I sat in the therapist's office, the stark white walls closing in around me, my voice cracked as I attempted to verbalize the turmoil within me. "I just don't understand how it got to this point," I admitted, tears threatening to spill over.

Dr. Richards leaned forward, her gentle gaze meeting mine with empathy. "It sounds like you've been through a lot of pain and betrayal," she said softly. "But remember, healing begins with acknowledging the truth."

I nodded, wiping away a stray tear that escaped down my cheek. "I know, but it's so hard to let go of everything that was once so real to me."

Dr. Richards offered a kind smile. "It's okay to feel that way. It's all a part of the process." She paused before continuing, "Have you considered what you need to do to move forward from this?"

I took a deep breath, the weight of the question settling heavily on my shoulders. "I... I think I need to start by forgiving myself for allowing this to happen. For not seeing the signs sooner."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken pain and regret. Dr. Richards reached out and placed a comforting hand on mine. "Forgiveness is a powerful tool, both for yourself and for others," she said gently.

I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "But how do I forgive someone who shattered me into a million pieces?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Dr. Richards' voice was steady and reassuring as she replied, "Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting or excusing their actions. It means releasing the hold they have over your heart and mind."

As I sat there, grappling with the weight of forgiveness, a million thoughts raced through my mind. Dr. Richards' words lingered like a balm on my wounded soul, but the path to healing still seemed daunting.

"I understand that forgiveness is crucial, but how do I even begin to untangle the mess he left behind?" I asked, my voice wavering with uncertainty.

Dr. Richards leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "It's a process, one step at a time," she said gently. "Start by acknowledging your pain and allowing yourself to feel it without judgment."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded, the emotions swirling inside me threatening to spill over. "It's just so hard to let go of the anger and hurt," I confessed.

She nodded in understanding. "Anger is a natural response to betrayal, but holding onto it only prolongs your pain. Remember, forgiveness is not for his benefit, but for yours."

Her words struck a chord deep within me, resonating with a truth I had been avoiding. "I want to move forward, but I don't know where to begin," I admitted, feeling lost in the sea of my own emotions.

Dr. Richards reached for a tissue and handed it to me with a gentle smile. "Start by being gentle with yourself," she advised. "Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, a release from the burden of carrying someone else's actions."

I took the tissue gratefully, wiping away my tears as her words sank in. "I never thought of it that way," I murmured, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the pain.

She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You are stronger than you realize. Forgiveness is not about condoning what he did; it's about setting yourself free from his grip on your heart."

As I sat there, enveloped in Dr. Richards' compassion and wisdom, a sense of peace washed over me. The road to forgiveness may be long and arduous, but with her guidance and my own resilience, perhaps one day I could truly let go and embrace the healing that awaited me.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of emotion, a rollercoaster of highs and lows. I spent many sleepless nights replaying old memories, wrestling with anger and regret. But with each passing day, the burden on my heart felt lighter. I began journaling my thoughts, pouring out my hurt into ink instead of letting it fester within me. And despite the painful contents, there was a strange sort of relief in seeing my emotions spelled out on paper.

"Writing can be therapeutic," Dr. Richards had suggested during one of our sessions. "It provides a safe space to confront your feelings, as raw and as tumultuous as they may be."

Within the quiet sanctuary of my mind and the solitude of my room, I started to delve deeper into myself; into the wounds that had been inflicted upon me and the ones I had unknowingly inflicted upon myself. The process was painful but cathartic. For each tear that fell onto the pages of my journal, there was a tiny piece of pain and bitterness being released.

Days turned into weeks, and slowly but surely, I found myself becoming less consumed by his betrayal and more focused on my healing. I started attending group therapy sessions where I met others who bore similar scars – our shared experiences bound us together in a circle of empathy and understanding.

In those group meetings, I realized that pain was universal but so was resilience. Listening to others narrate their journeys of recovery ignited a spark within me. I saw mirrored in their stories my own strength and determination to rise above the ashes.

One day, while looking at myself in the mirror after another group therapy session, something remarkable happened. Staring back at me was a woman who looked familiar but different—a stronger version of myself; a survivor. My reflection no longer showcased the woman betrayed by love but instead revealed a woman who had found strength amidst despair.

“I am not just a victim,” I whispered to my reflection, the words filling the room with a newfound determination. “I am a survivor.”

The following week in Dr. Richard's office, I found myself recalling this moment with a sense of pride. "I am starting to see changes," I admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

She returned my smile, her eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. "Change is a testament to your strength and resilience," she responded. "You're embracing this journey with courage, learning to forgive not just him, but yourself as well."

Her words felt like a beacon of hope guiding me through the foggy path of recovery. While the pain still lingered like an unforgotten ghost, each day it seemed less potent than before. I was indeed learning to forgive—forgive him for his betrayal and forgive myself for my blindness to his deceit.

As our session ended, I left Dr. Richards' office feeling lighter than when I had come in. With every step away from her office and every step towards home, I was journeying farther from the woman who had allowed herself to be broken by betrayal and closer to the woman who had found strength in her own resilience.

Journaling had become my safe haven, a place where I could pour out my deepest thoughts and emotions without fear of judgment. But that sanctuary was shattered when one day, in a rush to make it to therapy on time, I left my journal open on the bed. My heart stopped when I returned to find Teddy holding it, his eyes scanning the pages filled with my most vulnerable moments. In an instant, my privacy was invaded and my trust was broken.

The tense silence in the room shattered as Teddy's furious voice pierced the air, causing my heart to skip a beat. I watched helplessly as he held my journal in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes scanning the pages with growing anger. "What the actual fuck is this?" he bellowed, his face contorted with rage.

I stood frozen, my mind racing to find the right words to diffuse the escalating situation. "Teddy, please put that down," I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper, but he ignored me, his expression dark and menacing.

With a sharp intake of breath, I lunged forward to grab the journal from his hands, but he deftly sidestepped me. The tension crackled between us like electricity, each heartbeat echoing in the turbulent silence that enveloped the room.

"You've been writing about our sessions? and Harry?" Teddy's voice was laced with accusation, his gaze burning into mine with searing intensity.

I felt a surge of defiance rising within me as I squared my shoulders. "It's none of your business," I shot back, my tone sharper than intended, but I refused to back down in the face of his intrusion.

His jaw clenched as he took a step closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over me. "None of my business? You've been documenting our private moments, our struggles! How you also fucked the neighbor?" His voice rose with each word, reverberating off the walls like thunder in a storm “As if that little fucking photo he sent while fucking you, my wife, wasn’t bad enough”.

I could feel my own anger building, fueled by his violation of my privacy. "You have no right to invade my thoughts like this and last I checked, you were the one who started cheating," I retorted, the words dripping with resentment and hurt.

The atmosphere crackled with tension as we stood locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to yield ground. The air grew thick with unspoken accusations and grievances left festering beneath the surface.

"You think you can just hide behind your journal and play the victim?" Teddy's voice was laced with contempt, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

My fists clenched at my sides as a surge of defiance coursed through me. "I am not playing anything! This is my way of coping with everything you've put me through, let’s remember who started this mess," I shot back, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me.

His laugh was harsh and bitter, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. "Coping? Is that what you call it? Writing about how I've destroyed you? This is pretty much a sex book." His words were like daggers aimed straight at my heart.

The room seemed to shrink around us as we faced off in this battle of words and wills. Every breath felt heavy with unspoken truths and buried emotions that threatened to erupt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

"I trusted you," I whispered hoarsely, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as the weight of his betrayal bore down on me like a crushing weight.

Teddy's expression softened for a fleeting moment before hardening once more. "Trusted me? Look where that got you," he sneered, a cruel twist to his lips betraying the depths of his callousness.

The walls seemed to close in around us as the fight escalated into a tumultuous storm of emotions and accusations. Each word exchanged felt like a blow to an already fractured foundation that threatened to crumble under the weight of our shared pain.

The rumble of thunder outside echoed the turmoil inside as our voices rose in a crescendo of anger and hurt. The room pulsed with an energy so charged it felt as though lightning might strike at any moment, igniting a fire that would consume us both.

"I'm tired of being your punching bag," I declared, my voice firm with newfound resolve.

Teddy's face contorted with fury. "You think you're innocent in all this?" he shot back, his words like venom dripping from his lips.

The air crackled with electricity as we faced off in a battle neither willing to concede. It was a clash of egos and emotions, each word exchanged fueling the fire burning between us.

"I won't be silenced by your guilt-tripping," I retorted, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere with precision.

Teddy's eyes blazed with rage as he took a step closer, his breath hot against my skin. "Guilt-tripping? You've been playing the victim since day one," he accused, his voice dripping with contempt.

The room seemed on the verge of imploding as our tempers flared and our voices clashed in a symphony of discord. It was a battle of wills and wounded pride, each unwilling to yield ground in this war of words.

"You'll never own up to your mistakes," I accused, my voice tinged with frustration and anger.

Teddy's fists clenched at his sides as he glared at me with unbridled fury. "Mistakes? You're the one who shattered everything we had, we could’ve come back from this. You didn’t have to fuck the first guy you saw!" he roared, his words echoing off the walls like thunder on a stormy night.

The fight raged on like an unrelenting tempest, each word exchanged adding fuel to the fire burning between us. The air crackled with tension as we stood face to face in a battle that threatened to consume us both.

“You know what? I’m done,” I seethed, my voice rising to a fever pitch. "I'll find a place to stay and it sure as hell won't be here!" My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I glared daggers at the person in front of me. The fury coursing through my body threatened to consume me, but I welcomed it, fueled by sheer determination to escape this toxic environment.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my shaking hands as I dialed Bella's number, she was the first close friend I had made in London. The phone rang for what felt like hours before she finally picked up.

"Hey, Bella. It's me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside of me.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Can I crash with you?" I blurted out, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Bella didn't hesitate. "Of course! What happened?"

"It's a long story," I replied, tears threatening to spill from my eyes again.

"Don't worry about it. Just come over whenever you're ready," she said reassuringly.

I thanked her and hung up the phone before splashing some cold water on my face in an attempt to compose myself. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I unlocked the bathroom door and made my way back to the living room.

Teddy was nowhere in sight, probably still seething from our argument. I quickly grabbed my backpack and stuffed some clothes and toiletries inside before heading out the door.

The fresh air outside helped clear my mind as I made my way towards Bella's house. As much as I wanted to stay strong and not let Teddy get to me, his words still stung like open wounds.

I couldn't believe how things had escalated so quickly between us. We used to be inseparable, but now it seemed like we were nothing but strangers living under the same roof.

My thoughts were interrupted as I arrived at Bella's house. She greeted me with open arms and led me inside as Bella and I settled down on her cozy couch, surrounded by the warmth of her living room, she handed me a mug of hot tea. The familiar scent of chamomile filled the air, soothing my frayed nerves.

"So, spill it. What happened between you and Teddy?" Bella asked gently, her eyes reflecting genuine concern.

I took a sip of the tea, feeling its comforting warmth seep into my bones. "It's just... we had another one of those fights about the cheating. The same patterns repeating over and over again. I don't think we can fix this anymore," I admitted, feeling a heavy weight lift off my chest with each word spoken.

Bella nodded knowingly, her empathy palpable. "Sometimes things reach a point where they can't be salvaged, no matter how much we try. It's okay to walk away if it's for your own well-being," she reassured me, her words like a balm to my wounded spirit.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I gazed at my friend, grateful for her unwavering support. "I just feel lost, you know? Like I don't even recognize myself anymore in all of this chaos," I whispered, the vulnerability raw in my voice.

Bella reached out and squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You're not alone in this. You have people who care about you, who want to see you happy and thriving. And remember, sometimes in letting go, we find the strength to rebuild ourselves," she offered with a gentle smile.

Her words resonated deep within me, a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness that had clouded my heart. I wiped away the tears that had escaped and mustered a small smile in return.

"Thank you, Bella. For everything," I expressed sincerely, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over me for having such a supportive friend by my side.

The early morning light blazed through my window, a stark reminder of the emptiness that awaited me. With a heavy heart, I resolved to find a job, anything to fill the void left by my crumbling marriage. But even as I searched for employment opportunities, my thoughts kept drifting back to Harry. My desperation to know how he was doing gnawed at me like a festering wound, but there was no way to reach out and ask. As I sat in silence, I couldn't help but imagine the different path my life could have taken if I had chosen Harry over Teddy. The image of us together haunted me, a cruel reminder of what could've been. But now it was too late, and there was no turning back from the pain and regret that consumed me.

My fingers danced across the keys of my laptop, typing and retyping cover letters and resumes. The monotony of each hopeful submission echoed the emptiness in my heart, seemingly endless echoes spiraling into a void. To distract myself, I brewed a strong cup of coffee, the familiar smell offering an odd comfort in the chaos that was now my life.

As the day wore on, my efforts bore no fruit. Each potential employer remained a stranger to me, their responses automated and cold. As darkness began to creep into the room, a sense of defeat washed over me and I closed my laptop with a sigh.

I poured myself another cup of coffee, this time opting for the solitude of the balcony to nurse it. The city below shimmered with life just as it always did, indifferent to the turmoil of one seemingly insignificant inhabitant. Despite the layers of concrete and glass that separated us, I felt strangely connected to those anonymous lights - distant beacons in the abyss.

A haunting melody wafted up from somewhere far below, a soulful duet between an old saxophone and an even older piano. The notes danced through the fragmented night air, weaving stories of love lost and found again. Each note was a phantom whispering bittersweet tales into my ear.

Just then, an unexpected sound cut through my thoughts - the shrill ringtone of my phone nudged me back into reality. My heart clenched as I saw Teddy's name flash across the screen. He hadn't called since our fallout; what could he possibly want now? Nervously biting my lip, I answered it. On the other end of the line Teddy’s voice trembled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place; regret perhaps—or was it desperation?

My heart raced as I hung up and blocked Teddy's number. It was a small act of defiance, of reclaiming control over my life. But in that moment, it felt powerful.

I took a deep breath and leaned against the balcony railing, feeling the cold metal press against my cheek. It was a reminder that I was still here, still alive despite the pain and chaos swirling within me.

But even as I tried to convince myself that cutting off all contact with Teddy was for the best, doubts crept into my mind. What if he really did want to talk? What if he wanted to apologize and make things right?

I pushed those thoughts away, refusing to let them cloud my judgement. I couldn't afford to let him back into my life, not when I was finally starting to move on.

With new determination, I went back inside and resumed my job search. As midnight approached and exhaustion began to take hold, I allowed myself a moment of weakness and checked my email one last time.

A spark of hope ignited within me as I read the email from my job recruiter. It informed me that there was a hiring event happening downtown tomorrow and I had been invited to attend. My heart raced with excitement - this could be my chance to finally land a job.

I quickly confirmed my attendance and began mentally preparing for the event. As much as I hated the thought of going out into the world and facing potential rejection, I knew it was something I had to do.

The next morning, after meticulously picking out an outfit and rehearsing what I would say, I set out for downtown. The bustling streets were a chaotic blend of people rushing to work and tourists taking in the sights. As I walked among them, a sense of anonymity washed over me - just another face in the crowd.

Eventually, I reached the building where the hiring event was taking place. After taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and made my way towards the designated area.

The event was packed with job seekers like myself, all eager for a chance at employment. Despite my nerves, I felt emboldened by their determination and pushed forward to talk to employers.

One after another, I introduced myself and handed out resumes with practiced ease. Some showed interest while others dismissed me without a second glance. But instead of feeling defeated by rejection, I soldiered on with renewed purpose.

Hours passed in this manner until finally, just as hope began to wane, someone took notice of me. It was an HR rep from one of the top companies in town, Pleasing.

My heart pounded as I realized this could potentially lead me down the path to seeing Harry again. But I quickly pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present moment.

The HR rep from Pleasing seemed impressed by my credentials and asked me to come in for an interview the following day. I couldn't believe it - this was exactly the opportunity I had been waiting for.

As I walked out of the hiring event, my mind raced with excitement and nerves. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if Harry still lived in the area, but I quickly shut down that line of thinking. It didn't matter - all that mattered was that I had a chance at a job.

The next day, I arrived at Pleasing's office early, dressed in my best professional attire. The receptionist greeted me with a smile and directed me to the HR department.

I shook myself out of my reverie as the HR rep called me into their office for the interview. Despite my nerves, I answered their questions confidently and highlighted my experience and skills.

As the interview progressed, I could feel the HR rep becoming more and more impressed. The questions became increasingly challenging, but I faced them head-on, demonstrating my knowledge and quick decision-making abilities. 

Slowly, the discussion moved on to my potential role in Pleasing and how I saw myself contributing to the company's future. Here, I outlined a comprehensive plan that included innovation, team synergy, and a commitment to meeting corporate objectives. The HR rep listened attentively, occasionally interjecting to clarify or probe deeper into my responses.

The interview concluded on a positive note and I was told that they would get back to me in a week's time. As I left the building, I felt a sense of accomplishment but there was also an underlying excitement - the possibility of crossing paths with Harry and being able to leave Bella’s to find my own flat.

A week passed in a blur of anticipation and anxiety, each day inching closer to the call from Pleasing. When it eventually came through, my heart skipped a beat. They were pleased with my performance during the interview and wanted me on board.

And so began my journey with Pleasing - a journey that was filled with arduous tasks, demanding projects, and incredible opportunities for growth. The work environment was fast-paced but rewarding, pushing me to work harder each day.

One afternoon, a couple of months into my role at Pleasing, I saw him from afar. It was Harry - my former neighbor and one night stand. He looked just as I remembered him: sharp-witted and focused in his tailored suit, there was an air of high authority about him.

My heart raced as I watched him stride through the office, making his way towards the executive level. Memories of our time together flooded back to me - the late nights he spent on top of me, the way he felt, the way he touched me, how he smelt expensive.

Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that I needed to find a way to meet with him. But how? As a junior employee, I didn't have easy access to top executives like him.

Determined not to let this opportunity pass me by, I approached my manager and asked if there was any way I could have a meeting with Mr. Styles. She gave me a skeptical look but promised to see what she could do.

A few days later, she called me into her office with a smile on her face. "I spoke to Mr. Styles' assistant and they have agreed to give you 15 minutes next week," she said excitedly.

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing Harry again after all this time. But what would I say? What would he think of me now?

The day of the meeting arrived and I nervously made my way up to the executive level. As soon as I stepped into Mr. Styles' office, my nerves disappeared - it felt like no time had passed between us at all.

As I cautiously entered his dark office, my heart pounded in my chest. The scent of tobacco and whiskey filled the air, mingling with the intense aura emanating from Harry's piercing green eyes. I could feel his gaze burning into me as I made my way to a chair by his desk.

"Y/N," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I saw the name and couldn't believe it was you, bloody hell."

A chill ran down my spine at the iciness in his tone. Memories flooded back of our tumultuous past, the love and betrayal that had torn us apart. But now, standing in front of him again, I couldn't deny the powerful pull that still existed between us.

"Harry," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's been a while."

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my insides churn. "Indeed it has, Y/N," he remarked, his eyes never leaving mine. "I must say, I never expected to see you here."

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling the weight of unspoken history hanging between us. "I didn't expect to be here either," I admitted, my voice tinged with a hint of regret.

He raised an eyebrow, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. "And yet fate has a funny way of bringing people back together, doesn't it?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me - longing, apprehension, and a spark of unresolved desire. "It seems that way," I said softly.

Harry leaned forward slightly, his expression softening imperceptibly. "Tell me, Y/N," he began, his voice quieter now. "What have you been up to since we last crossed paths?"

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of emotions his presence evoked. "Well," I started hesitantly, "I've been working here at Pleasing. It's been challenging but rewarding."

A flicker of interest sparked in his eyes. "Impressive." He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone contemplative. "And what made you seek out a meeting with me today?"

I met his gaze squarely, steeling myself against the vulnerability creeping in. "I wanted to reconnect," I confessed quietly. "To clear the air and maybe... find closure."

Harry regarded me thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. "Closure," he echoed softly. "Perhaps that's something we both need. And Teddy?"

My eyes drop to the ground, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "It's a messy situation, but I had to leave. I've been crashing at my friend Bella's place until I can scrape together enough money for a divorce."

His voice drips with insinuation and I feel my skin prickle with unease. "Oh, how convenient," he sneers. "I knew eventually you would come to your senses, although I thought our night together would have been enough to break you free." My stomach churns at his words.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy with unspoken tension as their words hung in the air like charged lightning bolts ready to strike.

"You had no right to think that one night could define me or my decisions." I spat.

Harry's eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and something darker as my words cut through the tension between us. "And what right did you have to enter my life again after all this time, Y/N?" he countered sharply, his jaw clenched in frustration.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his challenging gaze head-on. "I didn't come here seeking your approval, Harry," I retorted, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "I came for myself, to find closure and move on."

He leaned forward, his expression unreadable as he studied me intently. "Closure," he repeated, the word hanging heavily between us. "Is that truly what you need? Or is there something else driving you here?"

A flicker of vulnerability crossed my features before I could stop it, and I felt exposed under his piercing scrutiny. "Maybe it's both," I admitted quietly, feeling the weight of years of unresolved emotions pressing down on me.

Harry's gaze softened slightly, a hint of understanding creeping into his eyes. "I see," he murmured, a touch of regret coloring his tone. "Perhaps we both have demons to face before we can truly move forward."

I nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Maybe so," I agreed, a sense of resignation settling over me. "But facing them together might be easier than doing it alone."

Silence enveloped us for a moment, broken only by the sound of our breathing mingling in the charged atmosphere of the room. Finally, Harry spoke again, his voice softer now. "I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N," he confessed quietly. "Despite everything that happened between us."

My heart clenched at his words, memories flooding back with a force that left me breathless. "I never forgot you either," I whispered, a bittersweet ache settling in my chest.

A myriad of emotions played across Harry's features - longing, regret, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "Then perhaps we owe it to ourselves to confront the past and see where it leads us, Pleasing has a nice legal plan I can lend to you for a divorce." he suggested tentatively.

I met his gaze, seeing a glimmer of hope reflected in those intense green eyes that had once been my undoing. "Maybe we do," I agreed softly, a sense of anticipation stirring within me.

I stood outside the courtroom, my heart racing with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Today was the day I had been waiting for - the day I could finally end this marriage and start a new chapter in my life. But as I took a deep breath and stepped inside, my eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of Teddy sitting at a table with his lawyer, confidently flipping through some papers.

Next to him sat Rosie, her perfectly styled hair and expensive outfit standing out like a sore thumb among the drab courtroom surroundings. She smiled smugly in my direction as if she knew something I didn't, and suddenly all my confidence wavered.

My lawyer squeezed my hand reassuringly as we walked towards our side of the court, but I couldn't help feeling like an underdog in this battle. How had Teddy managed to go back to Rosie so quickly while still begging for me just a few weeks earlier? And how long had this been going on?

As we began the proceedings, I listened half-heartedly as their lawyer presented their case - painting me as an unfit wife who refused to support her husband's successful career. The lies stung, but I held back from speaking out.

It wasn't until it was my turn to speak that I found my voice. My lawyer had prepared a strong case for me - highlighting all of Teddy's infidelities and emotional abuse throughout our marriage. As I spoke about his controlling behavior and manipulation tactics, Rosie's smug expression faltered.

But when it was time for Teddy to speak, he denied everything with such conviction that even I started doubting myself. His words were smooth and calculated, painting me as an unstable woman who couldn't handle his success.

I felt my anger bubbling up inside me - how dare he twist the truth like this? But before I could say anything, Rosie jumped in with her own version of events. She talked about how supportive Teddy had been during their brief affair, and how I was just a jealous ex who couldn't move on.

As Rosie spoke, her words felt like sharp knives twisting in my chest. The betrayal and deceit were too much to bear, she was the one who was sleeping with my husband. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But then, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

"Objection, Your Honor!"

I turned to see my lawyer standing up, his expression firm and determined. "These allegations are baseless and unsubstantiated. My client has provided ample evidence of Mr. Teddy's infidelity and emotional abuse. I request that these false claims be stricken from the record."

The judge nodded solemnly, looking at Teddy and Rosie with a steely gaze. "I will not tolerate false accusations in my courtroom. Stick to the facts."

Teddy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Rosie, on the other hand, remained composed, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"I have evidence that will prove my client's case, Your Honor," she declared confidently. "I request permission to present it."

The judge nodded again, signaling for Rosie to proceed. She stood up gracefully, producing a stack of papers from her briefcase.

"These documents show that Mr. Teddy was out of town on the dates in question," she began, flipping through the pages with ease. "He could not have been at the locations alleged by Mrs. Y/N."

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could it be true? Had I been mistaken all along? Her proof was just texts from Teddy to her saying he was out of town. Which proves nothing, if anything it was more incriminating.

But then, just as doubt started to creep in, a sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning.

"Your Honor," I interrupted, my voice trembling but resolute. "I have proof that Mr. Teddy and Ms. Rosie colluded to fabricate alibis and deceive me. They were working together against me all along."

The courtroom fell into stunned silence as I presented the evidence that exposed their treachery. Teddy's face drained of color, while Rosie's mask of composure finally cracked.

"I-I can explain," Teddy stammered, but it was too late.

The judge slammed his gavel down with finality. "Case closed. Divorce granted in favor of Mrs. Y/N. You are to pay her a monthly settlement of alimony."

As I walked out of the courtroom, a weight lifted off my shoulders. It was finally over - the lies, the betrayal, the manipulation. I could start anew with a sense of freedom and clarity.

And as I glanced back one last time at Teddy and Rosie, their faces twisted with defeat, I knew that justice had been served. 

Waiting outside of the courtroom was Harry with a grin, he did a sassy wave to Rosie and Teddy.

"Congratulations, Y/N," Harry said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my forehead. "You did it."

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of relief and satisfaction wash over me. "I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. Thank you for everything."

"Always, love," he replied with a gentle smile.

As we walked out of the courthouse hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel grateful for having Harry by my side. 

"I'm so glad this is all over," I said with a sigh, leaning into him as we reached his car.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, unlocking the door and helping me inside before making his way to the driver's seat.

As we drove away from the courthouse, I couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. My marriage may have ended in betrayal and deceit but now I was free to move on and start over.

"So what's next for you?" Harry asked as we drove through the city streets.

“ I think we should celebrate.” I looked at him with a playful smile.

"Celebrate?" Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "And what did you have in mind for this celebration, Mrs. Y/N?"

I grinned mischievously, leaning over to gently tap his knee. "Oh, nothing too wild. Maybe just a quiet dinner for two at a cozy little bistro."

"A quiet dinner, hmm?" Harry's smirk grew wider. "And what about later, when we're no longer 'quiet'? Any ideas for that celebration?"

"Well," I purred, eyeing him up and down playfully. "That all depends on how good of a date you turn out to be."

"I'll have you know," he countered confidently, "that I'm an excellent date."

"Oh really? And what sort of things do excellent dates do to impress their partners?" I challenged him with a teasing glint in my eye.

Harry chuckled softly before leaning closer to me. "I believe the key to impressing you, love," he whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, "lies somewhere between your pasta and your dessert."

"And exactly how do you plan on pulling that off?" I asked skeptically but with undeniable curiosity piqued within me. 

"Oh," he smirked wickedly as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "I'm sure I can come up with something...tasty."

We arrived at the bistro and Harry led me inside, his hand resting on my lower back. The smell of freshly baked bread and spices filled my nostrils as we were greeted by the friendly hostess. She guided us to a cozy booth in the corner of the restaurant before handing us each a menu.

As we perused through the options, I couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment with Harry. Despite the chaos that had been my life recently, he was there to make me smile and forget about all my worries. I was grateful to be able to be like this with him.

"You know," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence between us, "I haven't had a proper date night in ages."

I smiled at him. Soon after the waiter came to take our orders and after much deliberation, we settled on sharing a few appetizers and ordering our own entrees. As we waited for our food to arrive, Harry reached across the table to take hold of my hand.

"I'm proud of you," he said sincerely, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You handled everything with grace and strength."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes at his words. It meant so much to have Harry's support and encouragement through everything I had been going through.

"Thank you," I replied softly, unable to find any other words to express how much his words meant to me.

Our food arrived shortly after and we dug into our dishes with enthusiasm. We laughed and joked as we shared bites of each other's meals, savoring every moment together.

After dinner, Harry insisted on treating me to dessert at a nearby ice cream shop. We walked through the bustling streets hand in hand, enjoying each other's company in the warm summer night.

As we sat on a bench outside the shop, enjoying our ice cream. 

My voice trembles as I stare at Harry, regret and guilt weighing heavily on my chest. "I should've left Teddy that night after the motel," I confess, tears welling up in my eyes. "But I was scared. Scared of losing my residency, scared of facing my family's disappointment. I thought I could endure it for a while longer, or that he would be the one to leave first." My words choke in my throat, coming out as a desperate plea for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," I continue, my voice shaking. "I never meant to hurt you or lead you on. I was just...lost and confused."

Harry's expression softens as he takes in my words. He reaches out to brush away a tear that falls from my eye.

"You don't have to apologize, love," he says gently. "I understand why you stayed with him. But I wish you had told me sooner."

The guilt bubbles up inside of me, threatening to drown me in its heavy weight. How could I have been so blind and selfish? How could I have hurt someone who cared?

"I'll make it right, Harry," I promise him, wiping away the tears from my cheeks.

Harry's eyes light up with hope as he grasps my hand tightly.

"We'll face this together," he says firmly, determination evident in his voice.

And just like that, the burden on my shoulders feels a little bit lighter knowing that I have Harry by my side.

"It's okay," he whispers soothingly, kissing the top of my head. "You did the right thing.”

We finish our ice cream in comfortable silence before heading back to Harry's flat.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, breaking the silence.

"Of course," Harry replies, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

"Why did you never tell me your feelings before?" I ask, feeling a little hesitant.

Harry pauses for a moment before answering. "I didn't want to pressure you or make things awkward between us," he admits. "I wanted you to be happy and if that meant staying with Teddy, then I accepted it. So I left, I couldn’t see you in that situation."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I realize just how selfless and understanding Harry has always been despite his hardened appearence. He truly cares.

"I'm sorry for being so blind," I say softly.

"It's okay," Harry reassures me. "We all make mistakes."

My heart was pounding as we entered the safety of his flat, my senses heightened by the lingering scent of his cologne. Our fingers traced each other's as he deftly made two cups of steaming tea, every touch sending sparks dancing up my arm.

"Would you like a touch of cream?" Harry asked seductively, a teasing smile playing along his lips. His sultry voice sent trepidating waves through me, igniting an insatiable desire that twisted in my belly.

The sight of him leaning casually against the kitchen counter, bathed in soft light, stirred a primal need within me. I watched as he poured a dash of cream into my cup. The way it swirled and mingled with the dark liquid mirrored our own dance - two intricate beings melding to form something far more tantalizing. 

"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the warm mug from his hand. My fingers brushed against his, eliciting a delicate shiver that rippled down my spine. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better..."

As we navigated our way towards the plush sofa, our bodies brushed together, the heat between us flaring like a bonfire on a cold night. The taste of our shared dinner still lingered on our tongues as we sipped on our teas; notes of cocoa and warm spices cascading over our taste buds.

He leaned back onto the couch, pulling me with him until I was nestled comfortably against his side. A silence fell upon us as we enjoyed our drinks; comfortable and yet teeming with an unspoken promise of what was to come.

"There's no rush," Harry purred into my ear, allowing his fingers to trace lazy circles around my wrist. His hot breath fanned out across my heated skin, setting off tremors beneath my flesh. "Let's just enjoy this moment."

His words washed over me like scalding water, igniting a yearning that threatened to consume us both. I finished my tea swiftly, setting the empty cup on the coffee table before turning back to Harry.

"Harry," I breathed out, staring into his deep emerald eyes. They were dark with desire, a mirror of my own want. "I want you...now."

With those words, our evening took on an entirely new flavor - one more intimate and fervently carnal than the most decadent dessert. And as I let go of all inhibitions and allowed myself to drown in Harry's love- the guilt and fear felt like distant memories.

Where there had been tears earlier now blossomed laughter and sighs of pleasure, echoing off the walls of Harry's flat. The heat between us couldn't be contained within mere cups of tea. It was a passionate flame that ignited every sense, searing through every inch of our bodies as we began to explore each other with newfound fervor and desperation.

The room seemed to shrink as my words echoed around us. I could feel myself growing wetter by the second, my heart pounding in anticipation of what was to come. Without another word, he stood up and pulled me close, our bodies pressing tightly against each other.

My hands found their way to his strong shoulders, digging into his skin as he claimed my lips once more. I moaned deeply into the kiss, tasting the tea we just drank on his tongue as he explored every inch of my mouth. His hands traveled down my back, over my ass cheeks, until they reached the hem of my dress.

I gasped as he lifted me off the ground with ease, carrying me towards the bedroom. My legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer still. As we entered the room he kicked the door shut behind us, locking us in together.

As he backed me towards the bed, his cock growing hard, he paused to look down at me. His eyes dark and hungry as he took in the scene laid out before him. "You look so fucking sexy like this," he growled out, his voice rough with desire. I moaned in response, my fingers curling into the sheets beneath us as he lowered me onto the mattress.

His lips trailed hot kisses down my jawline and across my collarbone before moving southward. He nipped at my sensitive flesh while his hands explored every inch of my body, tracing patterns around my tits through the lace fabric of my bra. My breath hitched as his warm mouth hovered over my nipples, making them stand at attention.

"Please," I whispered, arching into him as he teased one of my hardened nubs between his fingers and thumb. His tongue circled around it before finally drawing it into his mouth, sucking on it with such force that I cried out in pleasure.

He pulled away slightly, looking down at me with a smirk that made my stomach do flips. "I'm going to fuck you so good, baby girl." His eyes bore into mine as he slowly undid his pants, revealing his already hard cock straining against his boxers. My mouth watered at the sight of him; all 8 inches of thickness glistening with pre-cum that reflected the light in the room.

I reached up to grab his shirt, pulling him down towards me as I wrapped my legs around his waist again. He groaned into the kiss, deepening it as he lowered himself onto the bed between my spread legs. His teeth grazed against my bottom lip before trailing hot kisses down my neck and chest.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he reached behind me to undo the clasp holding together my bra. It fell away from me revealing puckered nipples begging for attention which he eagerly obliged by taking one into his mouth while pinching the other between two fingers causing tiny whimpers to escape from deep within me. 

His lips trailed down my stomach, stopping momentarily to press kisses to my belly button before continuing their journey south. I shivered with anticipation as his fingers hooked into the sides of my lace panties, pulling them down and off of me in one swift motion.

He took a moment to admire me, spread out before him, completely exposed and vulnerable. His gaze traveled over every inch of me, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, before diving back in between my legs. His tongue flicked against my clit sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. I gripped onto the sheets tighter as he continued to tease and lick at my most sensitive spot.

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, his expert mouth bringing me to the brink. Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he pulled away with a smirk on his face.

"Not yet," he said huskily, crawling back up towards me. He kissed me hard on the lips while positioning himself between my legs. I felt his tip brush against my entrance and I lifted my hips in response.

The room around us was hazy from the scent of our arousal, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in a dream as he continued to tease me. With every lick and nip, his touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through me. My body arched off the bed in response to his expert ministrations, my breasts pressed against his strong chest.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, his voice dark and rough with need. His hands slid up my thighs, teasingly close to my aching desire before moving away again. It was driving me crazy!

"Please," I begged him. "I can't take much more."

He chuckled deep in his throat, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Oh, you think you can handle me?" He leaned down and flicked his tongue gently over my clitoris again, making me gasp in surprise at the intense sensation. "We'll see about that."

I couldn't believe how turned on I was by his dominance. As he continued to tease me, I imagined what it would be like to fully submit to him—to let him take control of my body and pleasure me however he saw fit. It was terrifying yet exhilarating all at once.

It felt like hours (or maybe just minutes?) before he finally eased himself into me, filling me up with his thick cock. I gasped at the sudden intrusion but moaned in delight as he began to move slowly inside me. Every thrust sent violent shudders through my body as we found our rhythm together—his hard and demanding possessions; mine willingly given submission underneath him amidst silk pillows and warm blankets scattered across the sheets beneath us.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into me, wanting more, needing more. His hands gripped onto my hips, holding me in place as he continued to thrust into me with increasing speed and force.

I could feel the pleasure building inside of me, growing and swelling until it was almost unbearable. My nails dug into his back as I cried out his name, consumed by the intensity of our union.

He leaned down and captured my lips in a fiery kiss that only added fuel to the fire burning between us. Our bodies moved together in perfect synchronization, reaching higher levels of ecstasy with each passing moment.

The bed rocked beneath us as we gave into pure primal desire. He was an unstoppable force, taking everything from me and giving it back tenfold.

"Fuck," he groaned against my lips, his voice thick with need. "You're so tight."

"Oh, God," I moaned, my toes curling against the sheets. "Don't stop."

He didn't listen to me of course; instead, he continued to pound into me relentlessly, driving me towards the edge again and again until I couldn't take it anymore. My orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, consuming every ounce of my being and leaving me shaking in its wake. He followed close behind with a muffled groan as he spilled himself inside of me. He collapsed on top of me, both of us gasping for breath as we came down from our high.

We lay there tangled together for a few moments before he rolled off of me onto his side. He pulled me against him, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

"Wow," I finally managed to say.

We lay there panting for several minutes afterward, our heartbeats echoing in our ears above everything else around us.

Finally, he disentangled himself from me and collapsed next to me on the bed, both of us spent and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Fuck," he breathed out as he ran a hand through his damp hair.

"That was..." I trailed off unable to find the words to describe the intensity of our union.

He let out a bitter, exhausted chuckle laced with satisfaction. "I swore I'd never marry again, but if this is what life could be like on a regular basis, I may have to reconsider," he muttered through gritted teeth. The thought of committing himself again brought a surge of both fear and longing, but for the first time in years, he felt alive.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, he turned to me with a mix of vulnerability and determination in his eyes. "I never thought I'd find someone who could make me question my own convictions," he said softly, reaching out to gently touch my hand.

I looked back at him, her own eyes filled with understanding and a hint of mischief. "Maybe it's time to rewrite those old promises," I suggested, a smile playing on my lips.

A sense of peace settled over him as he realized that maybe, just maybe, he was ready to take a chance on love once more. With a hopeful heart and a newfound sense of purpose, he whispered, "Maybe it is." 

As the last rays of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon, their eyes locked and they both felt an electric current surge through their bodies. It was a sign that their journey together was just starting and would be filled with endless twists and turns, but they were ready for the challenge.

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️In between fights and smoke / Daydream collides with a poison cloak / Putting nightmares into a tight choke / Fixing it with a lust-filled stroke 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

wc: 2.4k

genre & warnings: angst, sprinkle of fluff, smut, stoner!hee, petnames, weeds & alcohol, kind of like toxic rs, cursing, appearance of other enha members, cunnilingus (f receiving), fingering, slight nipple play, creampie (?), unprotected sex, etc etc mdni

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

The device shook on your palms, the icy night breeze seeping in your skin, truly, you should've worn a thicker jacket instead of some flimsy cardigan on your way here.

But who could blame you?

Getting a cryptic message out of nowhere, more so if it's about your oh so, loving boyfriend, would make you bolt out of your house even during the ungodly hour of 2:37 am.

You read the text again, and you couldn't help the scowl in your face.

"Get your boy."

You've always wanted to receive the magical three words. Not the vomit-inducing one.

Sighing, you tucked your phone inside your pocket, proceeding to walk into the spacious rustic porch of the eerily quiet house.

No knocks were needed, the owner of the residence opening the door once you're in front, motioning for you to come in.

You did and the first thing that you could think of is the unusual atmosphere of the building. Most of the time, the blaring music and glaring lights would repulse you, but there were none of those today.

Did the party end early?

Before you could ask where he is, the male with you answered your unspoken question.. or questions at that.

"No rave for tonight because we decided on another festivity, down in the basement." he says, giving you a weak smile as he shoves his hands down in his pockets.

"Thank you, Jay." you returned the smile, which he wasn't able to see for he's already heading into his kitchen.

You then sauntered at the said place where you could find the person that you have personally come to pick up.

Entering the area almost made you want to go to the hospital. The smell was revolting, a mixture of burning fronds, sweat, ashes of joints and alcohol invaded your senses and it was nauseating.

You stood there for a minute, scanning the realm of awfulness until your eyes landed on the guy that was supposed to be in bed with you. Cuddling you and whispering sweet nothings to make you sleep but here he is, giggling like a child, blowing out a puff of smoke that paints his lungs black.

"Heeseung." you called, paying no mind to the other inhabitants of the spacious basement, footsteps nearing closer in his figure that was slumped on a sorry ass sofa, "Let's get you home."

His eyes snapped open, craning his neck to peer at you, recognition flashed and his expression lighted up. He threw you a wide grin, patting his lap as an invitation for you to take.

"There's my baby! Look, everyone! My baby is here!" he mused, pointing at you, and for a second you'll dare say that he looks nothing but an angel.

Big bright eyes, squinting just a tiny bit with how wide his grin is. Vermillion tresses frame his cheeks so well, pink pouty lips, and an adorable scrunched up nose.

An innocent one. Your innocent one.

Except you know who, what, and how he is. But you're not one to back down from a challenge. The moment you decide to date him, to let him in your life, you know that you're in for a disastrous ride.

"Really, Y/N? Him?"

"I thought you were wise and smart."

"I wish you luck, dear."

You shook the echoing voices in your head, opting to focus on the current dilemma at hand.

"Hee, let's go. Yeah?" you murmured softly when you're in front of him, attempting to get him out of this hell hole with you.

He whines, pulling you into him out of the blue, that made you yelp, gripping his shirt to steady yourself in his lap.

He dips his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, vanilla scent, a stark contrast of the environment he's in for the past few hours.

"My baby smells like cake, delicious." he hums, his hands going over your waist, and you tried your best to get him off you in a lenient manner.

"Go get a room." his friends, Jake and Sunghoon, who are also in the room fake gagged, and Heeseung didn't take that well.

He takes you with him when the annoyance shoots over his veins, hauling you with him and out of the house but not without yelling a playful yet condescending statement.

"At least I'm not like you losers! I actually have a girl that gets my dick wet!"

You kept your mouth shut, the scolding will come later but for now, it's your turn to do the dragging, ushering him into your car so you can finally drive away from here.

Arriving at your own home felt like breathing fresh air, well, the groans of your boyfriend brought you back to reality.

"Lee Heeseung!" you shout in anger, and despite being in a dopamine-incited state, he still has half a mind to be alert when you used his full government name.

"Woah, baby? Why?" he's struggling but manages to come over to you, his hands moving to wrap you in his arms.

You dodged the affection he was about to give, choosing to throw him daggers through your eyes, "Why? Why?!" you shout in pure exasperation.

"You can't just say that! I am not your toy that will 'make your dick wet!' That was so disrespectful!" you imitated his words from earlier with a mocking tone, jabbing at his chest harshly, "I don't deserve that."

His eyes soften, cupping your face and his thumbs caress your cheeks, smoothing your wrinkled features, "Of course you don't. I'm so sorry baby, I was joking with them."

"That wasn't a good joke, Hee. That hurt me." you utter, leaning into his warm touch.

How you hated it when you're this weak for him, then again, this is what you swore to protect and reveal to everyone who judged him early.

They don't know that his calloused hands from all the fighting he did can bring such velvety skinship.

They have no idea that his vulgar way of speaking can actually be so honeyed and gooey if he wants to.

They don't know him like you do. So, it is your mission to show them that a wild man can be tamed.

"I'm sorry, baby," he lifts your face, allowing you to look into his apologetic caramel orbs, "let me make it up to you, hm?"

You stare and nod, because if you're going to be honest, there's no getting out of this.

He presses his lips onto yours in a searing, messy kiss, tilting his head to further deepen it. Your hands cling to his hair, tousling it the more the make-out session gets hotter.

His hand squeezed your left breast over your clothes, causing you to moan and he took that as an opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, licking every corner that he can reach.

Your tongue clashed with his, not for dominance, but for the sole purpose of riling each other up. He moans when you suck on his tongue, unexpected surprise but he loved it nonetheless.

He returned the favor with much zeal, disconnecting from you and the string of saliva broke when he dipped his head to smooch all over your neck. Trailing open, wet mouthed kisses down your clavicle, then biting on your collarbone and sucking on the damage, leaving a purple patch on its spot.

He slowly raises his head, his pointy nose scraping on your mastoid until he reaches your ear, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your lower area to his, making you feel his hard member poking on his jeans.

"Am I doing a great job of making it up to you?" he inquires, like a puppy in need of some validation.

"I think," using your palms to lift his head, giving him an eskimo kiss, "you have to do more."

He smiles, hoisting you in his strong arms and easily manhandling you into the comforts of your shared bedroom, hurling you onto the mattress with matching pecks on your face and lips.

"Guess I'll have to do my best." he murmurs against your lips before all hell breaks loose, clothes tossed everywhere until you're both stark naked.

You gripped his hair tightly when his mouth snaked on your chest, popping a nipple and sucking on it while his left hand played with your other mound, pinching and tugging on it. His right hand slithered down your stomach, passing by your navel until it reached your core.

A gasp was heard from you when he dipped a finger in your wetness, swirling the juices around your labia and his index finger played with your clit in an up and down motion.

He lightly nibbles on your nipple before switching to the other one, giving it the same treatment as he continues his actions on your pussy.

So many sensations all at once and it had you twitching and drenching under him. He's always been good at having you at his mercy when it comes to things like this.

His ministrations came to a halt when you moaned his name. No, he won't let you come if it's not in his mouth.

Heeseung positioned himself in between your thighs, his fingers digging into your plush flesh and spreading your thighs wider, his face so close to your heat but you don't have the time to be embarrassed when he sticks and flattens his tongue out on your pussy.

He licks away your juices, humming in delight with your taste. He's not a man of patience, evident in how he inserts two of his fingers inside, curling it in a relentless pace and it hits the spongy spot perfectly.

"H-hee! Ah!" you mewled, his name is the only thing in your mind. He's so fucking good, your good boy. It shows when he frowns, concentrating on giving you the fitting pleasure to make up for his mistake.

He sucked on your clit harshly, alternating to licking it with his hardened tongue while his digits worked you to oblivion. Soon enough, you've come undone, releasing in his mouth which he graciously received, slurping you clean, only stopping when you have to physically push him away due to overstimulation.

You were breathing heavily, then you steeled yourself when you felt the tip of his manhood poke your hole. Half lidded eyes staring at him, giving him the signal that he can go on and ruin you into his liking.

"bab- fuck! Feel so good." Heeseung groaned when he entered you in one go, your walls clenching around him. When he feels your hips move, he begins to slam into you, docile at first then he hears you beg for more.

How could he even say no to his precious baby?

His hips rams harder and faster, it makes your whole body shake. Every drag of his length accompanies a squelching sound with how wet you are but you couldn't care less, it's the result of what he's making you feel.

Even in your rapture drunken stupor, you can still feel the vein on the side of his cock, sliding so exquisitely inside.

With his large hands supporting your hips, he lifts one of your legs on his shoulder, a completely different position but it allows him to plow deeper into you. Pushing his cock further until it kisses your weak spot, a rather melodious moan erupting from you and that was enough for Heeseung to know that he had hit the jackpot.

He continues fucking into you, your wetness spreading on his balls, thighs and sheets yet it turns him on so much.

He gazes down at you, and my god, a scene worthy of jacking off when he's not with you has been engraved in his brain. You are so fucking divine under him.

Eyes almost rolling in the back of your head, tiny hands grabbing the pillows for dear life, and drool running down your chin. Sensual and messy are everything he had always wanted.

He lurches down to give you a kiss, swallowing your saliva and moans, he detaches and speaks, "I fucking love you."

"I-I Hees-" you tried to return his sentiment, but a coherent sentence isn't available at the moment due to your hazy mind, courtesy of the excellent fucking you're currently receiving.

Heeseung thrusts are becoming erratic, desperate and he knows he won't last long.

"Come on baby, cum with me, yeah?" he mumbles, "Don't hold back." he orders, every word punctuated with a powerful thrust.

You opened your mouth in a silent moan, gushing on his pulsating dick and your tight walls were sufficient for him to release his seed inside, milking him dry.

He pulls out, some of his cum smearing on your womanhood, and he collapses beside you.

Aftercare can be done later, too tired for that, but never for a cuddle. He pulls you close to his heaving body, both of you catching your breath.

"I really am sorry for what I said a while ago." he mutters, rubbing consoling circles on your flushed skin.

"Do you promise not to do it again?" you gazed at him, looking for any signs of deceiving when he agreed without any hesitation, but the only thing that you see is his ethereal halo made out of his hair.

"Hee.. please don't destroy yourself." you flopped back into his sturdy chest, tracing lines on his muscles.

"Of course baby. If I did that then I won't be with you anymore. We can't have that happening."

He chuckles and you do too.

Surely, you don't need any prayers from those people who act like they care about you. They don't have to go out of their way to make their god bless you, because you are already graced with the greatest blessing.

People will judge either way if you tell them that he's your boyfriend. But none of that matters because you have already decided that he is yours, and you are his.

The next time, or should you say, for the future times where you sit inside the bar where he works at, wearing the sexiest dress you could muster that he'll inevitably rip off of you later, you can simply shrug the comments of the nosy dumbasses.

Watching him sing his heart out while playing the electric guitar, you know that he is a force to be reckoned with but he loves you, and you believe that you're the one thing he needs in this cruel world to change.. to improve.

You'll fasten his seatbelt when his journey is turbulent, anchor him when he floats too high, and you will cement him here on earth if he flies away too much.

You will do everything for him, for Lee Heeseung is your heavenly man.

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo

[morgana-larkin]

I love angst for some reason, but can you write a Melissa x reader breakup fic? Where reader is in their mid 20’s and Melissa is obviously wayyy older than her. Melissa realized that they’re both heading in different paths in life and tries to gently breakup with reader, but calls her all the pet names like “kid/kiddo, young one, little bunny, etc” (this is taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘Illicit Affairs’ where she’s going “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you’ve made me…”)

Maybe a part two if you’re feeling up to it, with gentle smut as reader and Melissa get back together and make love again? 👀

Oh I’m definitely making a part two to this, I mean I can’t leave things with Melissa on a sad note. So I went with the nicknames hon and kid. I did ended listening to the Taylor Swift song and based some of the things off of the song. And I just gotta say that I procrastinated on doing this for 4 days straight as it hit too close to home. I called off my engagement 3 months ago to someone 12 years older than me because we were heading down different paths in life. Anyway, not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: still taking prompts peeps!

Don’t Call Me That

Warnings: Angst and no comfort, no happy ending, may break your heart like it did for me

Words: 2.25k

You and Melissa are cuddling on the couch watching real housewives. Melissa found out you’ve never seen it so of course she had to show you. The two of you have been together for about 8 months now and never been happier.

Well, you have never been happier. Melissa was happy, but she still has so much doubt on whether or not she should have gotten with someone so much younger than her. Especially when you made comments on what you want to do with your life.

“I hope to get married someday.” You said once. “Maybe we can have kids together.” You said another time. “We should go out to a bar or a club together sometime.” You said one time. Melissa just looked at you and smiled each time but didn’t reply. Those thoughts swirl around in Melissa’s head until one day she couldn’t ignore them, you both wanted different things and she couldn’t let this relationship go on even more.

“Hey hon, can we talk?” She says to you when she visits you at your place on Saturday.

“Alright, sure.” You said, none the wiser. You and Melissa go on your couch and you face her with a smile. Melissa wishes you weren’t smiling as it makes it harder knowing that she’ll be that reason for that smile to drop.

“I don’t think this is working out anymore.” She starts and you look at her confused.

“What do you mean?” You ask and you frown.

“I mean this.” She says and gestures between you both. “Our relationship, I think we should end it.”

“Why?” You ask, concerned.

“Because we want different things in life hon. I don’t want to get married again, I wanted kids before but not anymore, and I don’t want to go to clubs if I don’t have too. But you’re young, you should have things you want and you should do it.” She tells you and you look down at your lap. She really wants to comfort you but knows she can’t.

“So that’s it? We’re over, just like that? I have no say in this?” You ask her and she looks guilty.

“I’m afraid so hon.” She says and you snap you head up at her.

“Don’t call me that if you’re gonna break up with me.” You snap and that catches her off guard. She knows you might be upset but didn’t think you’d snap at her, but she doesn’t blame you.

“I’m sorry y/n.” She tells you.

“Please leave.” You say and she nods defeatedly. She gets up and walks to the door and opens it. Before she leaves, she glances at you.

“I really am sorry.” She says and leaves. As soon as she closes the door, you get up and lock it, then you put your back on the door and slide down while crying.

On Monday you walked in the doors of Abbott and went to the break room as usual. Only this time instead of saying hi to Melissa when you pass her, you just walked right by her to the fridge.

“Hi hon.” Melissa says to you.

“Don’t call me that.” You say as you put your lunch in the fridge. Everyone turns their attention to you and Melissa as they knew you were dating. “My name is y/n.” You say to her and go to make a coffee.

“I know what your name is.” She tells you as you pour the coffee into your mug.

“Then I suggest you use it.” You tell her and walk out.

Melissa sighs and leans back into her seat.

“Trouble in paradise?” Barb asks Melissa.

“If trouble you mean broken up then yes.” Melissa says and everyone gasps.

“Omg what happened?” Janine asks.

“None of youse businesses.” She tells them and walks out. Everyone turns to Barb for answers.

“Don’t look at me, the only thing I know is Melissa broke up with y/n if their emotions are anything to go by.” Barb tells them.

Melissa tries to talk to you for the rest of the day when she gets an opportunity but you keep shutting her down.

She keeps trying every day for 2 weeks until she had enough. She got Mr Johnson to watch over her class while she goes to talk to you during your prep period.

She knocks on your door and walks in after you call out a ‘come in’ to whoever was there. When you look up you see the person you least expected, mostly because she has a class right now.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be teaching?” You tell her as she closes your door.

“Mr Johnson is watching them until I get back. I need to talk to you hon.”

“I keep telling you not to call me that! And the last time we talked, you broke up with me so I don’t really want to talk to you.” You told her and she sighs. You get up and go to bring a stack of papers to the back of the classroom.

“I know but I’ve been trying to at least be friends with you like we were before we started dating because I like our friendship.” She tells you as she follows you to the back and you whip around to face her.

“Friends? You think I would want to be friends with you? Melissa, do I need to remind you that you broke up with me and didn’t even bother talking about it with me? You just made the decision on your own.” You grit out.

“It was the best decision.”

“For who exactly? Cause it sure wasn’t the best for me.” You tell her and she looks at you.

“It was for you. I made it for you so you can have the life you want. I can’t give you everything! So I let you go so you could! Believe me when I tell you that I didn’t want to break up with you! You are the best damn thing to happen to me and it broke me to let you go!” She tells you and you gasp.

“That’s the reason?!? You. Are. An. Idiot Schemmenti! Just because I may have thought about certain things doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. I’m 25 and I’m not certain about what I want to do in life.”

“See that right there is what I’m talking about. You have no idea what you want cause your life has just begun, while mine, well I’m 55, I’m going to retire in 10 years hopefully. My life is almost over.” She tells you frantically and at that Barb comes in.

“Girls, can you quiet down. It’s hard enough to teach 5 year olds how to read the alphabet as it is. It’s even harder with your yelling.” She tells you both and you look at Melissa.

“What I knew I wanted in life was you. But I guess I was wrong. You should get back to your class.” You tell her and you leave to go print something. “Sorry Barb.” You tell her as you pass her by.

Barb looks at Melissa who has a couple tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sweetheart, what were you trying to accomplish here?” She asks her and Melissa lets a sob escape.

“I was trying to be friends with her again.” She tells her.

“Melissa, you just broke up with her out of the blue. At least for her it was out of the blue. You have to give it time before she might consider being your friend again.” Barb tells her and Melissa nods.

“I know, I just, I miss her.”

“Listen I have to go back to my classroom and you have to go back to yours but how about you come to my classroom at lunch and we can talk then.” Barb suggests and Melissa wipes her tears away.

“Ok.” She says with a nod and then leaves back to her classroom.

2 months go by and Melissa has stopped any interaction with you. You still know she looks and stares at you but never talks to you.

Melissa can’t help it whenever she sees you, she never talks to you even though she wants to, she just stares at you. Her heart breaks every time she sees you.

10 weeks after she breaks up with you, your both in the break room along with everyone else. You’re talking to the trio and they ask about your weekend plans and you mention you have a date. Melissa whips her head up from looking at her phone and her jaw drops and eyes got watery.

You may not be able to see her face but you saw her whip her head up. You also see Barb looking at her sympathetically which means she must look sad right now.

You tell them your contemplating on whether or not you should go, you think you shouldn’t but Janine and Gregory tell you to go and Jacob tells you no. You go over to Barb for the tie breaker and you show her a picture of the girl, Melissa also sees the picture of her and she realises that you’re going out with someone around her age.

Barb tells you it’s your choice and that’s when Melissa pipes up. “Isn’t she too old for you kid?” She asks you while taking a bite of her pasta.

You glare at her and scoff. “I think that’s for me to decide, cause I do have a say in some things.” You tell her and she looks down guiltily.

On Monday morning you walk in the break room and the trio asks you how your date went.

“It was alright. We’re going out again this Saturday.” You tell them and you hear Melissa scoff. “Something you want to say Melissa?” You ask her and she turns around in her chair.

“It doesn’t seem you’re interested in her since you said it was alright.” She tells you.

“Well it was my first date with her and I haven’t had a first date in a year.” You say and she stands up, grabs her things and walks out. You turn back to the trio and continue the conversation. Barb follows Melissa out to make sure she’s not destroying anything or about too.

The next Monday you’re talking to the trio about your second date and you tell them that you’re not going to see her again as you’re not interested in her. You don’t see it but Melissa smiles. You don’t but Barb sure does and rolls her eyes at her.

It’s been 3 months since the break up now and you stop by quickly at Melissa’s to get a few things she recently found that’s yours. In reality, Melissa found them 3 months ago and hid them when you came to get your things so she would have a few reminders of yours but now she wants an excuse to talk to you.

The box of your things is on the coffee table and Melissa is sitting on the arm of the couch when you walk in. Melissa told you that she’ll leave the door unlocked for you.

“Are those the things?” You tell her and nod your head to the box and she nods at you.

“Ya, it is.” She tells you and you don’t really move, she sees you looking around. You usually went to her place about 3 times a week to hang out with her after school and she would make dinner for you two.

“How are you kid?” She asks you and you look at her.

“I thought I’ve told you to stop with the nicknames and use my actual name.”

“You have, but I like using nicknames for you.” Is all she says.

“Why?”

“Because I always have, I’ve rarely called you by your actual name. It feels wrong to call you by your actual name.”

“Well you might want to work on how to make it sound right.” You tell her and walk over to grab the box and she grabs your wrist and you gasp.

“You never answered me when I asked how you were.” She tells you.

“You really want to know how I am?” You ask and she nods. “I’m broken.” You told her and her eyes look upset. “You broke up with me and now I’m broken and a mess. I chose not to go on a third date because all I thought about on the two dates was you.” You tell her and she lets go of you but you make no attempt to move. You want to challenge her to something to see what she really thinks and you grab the back of her head and you kiss her. She’s stunned for a second but then she automatically kisses you back but then you pull back 3 seconds later and she looks at you shocked. “You can’t tell me that that doesn’t feel right. I may not know much about what I want in life but I know I wanted to spend it with you. I’m aware of the age gap but it never made a difference to me because I love you. I thought you loved me.” You tell her then you grab the box and leave.

As soon as you close the door, Melissa falls down on the couch and starts crying. “I’m so sorry y/n.” She sobs out. “I do still love you.”

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie

Let me know if you want to be added!

[uglypastels]

The Boy is Mine (Z's edition) // e.m.

a/n—guess who's baaaaack. Yeah, I didn't expect it either, but a long and lonely day and some scrolling through this hell site made me stumble upon a few posts that actually made me excited to write again, so here I am.

This fic is a part of @carolmunson's blurb challenge. I had so much fun writing this, and thank you so much, Carol, for sparking that inspiration back in me.

word count: 2.4k

warning: a LOT of fluff. Eddie and reader being menaces towards each other. teasing. playfighting. slight spanking. innuendos and suggestive talk. Swearing. possibly rusty writing as this i haven't written anything in months (i think that's it??)

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain -Midnight Rain, Taylor Swift

The downpour came completely out of nowhere as if someone up in the heavens was throwing buckets and buckets of ice-cold water at the same pace. The entire morning had been a perfect summer’s day, bright and sunny, warming up the ground underneath you, toasting all rooms and cars. It’s what made you want to go out in the first place. You had enough of sitting on the couch every weekend and practically dragged Eddie out of the house by the sleeve of his baggy sweatshirt. 

Now he was the one hauling you back inside, both of you looking like a pair of drenched cats. 

‘I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass over here right this second!’ He shouted through the rain, his hair sticking to his face, water dripping down onto the floorboards of the trailer. He just ran inside, holding an arm out to keep the door open. 

‘I’m coming.’ you said, with none of the urgency that Eddie held in his tone. The rain, while cold, felt nice and refreshing against your face. Taking a deep breath in, you let the summer night air fill your lungs, almost forgetting about your impatient boyfriend who was standing waiting for you on the threshold. He called out your name, but you weren’t listening.

‘I’m serious, sweetheart,’ Eddie leaned against the doorframe, growing tired as he watched you twirl around in the rain. ‘If you don’t stop and come inside right this second, we’re gonna have a problem.’ 

‘I really doubt it,’ you shouted back, making another turn on your heels as the rain caught your cheeks. You couldn’t quite explain what made you act like this, but it was a freeing feeling to just stand outside and let Mother Nature weep her sweet, sweet tears.

‘Oh yeah, and why’s that?’ Eddie challenged, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

‘Because you’re too much of a pussy to come outside and get wet again.’ It was a known fact that Eddie hated rain or water in any form, really, touching him. If there was a way for a person to take dry showers, he would be the first in line to try them. There was something truly unexplainable about him but truly endearing, so who could blame you if you poked fun at the way he groaned when he couldn’t dry himself off properly after a swim or moaned about his hair being a mess?  

Even from the distance of the driveway and the gloomy twilight as the sun set, you could see the blank stare he was sending your way; that are you shitting me right now glare only he could provide so casually and yet charmingly. 

You poked your tongue out teasingly at him as you twirled around once more, arms spread wide open to receive another bucket load of rain on top of you. 

‘C’mon, you’re gonna get sick!’ your boyfriend made another attempt at getting you inside, but if you were one thing, it was stubborn. All spun out, you leaned against the hood of his van. Perhaps a bit too provocative, with your chest forward, as you took deep breaths. You weren’t sure how soaked through your shirt was yet and if the water made the material see-through, although, seeming from Eddie’s reaction, it just might have been. You had closed your eyes but dared to shoot a glance up at him briefly and just about caught him cursing to himself. 

You had spent most of the day driving around, stopping here and there to grab something to eat, but it had been right as you decided to stroll past Lover’s Lake that the clouds formed above your heads, and the rain started to fall. Eddie, ever the romantic, ran back to the van like a startled alley cat, quickly disappearing into his comfortably, dry enclosure, and he had run just as quickly back into the trailer once you got there. Overall, besides his hair, he suffered minor damage. His clothes were already nearly fully dry again, but the rain had only gotten worse since then, and there was no way he would—

Your boyfriend cursed again, shaking his head in amusement, as he pulled his sweater over his head and threw it behind him to the ground. You knew as soon as he made that one step past the threshold. You were fucked. 

‘Don’t you dare,’ he said the second he saw you hesitantly step back. Ironically, his threat spurred you on to keep moving, and before you knew it, the two of you were making laps around the car through the muddy ground. 

‘C’mhere you,’ Eddie said, and despite your best efforts, you both knew it was inevitable that he would eventually catch up to you. You shrieked out as your feet suddenly left the ground, and you were hoisted up over his shoulder. 

‘Eddie!’ you hit him on the back, getting bumped up and down as he walked proudly to the trailer door. ‘Put me down!’ 

‘Just so you can run away again? No way, princess,’ he chuckled, adjusting his grip on you, making you bounce around even more. His hand rested on the back of your bare thigh, the shorts you were wearing that day doing a not-so-tremendous job of covering you up. God, the walk up to the trailer had never felt that long.

‘Edmund Lorenzo Munson,’ you stated, ‘put me down– ahh!’ you squealed as you felt the sharp snap of his hand against your ass. ‘You did not just do that!’

‘You bet I did,’ and to prove his point, he did again, this time a little harder. ‘I told you it would only mean trouble for you if you stayed out there.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ you rolled your eyes just in time before he put you back on the ground. The trailer was warm from a long, sunny day, and the usual ambience of the clock above the TV was overruled by the harsh tap-tap-tapping of the rain on the roof. 

‘Oh, I’m dramatic,’ Eddie scoffed, ‘says Miss Let-me-run-around-in-the-rain-until-I-catch-pneumonia.’

‘Ok, first of all,' you held up a finger. ‘That’s not even true. I was out there for about five minutes, so don’t be like that. Second,’ you pointed up a second digit. 'That was dramatic. And third…’ You had finally let yourself look down at his naked, rain-soaked chest. ‘Actually, never mind.’

‘No, no, finish your thought, princess.’ His arms twisted around your waist, swaying the two of you from side to side. His lips were stretched in a wicked grin. Perhaps you were making him forget the state he was in and that he was, in fact, supposed to be mad at you, at least a little bit.

‘You know what, I suddenly forgot what I wanted to say.’ You shrugged and slipped out of his hold, reaching the couch. Once sat, you had the perfect view of your boyfriend, who stood towering over you in nothing but his ripped jeans, arms now crossed as he shook his head in disbelief. His rain-kissed skin was shimmering in the room's low light, and his hair was once again drenched, with curls still dripping water onto his shoulders.

‘Why am I not surprised by that,’ Eddie’s smile persisted as he looked you up and down, a line of worry crossing his brows. ‘I’ll get you some dry clothes.’ And with that, he turned around but did not even take three steps before a small pillow hit the small of his back. But Eddie, accustomed to your hijinks as well as you were to his, barely flinched and affectionately put up his middle finger. 

‘Love you too!’ you shouted after him, already peeling off your shirt. Now that you were inside, the room's warmth started tingling your body, and the dampness of your clothes felt suffocating. Not that you would ever admit to the goosebumps rising on your arms—no, not to Eddie, at least.

A few seconds later, Eddie returned wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants and holding a stack of fresh clothes for you. He threw them at you one by one, but with some effort, you caught everything despite his terrible aim. You then considered throwing your wet clothes back at him, but the poor boy had suffered enough, so you quickly got dressed. In the meantime, Eddie headed over to the kitchen, looking for something in the cupboards.

‘I was going to suggest making something to drink to warm us up,’ he answered before you even got the opportunity to ask, ‘but it seems I run out of, like, nice cups.’ Nice,  in this case, really just meaning “clean”. He looked around some cupboards while you walked up to him, wrapping yourself around him and looking over his arm at the pile of dishes.

‘There, I used that one this morning.’ You pointed at a mug that had once been clearly hand-painted by a kindergarten Eddie. The wonky blots of colour almost matched the inside, which was stained with coffee remnants from that morning.

Eddie picked it up, hesitating, ‘you sure?’

‘Yesh, of course, just rinse it off, you dork.’

While Eddie got busy making what you hoped would be hot chocolate, you busied yourself by looking through the other cupboards for something to eat. ‘Do you have anything sweet in here?’ You were still looking around the shelves when Eddie pulled your chin in his direction and pecked a kiss onto your lips. 

‘I meant more like cookies or something, but thank you.’

‘Yeah, I think we got a pack of those iced biscuits around here somewhere.’ Indeed, on top of the highest shelf, which he knew you wouldn’t be able to reach, there was an unopened pack of sugar-vanilla-icing-coated cookies. By the time Eddie handed you your mug of hot chocolate, you had already eaten two, dipping your third one in the drink. Knowing Eddie, he would have already poured in some colder milk for you, leaving you with no need to be hesitant on your first sip. The beverage warmed you up from the inside, and you couldn’t help but let out a satisfied sigh of relief. 

‘What?’ you looked up at Eddie, feeling his gaze on you, but as soon as you addressed him, his eyes focused on his own drink.

‘Nothing.’ He leaned casually against the counter.

‘No, no, you were clearly thinking something so just spill it out.’

He made you wait by taking one long sip of his hot chocolate (extra cinnamon). He leaned forward to grab a cookie, but you quickly pulled them away, knowing he was trying to prolong your wait for an answer. 

‘Fine,’ he smiled, ‘I was just thinking that you’re so fucking cute when you’re stubborn.’

‘Try again, loverboy,’ you replied, unimpressed. 

‘It’s true!’

‘It’s not, and we both know it,’ you glared at him with narrowed eyes. ‘So just tell me.’ 

‘It was, actually,’ he stole the cookies back from you, taking one. His eyes never left yours as he scraped the sugary vanilla icing off the top with his teeth. You both tried keeping a serious face, but that was simply never an option for the two of you. It was just the question of who was first to break. 

You kept looking at him with your unimpressed and unconvinced look, trying hard to push back the smile, much like he was most likely. 

‘Ok fine,’ he bit into the biscuit. ‘I was just thinking, I can’t believe that you even make your biscuits wet. Like, that is actually horrid.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ You laughed, exasperated, finally cracking down on your serious look. ‘Eddie? Seriously?’

‘Yes! I mean, look at it,’ He pointed at the cookie you just pulled out of your drink. Half of it was darker as it soaked up the liquid, the icing slightly melting off, too. ‘It’s all soggy and gross, and you like that?’ 

‘You need to get yourself checked out, Munchie.’ You bit into the “soggy and gross” biscuit, enjoying the chocolatey infusion of the baked good. 

‘Very funny.’ He slurped his hot chocolate until he drained the last sips out of the mug and placed it down on the counter, nearly pushing off a stack of plates. You weren’t far behind him, finishing your own drink and placing the dish back as well. The two of you were shuffling around the small kitchen space, manoeuvring past each other until you wrapped your arms around him, engulfing him in a tight embrace. Eddie kissed the top of your head as you murmured a sweet “thank you”.

‘For what?’ He asked. 

‘For everything.’ You said against his chest. ‘Taking me out today, the hot chocolate, making sure I don’t die from pneumonia.’

‘Well, it’s still early.’ He corrected your last point, and you let your teeth grace over his chest, nipping him lightly. 

‘Ow!’ he laughed through his shock and pain. ‘Did you just bite me?’

‘No.’ You said, mouth right against the fabric of his shirt. 

‘No,’ Eddie mimicked your mumbling, pressing his face against your hair. ‘God, you’re so annoying.’

‘Am not!’ you gasped. ‘You are.’ 

‘I am?’ He raised his brow, and stupidly, you agreed.

‘Yes.’

‘Ok, fine.’ and so, you were up in the air again. ‘I’ll show you just how annoying I can be.’ With you over his shoulder once more, he brought you into his bedroom, dropping you into free fall down onto the mattress. You bounced as the springs creaked underneath. 

The room was a mess, and you had to push an abundance of random objects off the bed as you made your way to the top of it. Shirts, underwear, folders, guitar picks, pencils and books all fell to the ground. Eddie got onto the mattress, too, falling to his knees upon it and slowly making his way to you. You were all too aware of his tactics, knowing he was trying to take the slow approach to tease you. So, instead, you tried to make yourself a bit more comfortable, propping up the pillows for a better headrest. Picking one up, you noticed the little brown notebook lying there. 

‘Dear Diary,  God, Harrington is so hot. I swear I just want to take his big fat—’ You started making up things as you flipped the pages, but before you could read into any of the actual lyrics or campaign ideas that Eddie had jotted down, he ripped the notebook out of your hands and threw it across the room, falling somewhere onto his desk into a pile of cassettes. 

‘I hate you.’ He said with a smile, his hair now tickling your cheeks as it dangled down in semi-wet strands. 

‘Hate you more.’ You pulled him in by the collar, kissing him passionately, continuing your chaotic yet perfect day until the late hours of the night.

the end.

my own analysis on the challenge - i feel like "my Eddie" is different each time I write him, even when writing for no particular au, but I usually I do try to make him a little bit goofy and awkward, always in on the joke and hyper and just.. .cute, ya know haha. I also always love to add in random ideas about him, so that's how we get hydrophobic!eds here, but he's also totally got a major sweet tooth, and yes, his middle name is Lorenzo. i don't make the rules.

I also feel like setting the setting as a "romantic" night will really show what people consider romantic in terms of personal preference, which should be super interesting to read.

thank you so much for reading!

if you want to check out more of my writing, feel free to do so here

and all the other stories from this challenge are somewhere around here

and if you enjoyed this fic, please remember that the best way to support writers is to reblog and comment <3 and my inbox is also always open if you feel like talking more :))

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[meshlasolus]

Don’t Blame Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: i am so tired and everyone hates me but hey at least i still have dbf joel

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, some smut, probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am… again

This one is awkward ngl

Decided on the song ‘Don’t blame me’ by taylor swift bc I’m a swiftie and what else was i supposed to put?

MASTERLIST

reader is like 21/22, joel is 37

“Here, you grab that end,” you gave his shoulder a light shove, nodding towards the end of the beam as you sunk down by the other. “You shouldn’t overdo it, you might feel sick again.”

“M’ stronger than I look,” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“Trust me, I know…” you ignored his waves of dismissal, and began lifting from one side. “But you need to take it easy. Save your energy.”

The temp job was easy, mostly because Joel did most of the heavy lifting. It had been all fun and games for the first week, standing by him and watching him work, handing him the specific tools when he asked. Seemed like a dream job in most aspects, getting to sit and look pretty while the man you’re sneaking around with gets all hot and sweaty, his arms a bulging mass of muscle under the short sleeves of his dark t-shirt. 

He would often smirk when he sensed you were taking him in, admiring the view from where the toolbox was sitting. He would tease you relentlessly for it, of course, as is his way… but it didn’t stop your glances and forbidden stares. 

A whole week it had been this way, and you were more than happy to keep the flow of things going, but unfortunately on Sunday night, Joel got sick. 

It was just a fever, nothing he couldn’t sleep off in a few days. He’d called you on Monday morning before he even called anyone else at the site. They all wished him well and sent their little ‘get better soon’ messages thereafter, while you offered to drop by later with some ‘sick day’ supplies. He told you he didn’t want you catching whatever he had, and you understood that if you were sick, too, the odds of seeing each other would get lower. 

Week number two, the first several days of which were spent without Joel, and doing far too much heavy lifting of your own. There was another woman working with you all, and they supposed that two of you could make up for one Joel. You didn’t even realize how truly strong he was until you had to carry the weight he normally did. Even with another person, it was tiring and straining, and downright gruesome on your muscles. You’d been sore every night you went home. 

As soon as Joel came back, you’d have to remember to help him out a bit more, because there’s no way he enjoys not being assisted. He always insists you don’t have to, but you’ve learned how hard it is, so you want to. 

Thursday, Joel’s first day back at work, not feeling completely himself, but better enough to come into work and make some progress. 

You paid mind when he bent down to lift a heavy beam that should have taken two men to carry. 

“Here, you grab that end,” you gave his shoulder a light shove, nodding towards the end of the beam as you sunk down by the other. “You shouldn’t overdo it, you might feel sick again.”

“M’ stronger than I look,” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“Trust me, I know…” you ignored his waves of dismissal, and began lifting from one side. “But you need to take it easy. Save your energy.”

He gave you a look, narrow eyes and furrowed brows, “Save it for what?”

You shrugged, beginning to walk backwards once he had his part lifted high enough to move the beam. You looked over your shoulder a few times to make sure you weren’t gonna crash into anything. 

“Just don’t want you to keep gettin’ sick. Been missin’ you,” you admitted, waiting for his reaction. He’d been feeling the same way, you knew. He’d sent you texts after you got home from work everyday to tell you so. 

“Missed you too, baby,” he set down his end once you both reached the correct spot on the interior, kicking it into place by the rest of the framework. 

You smiled sweetly at him, continuing the work as if nothing happened. As if your heart didn’t skip a beat from hearing those words in person, in his voice, dripping with the Texan drawl you were so fond of. It was comforting, it was familiar, and it gave you a sense of security. 

-

By the time Monday rolled around again, the framework had been completed and the electrical and plumbing started to take place. This was less of Joel’s and your dad’s specialty, but they still always showed up to oversee everything being done on time and to the company’s standards. 

This, of course, meant that you were nearly obsolete, and didn’t need to show up for the next few days. Now that you were the one being barred from doing any work, you had to come up with other excuses to drop by Joel’s after he came home from work. 

‘You left your jacket on our couch, and I wanted you to have it back before it gets cold out.’ 

Or 

‘My dad made a really good four cheese lasagna, I brought you some to try.’

It was always so much harder to figure out a time or place to meet up, since he and your dad worked together, and Sarah was almost always at the house after school. 

He knew you were going stir crazy, and even though he’d been tired and worn, he knew he had to see you… alone.

You were in the kitchen rinsing out your cereal bowl when your phone buzzed on the counter top. 

Sarah’s going over with a friend to spend the night, I’m on my way home right now.

Is that an invitation?

Damn right it is.

You smiled wide, not even bothering to do anything else with the bowl in your hand. You dropped it in the sink and went galavanting about your house and up to your room. Your dad would probably be getting home about the same time as Joel, maybe a bit later, but you figured you should wait to see him before you leave for the night. You’d feel even more guilty if you just shot him a text and left for his best friend’s place, right next door for the night. 

You got wrapped up in a sweatshirt and some jogging shorts, grabbing your backpack and phone charger, swinging around the doorway and back down the stairs. 

As luck would have it, the sound of keys in the door caught you just as you reached the bottom. You dad pushed through the door, his yawn of exhaustion clearly evident. He hooked the keys on the wall hanger beside him, then turned to see you, pulling the straps of your bag up your arms. 

“Hey there, lovebug,” he smiled, taking a few steps up to hug you around the neck and peck the top of your head. “Where are you off to?” 

You thought for only a split second before forming a story. 

“Nowhere in particular… just got invited by some friends to drive around and get some fast food.” 

Very convincing, and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“Kids these days, I’ll tell ya… back n’ my day we used to go to movies or walk around a mall. Used to do actual activities n’ things.” 

You rolled your eyes, letting him rant on about the ‘strange ways’ of your generation.

“Well, we aren’t kids, but we are easily entertained. I’ll see you later, though.”

You gave him a pat on his shoulder and a quick kiss to his cheek before heading out the door. Right before it shut, you could hear your dad fumbling around in the kitchen. He would probably be distracted for a while. 

Your face turned giddy as soon as you looked over to see Joel’s truck had been parked. You tried to look as nonchalant as possible, walking plainly over to the house next door, just in case there were any neighbors looking through an open window. You had no qualms about being near or with Joel, but you did have a problem with outside people making it their topic of conversation in the neighborhood gossip chain.

You got up to the door, and knocked, the door opening within maybe five seconds or less. The response time was near immediate, and you wondered if he’d been sitting in his chair near the door. 

“Hi there, I’m here to tell you about our lord and savior Jesus Christ,” you said seriously when he leaned into the doorframe, only breaking your facade when he stood there, unamused. You let out a giggle and at the noise he dropped his hard exterior.

He rolled his eyes and nodded inside before stepping back enough to allow you entrance.

“How was work?” You asked, dropping your backpack on the chair and waiting for him to close the door. 

“S’ alright. Mostly just a long and boring day with nothing pretty to see.”

“I’m sure my absence had nothing to do with that,” you remarked sarcastically, letting him take the last few steps to meet you. He looked so tired, and yet, completely awake just at the sight of you. 

“No, nothing at all.”

He took you into his arms and leaned down by your ear, whispering the last part of his words to you. It had been several days since you could stand like this, out of sight of others, their prying eyes all but away to witness the way he held you and squeezed you tightly. 

He smelled of sweat and concrete powder, which, though wasn’t a horribly unpleasant smell, you felt it couldn’t be comfortable to have it all over one's body. 

“Why don’t you head up to the shower and I’ll order a pizza?” You suggested, pulling back to see his worn out face, feeling the deep inhale of his breath by his chest. He let it out with a hunch of his shoulders as he replied. 

“I got food here, I can cook up sum’ quick-”

“Joel you’re exhausted, and besides… I got dominoes rewards,” you joked, pressing up to kiss the tip of his nose. There was no room for protest after that, and he nodded in agreement before pulling away to head upstairs. 

He had half a mind to ask you to join him, but having not crossed that line before, he didn’t really know what was on and what was off of the table. He shook the thought from his mind, going into his bathroom and starting the water. 

The domesticity was intoxicating. Hugging you after he got home from a long work day, of which he missed seeing your face. Seeing your smile and hearing your laugh and all the little gestures you make that you don’t even realize you’re doing. Sending him upstairs to get cleaned up only so he can come back down to you and eat pizza on the couch together. He hated how much he loved it, relaxed into it, even.

It’s almost too good to be true… and maybe it is. Because while you fit him perfectly, and while you both can pick up without missing a beat, you’re still the kid next door. His best friend’s daughter, and someone he should absolutely not be doing anything stupid with. That’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it? Stupidity. There’s no way this relationship ends well. Whether your dad comes around, or Sarah does, or the entire town for that matter. Whether or not his reputation is ruined, or yours. Nothing good can come from sneaking around, the quiet embraces or the late night stolen kisses. But you can’t stop, and neither can he.

He gets into the shower with a clear mind. Whatever happens, I have her for right now. 

-

You paid for the pizza and carried it inside, kicking the door shut as you balanced it along with the sides and sauces all in your arms. Joel had gotten out of his shower a few minutes ago, and was probably getting dried off and changed, so it was perfect timing that you had everything set out on the countertop when he came trotting down the stairs. 

“Hey, I got you some wings,” you told him, pointing to the box labeled ‘hot buffalo’ across from where you sat on the barstool. You’d been dipping a breadstick in marinara when he walked around you, kissing the side of your head before sitting down beside you. 

“Thank you,” he spoke gratefully, his hands already reaching for the box, moving the pizza to the side for a moment. You knew what he liked, a testament of the time you’d known him for. “So what’ve you been up to? Now that you’ve had a break from work?” 

“I wouldn’t call what I do actual work,” you snorted, but paused and tilted your head, recalling the day’s events. “I cleaned up ‘round the house, went to get some groceries for my dad, came home n’ watched some tv n’ had half a bowl of cereal.”

“Sounds eventful,” he mocked, and you gave him a nudge with your elbow. He chuckled, taking a bite of a chicken wing. 

“Haven’t really had anything else to do,” you shrugged, grabbing a pizza slice and dragging it out of the box, carefully pulling the cheese so it didn’t flop all over the counter top. “Not that I’m complainin’, though. Rather have time on my hands than be too busy.”

He understood that. It seemed like all he ever did was work nowadays. It was the same cycle, over and again. Wake up at six in the morning, eat breakfast with Sarah, drop her off at school, and get back to the grind. Framing, insulating, installing, furnishing, repeat. All day, every day. Come home late to dinner with Sarah and sometimes watch a movie before bed. It’s all he ever does, and though it’s consistent, and it’s familiar, he aches for the additional warmth you bring. It’s why he called you over that first night in the bar. He hadn’t expected to see you back, and moreover, he didn’t expect you to seem so grown up. 

He swears up and down that if you hadn’t been there that night, practically taunting him during that line dance, that this would have never happened. You both would have gone on to live alongside one another, but separately, just as you always have. 

The conversation continued, slowly, with no pressure of any answer from either side. It was easy, natural. Joel didn’t like talking when he didn’t have to, and although it was different around you, he still kept his words to a few. 

Once the pizza was eaten, the trash was discarded, and you’d move to the sink to get some of the grease off your hands. 

“Y’know, we’re gonna be startin’ on interior installations soon, you might be able to come back and work on some stuff with me, if you still want to.”

You were excited at the thought of his words. Getting to watch Joel Miller lift heavy things like countertops and cabinets? And all the while, getting to watch from a now insulated house? That was even better. 

“Well, I’ll obviously have to check my schedule. You know how busy I can be,” you joked, drying your hands on a paper towel from beside the sink. You turned around to throw it away but got caught between Joel and the counter, his arms coming down on either side. 

“You tease me far too much, y’know that?” He lowered his head to meet your eyeline and you took a sharp intake of breath. 

“Only because it’s far too much fun.”

He shook his head, getting close enough to close the gap and kiss you. First just short and sweet, then after a second glance, faster, and more motivated. Your hands found a place on his cheeks right away, holding him close to you while he kissed you deeper, his tongue finding its way between your lips. His hands went from beside you to under your thighs, picking you up as if you weighed nothing, and setting you down onto the edge of the counter by the sink. With your legs open, you pulled him into your body, not even realizing how roughly you’d done so. 

“Damn baby, you’re gettin’ real strong,” he chuckled, burying his face into your neck to kiss and suck marks there. Consequences and aftermath be damned, he wouldn’t stop.

“Must be from all the heavy liftin’ last week… pickin’ up your slack.”

He bit down harsher into your skin, and you moaned out a noise akin to pain and pleasure. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, I’ll show you real slack.” 

“Only gonna make me stronger,” you whispered against the side of his head, a smirk resting on your face, even in the position you were sitting. He had all the power, but you still had your little quips.

His hands at the bottom of your sweatshirt were hesitant. He talked confidently, without pause or conviction, but the truth of the matter would always remain that he was going to be hesitant with you. You’re the forbidden fruit, the thing he wasn’t supposed to touch, and yet… here he stands, his hands under your hoodie and lips thoroughly attached to the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

“Fuck it,” he let out, dragging the hem of your clothing upwards until you raised your arms for it to come off. Where it landed, you’d have no idea. You just know that in this moment, with his hands on your bare skin, you couldn’t care less if you ever saw it again. 

You’d not really paid mind to what you wore underneath it, an old red and gray tie-dye sports bra now the only thing to adorn the top of your body. He didn’t care in the slightest, far too happy to even see you in that.

He quickly moved you from the counter into his arms, journeying through the kitchen and again to the living room, just like last time… except instead of sitting down, letting you remain on his lap, he laid you back into the cushioned area, crawling over you to hover back where he had been before. 

You didn’t think it was fair to let him take off clothing while remaining fully clothed. 

“My turn,” you pushed him back, ripping at his t-shirt to try and rid him of it. It was a fresh shirt, probably just came out of the dryer last night, but you tossed it to the ground without a second thought. 

You don’t recall seeing Joel shirtless. You remember that one time at the water park after graduation, when he wore a pair of trucks, and a sun shirt. Whether it was because he was afraid of getting sunburned, or because he was self conscious, you would never know. From what you could see, you couldn’t possibly imagine it being the latter. He wasn’t ripped, or even overly toned for that matter. He had a sculpted softness about him that was completely beautiful. He doesn’t work out, but he definitely works. His arms are full and muscular from the heavy lifting, and his shoulders are naturally broad, defined by the bulk he’s put on over the years. 

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen a body like his. The boys that have pursued you at college have always been either overly scrawny, or beef cakes. They want to be the hottest thing around. Want to be desired by every girl that walks past them, just so they can feed their ego and feel better about themselves ten years from now. Joel isn’t like that. He’s got a cocky attitude about himself, but it’s more in his teasing and snarky demeanor towards you than anything else. He’s sarcastic, and cynical, but he’s not doing it for show. 

He’s old enough to realize he doesn’t have to impress anyone, because the right person will want him regardless, and you do.

You want him because he’s Joel Miller, not some body builder, or football player, or gym rat that stalks the hallways of your dorms. 

You want him for his strong arms, tan lines right where his shirts normally end. You want him for his wide shoulders, even with the little scratches from bumping into wooden framing all day. You want him for the patchy beard on his face, knowing he only keeps it because he’s far too busy, and nearly always too tired to keep up with the clean shaven look. You want him for his dark curls, graying more every day and turning the color silver when he stands in the sun. You want him for his big hands, with the calluses and rough palms, but with the softest and most gentle fingertips you’ve ever felt on your face. You want him for the softness of his stomach, though seen as a flaw by most of society, you’d much prefer it to the discomfort of a stomach toned with abs. You want him for every bit of himself. You want him because he’s perfect.

He stripped your shorts and underwear from you at once, and it amazed you how adeptly he did it. He’s been doing this for years, he knows what he’s doing, stupid.

“You alright?” He looked back at you, his eyes glazed over completely. The darkness that was there was the same lustfull darkness you’d seen before, and you anticipated what may come from it. 

“Yeah,” you smiled, watching him sink backwards and down your body. He parted your legs in a swift motion, unwilling to slow himself down on account of being so close to what he wants. “You don’t have to-”

“Shh, baby,” he pulled your hips upward and towards his face, admiring the slickness already resting between your legs before he lowered his mouth to taste it. It was so addicting, the smell of you, and he knew the second his tongue ran a long stripe up and down, he would be craving you constantly. Always on the verge of wanting you from now on. 

The noises you made, lordy, he didn’t know someone could sound like that. The very fact that you were unashamed to hide it from him, too. He loves it, how vocal you are, and how much you want him to know how he makes you feel. 

He held one finger to your entrance, coating it in your slick before plunging it deep inside of you, the curl of his knuckle making you writhe under him. He added another finger to see if you could take it. You were so tight already, and he knew that if you weren’t stretched out enough he would hurt you. 

Two fingers wasn’t necessarily painful, but it caused a bit of discomfort at first. You didn’t expect that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, but you tried to relax anyway. You wanted him so badly, wanted him entirely, and didn’t want this to put a damper on anything. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. Just like that,” he praised, trying to help you open up more with the added pressure of his thumb on your clit. The gentle circles helped you to feel less of a stretch, and the pleasure was building. You wove your hands into his hair, trying to feel a tether of reality somewhere. He kept on, and went faster, and you felt yourself at a breaking point. 

With his name on your lips, you broke apart, releasing all the tension left in your body to allow that euphoric rush to consume you. It caused your body to tremble under his, but you paid no mind to it. Once he retrieved his fingers from you, he held them up to his mouth, licking the sweetness from them that you so generously bestowed upon him. 

You tried to sit up, to reach for his belt buckle, but he stopped you. 

“Not tonight, baby,” he grabbed your hands and kissed them, the slightest bit of residue remaining on his lips. 

“But I want to.”

“I know you do,” he smiled, brushing your hair aside to kiss you now, instead. “I just don’t wanna hurt you. Let’s work towards it, okay?” 

You nodded, a bit embarrassed that you weren’t quite experienced enough to continue yet. Not to say you were inexperienced, but you definitely weren’t ready to take him yet, and he knew that for sure. The last thing he’d want to do is go too far and make it unpleasant for you. 

He’s a good man, with good intentions. Even if this relationship - whatever you want to call it - is forbidden, he’s still trying to do right by you. It’s unspoken, but you’re his girl now, and he would never hurt his girl.

.

tags: @justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee @anoverwhelmingdin @theatrelove3000

[jackchampiongf13]

Come Back… Be Here

Jack!Championx!reader

Warnings: Angst but a happy ending, swearing, kissing, let me know if I missed anything!

A/n: I’m not super proud of this but I need to post something. Also I am sorry that I haven’t posted anything! And a big thank you to all the love on my first post. Also lots of Taylor Swift references in this hehe😛(I didn’t proof read it too so I hope it’s all good)

This is when the feeling sinks in. You realize that this is happening. He’s breaking up with you?

“Y/n” he gets out barely because of the tears that were clogging his voice up. “I love you. I will always love you. I just am so busy and you deserve better than me. Way better then me.”

You look at him with disgust. It’s 4am and he’s saying it in a simple way. “I really told myself ‘don’t get attached’ what the fuck Jack” you couldn’t help but be mad. You don’t blame him though. Your mad at yourself.

“This is all my fault is it not?” You say looking down. “No it’s not, don’t blame yourself Y/n. I love you but with me now going on press tour and doing interviews we won’t have time for each other. You’re already super busy with senior year of Highschool and so am I, even if I am homeschooled, I still have to do all of that then go and talk about avatar to a whole bunch of strangers!”

“Jack, it’s okay! Take me with you” You plead trying to reach for his arm.

“No.. your not getting it.” He says pulling away from your reach.

“What am I not getting?” You just want him to hold you and never let go.

”This isn’t fair to the both of us. It will just add more pressure and stress to everything. Go to college and get your degree. You’ll meet someone better and marry them like you’ve always wanted.” It hurts him to say this.

“I don’t want anyone else I want you. Just you.” Pleading for the last time. You finally meet his eyes as you try to embrace him for a hug. He take your arm and rubs it for a second. “I will always love you.” He says as he gives a peck on your forehead.

You watch him walk away. Your jaw is dropped. How could he do that? And at 4 in the morning? A/n: Jesus Jack we just wanted to sleep🙄

————————-—————————————————

It’s been 6 months since the breakup. It took you awhile to be happy again, but it happened. Well for the most part. You had just graduated high school, it was now July. Even after the breakup, you were still his biggest supporter. Even if you never talk to him anymore, you still stalked his Instagram and TikTok.

He was in New York today. And so were you with your whole friend group to celebrate graduation. He had posted on insta. “Oh god, Betty!” You scream.

“Are you okay!?” She runs out of the hotel bathroom. “He’s here. In New York.” You smile a bit.

“No Y/n. Not again.” She snatched your phone to look at the post. “Holy shit isn’t the hotel he’s staying at just right down the road?” She questions herself. Your eyes widen. “Wha-“ you try to continue talking but get cut off by her horrible sheirk. “Shit Y/n he swiped up on your story.”

“Give me back my phone!” You take it and half swipe the chat. Jack: Hey! That’s so funny you’re here too! I’m right down the street maybe we should go get coffee? I mean if you’re ok with that. I miss talking to you.

You smile to yourself. “He misses talking to me…” you say with a hopeful tone. “No Y/n! Not again!” She takes the phone but it’s too late. You: Hey Jack! Of course I would love to go get coffee with you and catch up!

“Oh no no no. I’m deleting it” Betty says. “Support my decision Betty. Just go hang out with James today!” You say rolling your eyes and snatching the phone once more. “Fine this is me supporting you” She smiles and give you a peck on the cheek. “Text me if you need me! Love ya!” She says as she begins to walk out to her boyfriends room.

“Yup” you sigh as she close the hotel room door. Was this a bad idea? We’re just friends that’s it! You jump out of bed and put on the cutest outfit you could find. Which ended up being a blue crop top that brought out your eyes and black leggings. This was a basic outfit but it was pretty crappy out and you just felt good in it.

You text him letting him know that you’re free whenever. He texts back immediately. Jack: uh I can rn if that’s good

you: duh that’s fine lmao

Jack: want me to come over to your hotel and we can walk together?

you: sure! My hotel room is ts13 at the eras hotel!

Jack: Be there in 10

“Shit. I have to do my hair and makeup.” You say out loud You: can you maybe give me 20

Jack: lol gotta do your makeup I assume

you: you know me all too well

Jack: Taylor reference?

You: Duhhh

Jack: ok go get ready for me

get ready for him? Damn instant butterflies.

—————————————————————————

You finished your makeup and had one more section on curling your hair when you hear a knock. You run to the door and see him.

“Hey gorgeous!” You can’t help but say as he looks down and blushes. This is what always happened when you said that. He didn’t wanna show you he liked that nickname but you knew.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming, but instead of getting coffee together I just went and got your usual. I hope that’s ok.” He looks back up at you as you notice he looks you up and down. You blush at the thought of him remembering your favorite order

“Thats totally fine! Come on in” You say in a very loud and happy tone. “I need to finish my hair really quickly. Just give me 5” you smile at him. He smiles back with his perfect white teeth smile. You feel butterflies creep on in your stomach. “I can do it for you! Remember that time I did your hair.” He laughs as he recalls the past. “It was a disaster oh my god! I remember that so well!” You shout from the bathroom. He comes in the bathroom to help “I trust you Champion” he just smiles at the nickname and takes the curling iron.

“Ow!” You scream as he burns your neck by accident. “Shit oh god I’m so sorry beautiful” the pain disappears as you focus on him for a second. He used to call you that when you guys dated. It was your favorite nickname. “Are you okay?!” He quickly asks as he turns the water on to put cold icy water on the burn. “Y/n?!” You smile at him. “I missed this a lot Jack. I missed you” he stops trying to put water on your neck and looks deep into your beautiful eyes. “I still love you” he quickly lets out but then covers his mouth. You can’t help but smile. “I still love you too.” You don’t care about the pain in your neck anymore and jump into his arms as you kiss him. “We will make it work this time” you smile to him “I’m not ever gonna let you go” he says into the kiss. “I didn’t want to miss you like this” you laugh after breaking this kiss. “Come back, be here in this kiss” he says again as you laugh knowing it was a Taylor reference.

[hotchs-bitch]

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

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—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly. 

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work. 

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk. 

You’re in New York.

— — — 

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm. 

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

��——

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t. 

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support. 

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him. 

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.” 

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected. 

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning. 

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports. 

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over. 

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises. 

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” 

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out. 

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours. 

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question. 

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…” 

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried. 

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years. 

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long. 

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now. 

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you. 

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead. 

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.” 

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...” 

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave. 

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

-

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

Tags: @crowfootwrites @abschaffer2 @jaspxr @angelfxllcm @spacecowboyhotch @ssamorganhotchner @sadgirlml @sunshinemunchkin @wheelsupkels @ashhotchner @laurensprentiss @hotchnerxo @strange-mischief @helmihotchner @dontcallmekittens @ssacharcoalgrey @allthefandomstogether @pandorasdreamings @hotched @scargarcia-magshotchner @multiverse-mxdness @nevillescomslut @queenofthepouges @ivanaplvc @itseightbeats @justreadingficsdontmindme @jareauswife @reidselle @rousethemouse @mojo366 @anlin2058 @realdirectionx @feedthemadness-sweetie

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Tell me what you thought/yell at me <3

[beautifuldisaster88]

Don't Blame Me

A/N: I just randomly came up with this whole listening to Taylor Swift's song Don't Blame Me. I feel like that would so be Unhinged!Rafe and InnocentTurnedUnhinged!Girlfriend. Like they would do whatever it takes to protect each other. Sorry in advance if it sucks. I didn't proofread or anything. Simply wrote it and posted right after.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

She ran as fast as her legs would take her the moment that she found out Barry planned on betraying Rafe, and turning him in. After trying over and over again to call Rafe, having no luck, she panicked, throwing her phone as she kept running. Her chest tightened and breathing became more difficult, but a panic attack wasn't going to stop her from getting to Rafe.

Drenched in sweat and out of breath, she spotted the Kildare County Sheriff's department boats, making her worst nightmare come true. It was too late. They'd found him. No, fuck that! Nobody was taking her love away, not even the fucking law. That's when she spotted him, face smashed into the mud and a large deputy on top of his. From what she could see, they already had her man in handcuffs. Wrong move, assholes.

Removing her gun, well Ward's gun, from the waistband of her shorts, she quickly turned off the safety, and stepped out from behind a tree and pointing it straight at Shoupe's head. All eyes were on her, including Rafe's. An eerie silence washed over those who were meant to serve and protect.

"You've got two options here, Shoupe. One, you let Rafe go and forget any of this happened. You destroy every file, every piece of evidence, anything that pertains to Rafe. Option number two." She cocked the gun, the click echoing from the dead silence. "I don't think you're going to like option two. Two, I pull the trigger and put a bullet in your fucking skull. Then you can reunite with Peterkin. Sure, I might not be fast enough to shoot all of you, but you can bet your asses, I'm taking most of you down with me. Your choice, Shoupe."

She took a step closer, more than ready to shoot. The look in her eyes was unlike any they'd ever seen. The once sweet and innocent girl was gone, replaced with a stone cold killer. After all, she was just a girl in love, and that meant protecting the man she loved at all costs. Consequences be damned.

"You don't wanna do that. You're not like him. You're not a killer." Shoupe tried to plead with her, but his words were useless. He might as well have been a baby babbling.

"That's where you're wrong. Now, I'm going to count to three and if your buddy still doesn't back the fuck away from Rafe, he'll be the first to reunite with Peterkin. One."

"Think this through. Is he really worth losing your life over? I know you, you're a good girl. You've got a clean record. Can't you see what he's doing to you? He's poisoned you."

"Yes. Yes, he is worth losing my life over, and he's not fucking poisoning me! He just helped me realize who I truly am. Also, you don't know shit about me. None of you fucking do! Whatever blood is on his hands, I've got the same on mine. Two. Don't make me get to three, Shoupe. I'm warning you."

The deputy that had Rafe on the ground, dug his knee deeper into the Cameron boys back. "Get the fuck off me! Don't you dare fucking hurt her, Shoupe! I'll fucking kill you myself if anything happens to her!" Rafe yelled, trying his damnedest to fight off the deputy. Having his hands cuffed behind his back wasn't helping. He panicked, picturing the worst. He had to get free, had to save his angel.

"Three. Don't say I didn't warn you."

In the blink of an eye, she had the gun pointed at the deputy's head, finger on the trigger and ready to shoot.

"Don't blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn't you ain't doing it right."

"WAIT! WAIT! DON'T SHOOT!" Shoupe screamed, looking between her and the deputy, his hands up in surrender. The look in her eyes said everything, she was going to kill the deputy. Love really had made her crazy. The other deputy's shot hesitant looks at one another, but slowly began to lower their weapons.

"Let the boy go." Shoupe instructed him, earning a look as though he'd lost his mind.

"He killed Peterkin! This bastard is going to rot behind bars." The deputy spat, digging his knee deeper into Rafe's back.

"I SAID LET HIM GO DAMNIT! OR THE GIRL WILL SHOOT! WE DON'T NEED ANYMORE BLOOD SPILLED!"

Doing as he was told, the deputy uncuffed Rafe, releasing his weight off the Cameron boys back, making Rafe smirk... That was until he saw the deputy reaching for his gun in his holster, eyes glued on the only girl that Rafe has ever loved. Oh no he didn't, nobody was shooting his girl.

In one swift motion, Rafe wrestled the deputy to the ground, grabbing his gun and hitting him in the head with it, hard enough to knock the big guy on his ass. With both of them still pointing their guns at the officer's, Rafe quickly made his way to her side.

Taking her hand, they laced their fingers together, both glancing over at each other.

"Together until the end, yeah?" Rafe whispered to her.

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "Together until the end, baby. I love you, Rafe."

"I love you too, angel. If we make it outta here, 'm taking you far away and we're gonna start that life we always talked about, yeah? Yeah. I promise."

Shots rang as the couple began shooting at the deputy's, trying their hardest to dodge the bullets as they shot back.

"Shit. Motherfucker shot me!" She hissed, grabbing her side as she put a bullet into the deputy's skull. Her side hurt like a motherfucker, the pain worse than anything she'd ever experienced. Still, she wasn't about to just lay down and die. No, they'd come this far, and this was not how her and Rafe's story ended.

"angel, you okay!? Talk to me, baby!" Rafe yelled out from behind a tree, trying to avoid the flying bullets that hit the bark above his head. The panic evident in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, m'fine. Don't worry 'bout me."

Rafe could tell by the sound of her voice that she was lying. He knew her inside and out, and knew when she was lying. She wasn't fucking okay. He couldn't lose her. No, not her. Without thinking twice, he ran out from behind the tree, staying crouched down as he ran towards her, dodging bullets as he shot at the remaining officer's along the way. Shoupe was nowhere to be seen, meaning the pussy ran and left his deputy's to die. Not surprising.

As soon as Rafe reached her, he wrapped an arm around her, using his strength to keep her on her feet. The color in her face was fading, white tank top now soaked in crimson.

"We gotta go, baby. Gotta get you outta here and patched up. You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he quickly planted a kiss on the side of her head, before scooping her up in his arms.

"Like I said, don't blame me love made me crazy."

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XIV): State of Grace.

Imagine you find the love of your life on Tinder. But there’s a lot going on before you and him realize that.

Warnings 1: fluff, light reading, some drama, light smut.

***

• (I)

I'm walking fast through the traffic lights. Busy streets and busy lives and all we know is touch and go. We are alone with our changing minds. We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time…

You stare at the Tinder app you’ve just downloaded. Motivations cannot be concealed of why you are doing it. Loneliness is why it’s suddenly opened, leading you to interact with strangers under the pretense you are about to fall in love with the man of your life.

Ridiculous are such romantic notions, and you have no one to blame for nurturing them but yourself. That is why you open it and sliding these male pictures like they are part of an odd menu, you think you are very demanding when you see his picture on your screen.

His profile reads:

Aemond T, 28 years old. “Live fast. Die young. No idea what the fuck I’m doing here, but it is what it is.”

You think those lines are quite amusing and you press the “like” button, a part of you doubting he’s liking you back. Especially when your profile reads:

Y/N, 28 years old. “I talk a lot and make bad jokes. If you are here to be monosyllabic, please get out.”

To your disconcert, he likes you back.

“Well, let’s see how this one goes”, you tell yourself, somewhere between self pity and skepticism.

*

Aemond Targaryen has arrived home in the first rays of morning. Ran on the streets, crossing red lights, a color he dresses and lives for, hardly respecting it at times when he finds convenient.

Living at the upper east side of King’s Landing, he’s slightly drunk when he gets at the apartment he shares with the only tolerable member of his family: his sister, Laena, who’s sleeping by now.

Opening Tinder because, since he left Alys, he feels the need of one night stand, he finds himself quite impatient before such pursuit. When he sees Y/N on his screen, he knows this is not the kind of woman he usually hangs out with.

In fact, this bad boy hardly looks for good girls—Alys once accused him of mother issues for dating older women who somewhat resemble his mother and this kind of traumatized him. No one knows, but he’s doing therapy to fix this issue.

But you are not older, hardly look like his mother, Mrs Alicent Hightower, and… well, you look beautiful with vivid y/c eyes, smooth y/c skin and y/c hair tossed against the wind.

As soon as he sees he’s corresponded, he sends a message, almost falling asleep because it’s 5 am but he’s surprised when you promptly reply.

“What’s up?”, Aemond writes, half drunk, half asleep.

“All good. And you? Where do you speak from?”, you write back.

“Upper east side, you?”

“Not the richest part of the town for sure.”

When reading these acid lines, Aemond laughs, though something about them annoys him in the same measure.

“What do you know about that?”

“Enough to know this is not a place I frequent.”

“So where do you come from?”

“I recently left High Garden and am temporarily living at the capital. In that neighborhood called Y/C.”

“That’s a good neighborhood. Despite your prejudice, I actually go there at times.”

“My prejudice? Do you suppose I hate rich people now?”

Aemond is not sure how the hell this is going. Shouldn’t a one night stand be this difficult to find, for sure.

“Sorry. I’m drunk.”

He’s about to throw the phone away and touch himself instead. This appears to be a better option. Besides, calling Alys is not fucking considered.

“Apologies accepted. I admit I did not express myself well”, you write. “Should we start again?”

Aemond, between horny and impatient, finds himself compelled not to throw away his phone, after all.

“Sure, why not? What are you doing at 5 am? I mean… I have the excuse of being drunk after a fantastic party at the port, but you?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts over my head, I think, but this is not a conversation for Tinder.”

Now Aemond is wide awake. You don’t look like any superficial woman he’d been talking these days.

“Why, tell me about it. I am an expert when it’s about anxiety and other things. Besides, who do you take me for? I like deep conversations.”

“Send me a text message and we can keep this going.” And you write your number down.

The silver haired male raises an eyebrow. Despite the poor starter, you are more interesting than he’d formerly judged.

I wonder what lies behind these photographed vivid eyes, Y/N.

***

You exchange messages with Aemond for three days. A date is set, and before you know expectations rise. Then you start to sabotage yourself.

You begin to look for excuses when it comes to meet this strange, handsome rich man. Old traumas remind you of past failures, but your mind is briefly distracted when he sends you a message:

“Hey, Y/N. How’s it going? Didn’t hear from you today.”

It’s mid-week, and due to your work as y/c you occupied yourself enough to avoid his name or the fact that in three days you might meet him.

Part of you wonders what could possibly go wrong whilst another makes a power point presentation with lists of why it could go worse than expected.

“All good”, you eventually answer. “Sorry for not answering straight away. I’ve been working.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take long to answer you back.

“How’s work so far?”

You know Aemond works as humanities professor at Westeros University, but that he’s also part of that (rather infamous) Targaryen family.

“Good so far. Just busy. How’s yours?”

“One needs patience to deal with young adults that still think they are teenagers. By the way, apologies for the swift change of subjects, but how’s our Saturday going? Still standing, I hope?”

You hesitate, panicking before the idea of seeing someone. Part of you tries to find motives to avoid him, but another, more reasonable, reminds you this is living: hurting, yes, but embracing the joys life may offer. Shielding oneself against disappointment will not stop them happening, so what is the point of hiding in shadows under the pretense of impeding suffering?

“Is 10 o’clock good?”

“It works fine for me. I’ll see you there!”

It’s set. Your first date in three years…

• (II)

You come around and the armor falls. Pierce the room like a cannonball. Now all we know is don't let go. We are alone, just you and me…

Aemond is not romantic, but practical like his ex used to mock. He is not the kind of man who opens easily, rather being a man of actions.

How unusual, or perhaps following an advice of his sister dear, that he opts as first date with a girl he’d never seen before a picnic at the Aegon’s Hill.

Dressed like someone who could easily be mistaken as a motorcycle rider man, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses and threw over his shoulder a black jacket, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants.

He checks his phone once a while, but why is he feeling dizzy at this first encounter with a stranger?

It’s when he spots you dressed in a flower dress, medium y/c hair blowing against the wind, wearing a pair of blue sandals on your feet.

A funny contrast you two are, like sun and moon when they meet, resulting in an eclipse. But as Aemond watches you come, shy and insecure about him, he wonders where this will go.

Taking off his sunglasses, he stands and smiles:

“Y/N? It’s me, Aemond.”

“Oh”, you barely blink when spotting those purple eyes. “You are taller than I had assumed.”

He chuckles at your remark.

“In my family this is a remarkable trait, some would say.” Aemond offers you a seat and you soon take it.

You see the picnic is already set, the cloth already spread over the green grass on a spot that has some shadows thanks to a large tree that there stands.

There are fruits, cakes, cereals and breads, but also juice, water and coffee. You are positively impressed by the effort he paid to this. Aemond side smirks at your reaction.

“What? Did you like it?”

“I loved it”, you smile the brightest at him. “Thank you, Aemond. I’ve never done picnics before.”

“No?”, he inquires, watching you with interest. “How come? I thought this was a common thing at High Garden?”

You laugh heartily and Aemond decides that he likes the sound.

“I am not a noblewoman, my dear. It may be a tradition amidst the local elite. You must certainly have heard of a beauty named Margaery Tyrell. She does promote these events there, but like I said, I’ve moved to Kings Landing a few years ago.”

“The name may hint something, but I don’t care about elites and their gatherings”, says Aemond, serving himself some water whilst you opt for some juice. “My father loves throwing fanciful parties, but I don’t fit them, so I stopped going.”

As you study him, your gaze and his linger for one small, but significant moment before you say:

“So I get you are not very close to your family?”

“Not really, no. But you wouldn’t be if your father favored one child over the other and expected gratitude in return”, he smiles despite the poisonous words.

You raise your eyebrows.

“Is it that bad then?”

“You have no idea.”

You tilt your head.

“I cannot believe I relate to you, Aemond Targaryen.”

For some reason, this brings you both to delightful laughters in that first date…

***

• (III)

And I never saw you coming. And I'll never be the same…

It’s been two weeks. What was supposed to be a chasing after one night stand it has become new discoveries giving space to new sensations.

Aemond likes to kiss your lips in his car, to make you laugh at his bad jokes or listen when you tell about your day.

You like to listen to him too, not only about his days, but his past experiences, open wounds that mirror yours. And when he kisses you it is as if the world stops spinning and everything takes in a slower rhythm.

His kiss makes you feel unspeakable things, but that you never felt encouraged in doing them, transferring to reality what has only been a fantasy of your dreams.

Nonetheless, you are still reluctant in pushing affairs forward and Aemond respects you that. He reads you like an open book, always observant about your mannerisms.

This day, for example, you two are at a coffeehouse that is located within a bookshop. There, you read a book of poems all the whilst he drinks coffee. It’s a comfortable silence and it gives him such a peace, one of the kind he’s unused to it.

“What are you looking at?”, you ask upon sensing his stare, which makes you blush.

He chuckles, finding adorable how easily he makes you shy.

“You”, says he directly. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful like you, reading so concentrated.”

You giggle like a silly girl, finally putting the book aside to take his long hand in yours, enjoying how smooth it is when your fingers are locked with his.

“Stop it”, you shoot him an embarrassed look. “You know it’s untrue.”

Aemond laughs quietly. He then makes sure you are now sitting on his lap, disregarding the fact you two are at a public place.

“I mean every word I say”, he looks deep into your eyes, holding your hips as he rests his chin over your shoulder. “How come I feel more alive when I’m with you, dearest Y/Nickname? My heart races when you look at me like that.”

You lean closer to him, a smile spreading big on your lips before cupping his face with your hands.

In your mind you cry out a big “I love you”, but these words don’t reach your tongue yet. You thus kiss his lips instead and there you stay, at your private paradise.

*

Later, he drives you to his home. His sister isn’t there and Aemond wants to show you his place properly. This is the first time you are there since you and him started dating—though no label has come out of either mouths yet.

Once inside, you are given a tour at the apartment. It’s bigger than you’d expect, but cozy and nice to look at with a huge view at his living room to the sea.

“Look at this view!”, you exclaim in awe as you see green hills mixing with different modern buildings that are combined with the blue of the oceans, reflecting the same shade of the color that paints the skies. “I wish I was this privileged! But then I remember I already am.”

And saying so, you look at him, transmitting more than you’d expect. But even so… when Aemond meets your gaze, he sees it through you. What is curious is that, somewhere in his past, he’d flee, panic or fight it in his way by sabotaging the process.

He still has his scars, and these are eventually coming to surface, but this silver haired male has no space in his mind that is not you. Thus, he comes to stay behind you and says:

“You know what, Y/N? Be with me. Be my girlfriend.”

You turn your head at him. It is easy to be involved by sweet words and empty promises, but this is not what you feel when your wide-eyed gaze meets his intense one.

Souls speak in silence when desires, sentiments and thoughts are aligned in one purpose. Could it be any different? Perhaps yes, but neither you nor Aemond conceive otherwise.

"Yes, my dearest."

You turn and wrap your hands around his neck. Proximity is shortened as his long, callous hands tight the grip around your waist and his forehead once again rests against yours and a kiss comes as a result.

Though he is not yet ready to speak these three words that at times can be seen behind his dazzling purple eyes, Aemon is more than ready in building a new, more optimistic future with you by his side.

A sentiment and perception that you share as your togue snakes in his and together dance in one slow syncronized rhythm. Silence remains undefeated in the surroundings... but for how long?

His is the fireous pursuit and you, like a timber prompted to burn. Soon, you are pressed against the wall with his lips still locked with yours, but his hands move to your hips, there staying, there caressing your bum before rising to your waist and slowly transferring his gentle, warming touch to your back, underneath the blouse you wear.

It does not help that, after biting your bottom lip, he breaks the kiss so he gradually grows bold in his teasings. You like how your boyfriend--and the word brings a smile to your redish lips--takes his time to get to know you and your pace even if you suspect he's a dragon like the standard of the symbol of his famous family.

You play with his long locks, wrapping them around your fingers, sighing quietly as his tongue takes its time to get familiar with your neck. You giggle softly, however, when his hands rest subtly on your belly.

"Yes, babe?", he raises his eyes to meet yours and in them you see mischief. "Is it good for my lady?"

Your knees often weaken and your body gets instantly warm at whenever he is gallant with you. Aemond, a good observer, knows it well. No wonder why he smirks at you.

"It is more than good, I fear to say", you chuckle, struggling not to rub one leg to the other, especially when he looks at you like that. And you find yourself restless, prompted to let your fingertips vaguerously move from his arms to his chest, thus helping him remove his shirt.

"Is it so?", Aemond laughs quietly, letting you take the reins of the moment. "Your innocent gaze makes me no fool, young lady".

Saying so he presses you one more time against the wall, biting your neck all the whilst your hands eagerly move to his pants.

"You are my doom", you whimper impatiently.

The spark is about to explode...

***

(IV)

So you were never a saint and I've loved in shades of wrong We learn to live with the pain, Mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild

Even sun sets in paradise. In due time, his obscurity comes to surface as well as your vices. Jealousy is a trait you dislike in yourself, reflecting the insecurity within due to bad experiences in former relationships.

His self entitled taste for liberty awakes this beast, coming to test your relationship in the famous “three months crisis”.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment”, says Aemond, troubled by your silence as he drives you home.

The cause of disagreement rests in the unwelcoming presence of Alys Rivers. Two days after Aemond’s birthday party, she, who remained a close friend to his brother Aegon—even if his entire family hates her for reasons you have not yet figured out—paid him a visit and you were not told about this.

But he eventually tells you like it is not relevant for your relationship. You, proud where sentiments are concerned, think that if he cannot see how wrong this all is, certainly will not find out by you.

“I am not giving any silent treatment”, your words cry a wound open in your ego, your voice betrays your pride.

Aemond sighs and stops the car somewhere random.

“Come now, don’t be like this, Y/N”, he looks at you with confused eyes. “We have always talked about everything, haven’t we?”

Your therapist usually tells you that, regardless of how uncomfortable it is to speak out, you must not swallow your sentiments nor bury them by turning into a burden that should be forgotten. Or else your body would feel the results, which in turn were not nice.

Aemond can see you are struggling against yourself, aware that underneath you there lies old scars that still do you harm. He puts a hand around your shoulders, patient.

“Take your time”, he says with his usual soothing voice.

In other circumstances, he’d not be patient. But this is someone whom he cares deeply, having grown to love sincerely. Only another woman holds his patient affection and it’s his sister, Helaena.

Eventually you burst into tears, letting yourself exposed before this man you love. You’d think he is the kind of guy who likes strong women so you’d never let be seen so fragile, so open.

Aemond somehow comprehends it, then he lifts your face so you can meet his gaze and see there’s no judgement behind his eyes. Wiping away your tears, he suddenly realizes, after examining his conscience, the probable cause of your hurting.

“What did I do, lass? There is no need to push me away. We must speak. What is troubling you, my love?”

“I… I…” you take a deep breath, confident you can battle your demons. “You welcomed her, the woman who you told me you loved fiercely for many years. You welcomed her at your house and tell me as if this is no big deal? She may remain friends with your brother, but then what about us? What about me? Do you care so little about my feelings that you simply receive her, a woman I cannot equal in many ways?”

Oh, the thought comes too late. So this is what it’s about.

Aemond doesn’t know how to respond straight away. Sticking to his early encouragement, he is not running away from himself.

There is embarrassment, there is shame. His thoughts are a mess, but only after you stop sobbing that he turns at you.

“I’m sorry, Y/Nickname. That was imprudent of me.”

“I am not that kind of girl who is possessive of her boyfriend. Who you hang out with is your problem, we all have friends and it’s completely understandable to be friends with one’s ex but…”

“Wait”, he frowns. “Are you friends with your exes?”

You ignore his remark.

“…to welcome her like that without even telling me, and at your own house with no one else. How can I feel comfortable with that?”

“Aegon was there”, Aemond mumbles. “This doesn’t excuse, I know. I’m sorry, darling. And I had no idea you compared with her. For the love of God, I am your boyfriend, not hers. If I wanted to relive the past, I would be a historian or a museologist.”

Pleased to make you chuckle, Aemond smiles at you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

“Are we good?”

“Yes, my love, we are.”

And you two stay silent, appreciating each other’s company with only the stars and the poorly illuminated posts as witnesses.

*

A few months later, a graver disagreement comes like an earthquake to shake the stability between you two.

Aemond is a possessive man, so he is not exactly a man of sharing. This flaw comes particularly when he feels threatened by others. One of these is his nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon.

He thought this rascal man was being friendlier to you than you deserved. You two had a fervent argument after that.

Or when you accused him of running away of his commitment to you by not introducing you to his family.

As you can see, it’s been a hell of a ride.

But twelve months later and insecurities are overcome, with you finally settled with each other’s demons.

***

• (V)

This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight. Love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right. These are the hands of fate. You're my Achilles heel. This is the golden age of something good and right and real…

You mount on him, ready to another drive. It feels so damn good to have his cock twitching hard, thrusting inside you as you two move slowly.

“This is so damn good”, you moan, eyes closed.

“Do not be loud, my dear”, Aemond smirks, adjusting to you, taking a seat without letting you fall.

Curtain is open, giving path to moonlight spark in his bedroom. You are at his apartment, having recently moved together.

But dear Helaena’s birthday is coming soon and some of the family is spending time there.

“I am trying to, but you make it difficult”, you whimper when he takes your breast to his mouth all the while fingering you concomitantly to his moves.

And then he rolls you to his bed, fastening his pace and kissing you passionately.

Not too long after that and you both come together in the same climax. When cuddling you, Aemond says.

“I corrupted you, didn’t I?”

You cast him an amused glance.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve become more naughty since we’ve met”, Aemond chuckles, kissing your neck. “Not that I am complaining.”

“What can I do if the makeup sex is really good?”, you laugh quietly.

Interlocking fingers, you two stay like this for a moment, staring into the nude dark sky able to spot from his bed.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

You look at him, admiring his beauty, the paled, smooth skin, the well built muscles perfectly drawn in his shaped body, his long hands that mould so well with yours… Even his wrongs, his flaws, his vices… make you love him ardently.

Sensing your gaze, Aemond begins to flush.

“I am no romantic”, he whispers in his usual quiet tone. “But you know how I’ve grown to overcome my disability in expressing my thoughts and sentiments.”

“I’ve always judged you did this better than me”, you muse partially joking, pleased to make him smile.

“I…”

Now on your elbows, you take his face with your hands.

“What’s it my dear?”

Avoiding your inquisitive gaze, Aemond is silent before bursting it soon:

“Be my wife.”

You barely blink, a small, silly smile, coming to form on your lips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me”, he blushes.

You laugh at his lack of sensibility. Throwing yourself at him gives the peace his rioting heart requires.

“Is this a… yes?”, Aemond asks, unsure. “I should have done it better, I’m so…”

You shush him by kissing his lips, then saying:

“Of course this is a yes! You are my state of grace, Aemond Targaryen! I could have not asked for a better husband.”

When contemplating the genuine joy stamped in your features, he, stroking your cheek, then says:

“You are the love of my life, Y/N Y/LN.”

Without waiting for any response, he holds you against his chest, rocking you in his arms as you share a kiss.

It’s the first chapter of your happily ever after…

[loustyleshtommo]

Taylor Swift’s TTPD Song Theory: The Alchemy

I believe The Alchemy is about Karlie Kloss showing up at the Eras Tour postpartum, while Travis Kelce is another red herring.

He’s a counterfeit; She is 24 karat magic in the air~

This is Taylor writing from Karlie’s perspective:

The Alchemy

This happens once every few lifetimes.

It’s how IVF works. Not all embryos get implanted. Not all pregnancies are viable. (Higher miscarriage rate than traditional conception). It feels like a miracle when it results in a healthy baby.

These chemicals hit me like white wine./He jokes that it’s HEROIN but this time with an ‘E’

Epidural used to assist childbirth can make you feel drowsy. That’s where the ‘E’ comes from. Mama also had to give up white wine due to pregnancy, so she hadn’t felt tipsy in a while.

Heroin + e = Heroine

Taylor in Don’t Blame Me: My drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life

Reputation muse is her heroine.

Also, how sweet it is to call your wife a heroine for giving birth to your child. I’m grinning from ear-to-ear every time I hear this line.

What if I told you I'm back?

The hospital was a drag

Worst sleep that I ever had

This is Karlie showing up at The Eras Tour concert only days postpartum.

I circled you on a map

Confirming that she was a muse for reputation. (End Game: I buried hatchets but I keep maps of where I put them.)

Or, even sweeter interpretation: They drew circle around their baby in the ultrasound pictures taken during pregnancy. Taylor’s baby in Karlie’s tummy. That’s the most adorable mental picture ever.

I haven't come around in so long

But I'm coming back so strong

Remember Karlie at the reputation tour? That was after kissgate and love blackout. So many people were saying they hated each other then. And so many people mocked her for coming to the Eras Tour. How strong is she that she refused to let anything stop her from coming to support Taylor? Not the public opinions, nor recent childbirth can stop this mother.

So when I touch down

The continuation of Call It What You Want: My baby’s fly like a jet stream

Call the amateurs

I’m biased and think this line is about Swifties who chased Easter Eggs but couldn’t see Karlie embed into the heart and soul of Taylor’s songs.

And cut 'em from the team

bridges burn, I never learned

Ditch the clowns, get the crown

All the jokers dressing up as king

Baby I'm the one to beat

This is so cute. Taylor wrote from Karlie’s perspective here and really said Karlie KNOWS with absolute certainty that she is the King of My Heart.

Cause the sign on your heart

Said it's still reserved for me

Again with the ‘Karlie knows I am in love with her so utterly and completely, always

Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

And the sweetest thing about this being from Karlie’s pov is that, she already made damn sure Taylor knows, that Karlie doesn’t blame her at all for the bearding/fake love for the crowd. That’s how Taylor gets the confidence to write this whole song in such a way that could be attributed to the guy on the chief. He’s not the real muse, like the alchemy that doesn’t make real gold.

Hey you, what if I told you we're cool?

That child's play back in school

Is forgiven under my rule

This is Karlie at the Eras Tour responding to Taylor’s inability to hide how smitten she was for Karlie, especially during ‘betty’ performance. James is down bad.

I haven't come around in so long

But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

Again a reiteration of Karlie showing up to support Taylor at her concerts since 1989 to reputation tour, and now The Eras Tour. It’s as reassuring as the repeating chorus. But do you know what changes? The two lines about giving birth to IVF baby that she opens and closes the song with. In the beginning, there’s only one leading vocal. At the end, there are two vocals in harmonies. Like how Taylor and Karlie have transitioned from being moms of one kid to two kids. And they’ve been so in love through it all.

These blokes warm the benches

We been on a winning streak

Once again with the reassurance. Karlie made sure that Taylor knows no matter how much bearding they have to do, the love they have for each other never wanes.

Shirts off,

The many outfits change Taylor does in every concert.

and your friends lift you up over their heads

I Did Something Bad Choreography: Go ahead and light me up.

Beer sticking to the floor

Shout out to swifties drunk on alcohol AND fun during the concert

Cheers chanted,

ONE, TWO, THREE, LET’S GO BITCH among many others

‘cause they said

There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league

Again, with reference to reputation era and how Taylor was not the mass media’s favorite at all, at the time.

Where's the trophy?

Not Taylor calling herself Karlie’s trophy wife. HAHAHAHAHAHAHSJK

He just comes running over to me

James is still just as down bad for Betty now as ever.

Thank god for Travis’s team winning, otherwise this sweetest song would’ve been scrapped for being too obviously not about him.

[it-happened-one-fic]

A Little Crazy - Childe

Author Notes: Yet another fic that teaches why one should be careful about what they listen to while writing. This fic is set in Fontaine because I am having fun exploring the new nation. I was listening to "Don't Blame Me" by Taylor Swift while writing this and that most certainly bled into the fic. As per usual, Reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff with a touch of angst/ romantic

Word count: 1838

Trigger Warning: Mentions of violence against treasure hoarders/ Reader is briefly held hostage but there is very little detail (again, treasure hoarders)

Childe knew better than to go and get attached to people in other countries. He was only in Fontaine to handle some issues relating to the Northland bank. 

It was true that he made friends most everywhere he went, but that was as far as he would let it go. He was a member of the Fatui, and at the end of the day, he was only in the land of justice on business.

But even with that rule that he typically held sacred, Childe didn’t think he could’ve ever been prepared for the absolute storm that was you. And it wasn’t even that you were innately devastating in how you behaved. You weren’t someone who threw yourself into dangerous situations, nor were you some sort of individual built solely for seducing those that might be useful to you.

No, you were just perfectly tailored to destroy Childe and make it so that he broke almost every rule in his book. 

Most people were wary of Fatui, and you had been as well to start with. But he’d whittled away at you, simply intending to make friends just to make life in Fontaine easier. And in doing so, he’d lost control and slipped in a little too deep as you warmed to him. 

You were genuinely kind and trusting, laughing good-naturedly at his jokes, shaking your head at his light-hearted flirting, and honestly accepting him. You knew perfectly well that he enjoyed a fight. You’d witnessed some of his duels, but you didn’t judge. You’d just shrugged and declared, “Different strokes for different folks,” and that was that.

And that nonchalant acceptance, paired with genuine kindness and a willingness to not judge him solely as a member of the Fatui, was probably what had done Childe in.

Because it was true, Childe had flirted around in the past. A good number of his coworkers had frowned upon such behavior, but if they could see him now, he knew they would all be saying that he’d at long last gone too far this time.

And he had. What he felt for you wasn’t mere attraction, and you were more than just a friend. No, he’d stepped over the line this time and fallen in love.

The worst part of it all was that he hadn’t even realized that was the case until today.

It had started as a fairly normal day during which he was going to spar against one of Fontaine’s champion duelists. He’d slipped into the street you worked on with a wide smile. Fully prepared to invite you along and brag about his upcoming victory, only to find some of your coworkers speaking in hushed tones about how horrible it all was.

Fontaine people were typically theatrical so to see such genuine, hushed horror was odd. It had caught the ginger-haired Harbinger’s attention immediately and had him heading over to see what it was all about.

And then he’d heard your name.

It was then that something within him had snapped, and he’d been staring down your coworkers, who looked up at him in raw fear. The usually cheerful and charming Childe was gone and replaced by someone who actually befitted the terrifying title of ‘Harbinger of Snezhnaya.’

He’d only had to ask once to learn that you’d been out with your coworkers on some sort of business when you’d been attacked. The treasure hoarders had knocked you out and given your coworkers a threat.

Pay up, or you were never going to be seen on Fontaine’s ever-clean streets again.

Childe’s hands had flexed at his sides as your friends had rambled on about how they’d already informed officials and you were being searched for but that there had been a warning that it would be difficult. 

The mecha didn’t work well in all areas of Fontaine’s rolling countryside. They would do what they could, but you were still very much in danger.

Childe barely had the patience to wait for the location of where you’d been taken before he’d turned on his heel and taken off. His red scarf swaying behind him like a trail of blood as he walked purposefully towards the wilds of Fontaine.

Childe’s eyes were often a flat blue, but any who drifted too close to the Harbinger in this moment would be greeted with a chill that rivaled the hoarfrost of Snezhnaya. Some might even say that one could feel the crackle of electricity around him, but Childe himself couldn’t say. He didn’t have anything on his mind except finding you and those treasure hoarders.

And find them he did. It hadn’t been hard. Most groups like treasure hoarders thought the same way, and Childe was used to finding others who didn’t necessarily want to be found. The life of a Harbinger had taught him a great many skills. Hunting was only one of them.

He hesitated before attacking, though. Instead looking for your form amongst the hoarder’s numbers, and when he did spot you, he felt every muscle within his body freeze.

You were only just coming to. Blinking blearily before your eyes shot open ,and you were scrambling to sit up as you looked around. 

But Childe did not see fear take over; instead, he saw something harden in your gaze as you looked around. Seemingly realizing your situation very quickly, even as one of the men walked over.

You were grasped roughly by your chin and forced to look up at him, and for a second, fear flashed through your wide eyes as the man began to speak. No doubt, explaining your situation.

Childe’s hands clenched once more as he crouched just a little bit lower as the man pulled you roughly to your feet. Evidently displeased with something you said. You wriggled slightly, unable to free your bound wrist, before you were thrown harshly to the ground.

And that was enough. That was all it took for Childe to feel that snapping sensation again before he dove out from his cover.

There were astonished shouts all around as he appeared in the treasure hoarders midst before cursed words were shouted.

“Must be the officials! Get ready, boys!” The man who’d grabbed you yelled as he turned to face Childe.

Behind him, Childe could see you setting up again. Your eyes widening once more as you registered the Harbinger’s presence. And for a brief second, Childe was relieved until he noted the smudged red on your temple.

Electricity flickered to life in his gloved hands as a spear formed, a hollow grin appearing on Childe’s face as his cold gaze flickered towards the men that faced him.

“Officials? Oh no,” His voice was a low, menacing tone. Causing the treasure hoarders to pause even as he continued, “I’m far worse than that. Because there are no rules here that will keep me from making sure you live just long enough to regret even laying eyes on them.”

 The spear in his hands twirled, light as could be, as he entered a fighting stance. That grin still on his face, “I can’t promise anything after that, though.” 

With only those words, he dashed forward, swirling like a tempest among these new foes. And they were in no way prepared for the absolute devastation he wrecked on them. In his wake, there was only chaos and defeated enemies. 

He hadn’t known how far he was willing to go for you, but it hardly seemed like this was the limit. After all, Childe was a person who loved the thrill of a fight, but that was hardly the purpose of his aggression here.

It was clear, however, that he had indeed gone too far in falling for you. Because even if he was largely harmless towards you, Childe knew he was these treasure hoarders worst nightmare come to life.

And Childe also realized he didn’t care if he got hurt right now. No, he whirled about, heedless of the bleeding scratches on his face where the treasure hoarders had gotten a few lucky strikes. This wasn’t a fight for the sake of thrills or to strengthen himself. This was a fight purely to wreak havoc on the people who’d threatened you.

It wasn’t until all of the treasure hoarders fled or fallen that Childe wondered exactly what he’d looked like just then. No doubt like a complete psychopath. Childe always enjoyed a fight, but there was something about that moment where he’d completely lost himself merely at the sight of blood on your person.

And as he turned to look at where you stared up at him, he could practically feel his gaze soften. Wondering, even as he knelt before you and his weapons disappeared from existence, if you were frightened of him now. 

“Are you hurt?” Your only answer to his soft words was to shake your head slowly. Either unaware of the injury to your head or uncaring. Childe didn’t know which it was, but all he felt was regret as he took in your frozen form. 

Reaching over, he unbound your wrists easily. Murmuring even as he slipped the ropes from your scraped wrists, “Don’t blame me, Solnyshko.”

You were silent for a brief moment, and Childe found he couldn’t quite look you in the eye. Almost like he was afraid of what he might see there.

He felt one of your hands grasp his sleeve, almost as if you were attempting to confirm his presence before you spoke. 

Your voice was painfully soft, and somehow it gave him the courage he needed to face you. Only to see you looking at him with an expression akin to worry as you spoke, “I don't... But you should’ve been more careful.”

You were frowning, eyes trained on the scratch on his cheek that he could feel was slowly oozing blood, “You got hurt.”

It was enough to pull a startled but relieved laugh out of him. The ridiculousness of the fact that you were worried about him in a situation like this. You were the one who’d been kidnapped, not him. But he couldn’t bring himself to fear much of anything outside of relief as he gazed at you.

 Your expression was one of surprise as Childe found himself cupping your face gently and shaking his head as he spoke, “Careless of me… I must have gone a little crazy when I saw what was going on.”

He watched you silently, relief continuing to flood his person as he eyed you. Completely lucid despite your head injury and blessedly unafraid of him as you gazed back at him. Worry rather than fear in your eyes.

His hand slid back so that he was cupping your head as he pulled you just a little bit closer, causing your eyes to widen again before he spoke again. His voice even more hushed than it had been before as he surrendered to his own feelings, “But love does make us a little crazy… If it doesn't, you haven’t done it right.”

*Solnyshko is the transliteration of Солнышко which means “Sun” according to Google Translate

[flwersgarden]

͟͞= ˚⁎⁺˳don't blame me. ⋆ ˖ ݁ .

pairings : yandere!austin!elvis presley x female reader.

summary : two years has passed and elvis hasn't forgotten you.

includes : yandere themes (obsessive behavior, delusional thoughts).

author's note : i'm quite excited by this one because it's the first 'part two' i do and i don't know if i should turn this into a series ??? but thank you so much for the interactions in the first part, i'll be forever grateful ♡ okay enough, hope y'all enjoy.

part one. part three. part four. part five.

remember!! i don’t condone this type of behavior in real life, this is purely fictional. pls let me know if warnings need to be updated or added.

elvis returned from germany. he was a changed person, in many ways.

his mother passed away and that almost made him fall. but then, the colonel talked some sense back to him.

“ well, what about that girl you visited, hm? ” that made elvis stop sniffing, his neck almost hurting from how fast he looked at the colonel.

“ what about her? ” elvis muttered, his hands still grabbing his mother's clothes as they were holding him steady.

“ will she like to see you like this? ”

elvis thought about it.

his mind filled with that time he visited you, or what he would like to call it; your father didn't gave him time for an explanation and neither your mother. the only thing he could tell you before your father could shoot him, holding your hands in his, was:

“ i'll come back for you, wait for me, please. ” and that's the last thing he said before taking off. you opened your right hand, finding your heart necklace and by opening it, you saw it was intact; a little smile showed in your lips.

“ no, she wouldn't like to. ” the colonel nodded at elvis' answer. “ but, what am i supposed to do... ” he whispered, hiding his face in the clothes.

“ be brave. and strong. ”

and he did just that.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️₊ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ₊

“ honey, a letter arrived for you! ” your mother screamed while looking through the mail, your father giving a huff as he was sleeping before the scream woke him up; even though he returned to his activity, the newspaper he was reading almost falling off his lap.

“ coming! ” you screamed back, fixing the last buttons in your dress before walking down the stairs.

“ here, i need to finish your breakfast. ” she gave you all the mail, not bothering to check which one was yours.

you sat on the living room couch, reading through the few letters before finding the one that was directed to you. opening it carefully you were surprised at how soft the paper felt, 'it's clearly expensive' you thought.

while you were reading it your heart gave a full on spin inside you, eyes widening when you noticed who sent it.

“ darling? ”

you jumped in your seat, your mother looking at you with a worried gaze. “ are you okay? ”

you smiled, leaving the remaining mail in the little table at the center of the room, standing up.

“ yeah, it's just... a letter from, y'know, the friend i told you that went to college. ”

“ oh yeah! ” with your mother attitude brighten up, you could feel the air in your lungs again. “ such a sweet girl that one. ” she muttered before leaving to the dining room, now finishing your father's breakfast.

while your mother still talked about how nice the girl seemed and how you should follow her steps, you read the phone number at the bottom of the letter which was next to the extravagant elvis presley signature.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️₊ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ₊

after your parents went to bed, you grabbed the phone in your room, standing up to stand next to it so you didn't made any noise.

dialing the number you took some deep breaths, closing your eyes as the overwhelming feeling took over you once again.

“ elvis presley's room. ” a gruff voice sounded in the other line of the call, making you open your eyes.

“ hi! ” your hand flew to your mouth, scolding yourself. “ i mean, hi. it's, uh, y/n, i got a letter today with this number at the end of it? ” you softly asked, trying not to make too much noise.

you could hear some movements, like sheets being moved around and the click of a door before the other person answered.

“ y/n... it's elvis. ” you smiled before shaking your head.

“ hi... again. ” you chuckled like he did too. “ um, i received your letter and i was- i am, a little bit confused on what you meant. ”

“ uh, well. i thought i made it clear. ” he muttered the last part to himself. “ i want you to come to this, uh, special thing i'm going to do. ”

“ no, yeah, i got that but- sorry, it's late and i can't explain myself, gosh. ” elvis chuckled, making you feel a little bit relaxed. “ i meant, the last part. the Graceland thing? ”

“ oh. well, i want you to move in. ”

a moment of silence.

“ uh, but... why? i mean, thank you? but we barely know each other and-. ”

“ don't you like me, y/n? ” he suddenly asked, making you shut up as you processed what he asked you.

“ i like you, elvis. ”

“ then why are you trying to say no? ”

“ well, i-. ” you interrupted yourself, your gaze landing in the floor, realizing you didn't knew exactly why.

“ if it's for your family they can come too, hell, i don't care if your dad wants to shoot me again. ”

you smiled at his joke, shaking your head before you realized he couldn't see you.

“ no, it's not that, it's just... i don't know. ” you whispered, messing with the phone cord, feeling like you were going to pass out.

“ how about this. you come to my special and we can talk about Graceland, hm? ”

you were confused, you didn't know what to say but as if your mouth was in autopilot you said:

“ yeah. okay. ”

“ great. i'll send a car and everything, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about anything, you hear me? i already miss you. ”

“ ha, yeah. um, good night. ”

“ good night, honey. ”

and just like that, the call ended with you standing there with a fuzzy mind and with a happy elvis on the other side.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️₊ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ₊

lying to your mother always left you with anxiety later on the day, it wasn't easy. but i don't know what does god owes elvis presley because it was easy for you to lie to her.

telling her you were going to visit the friend that sent you the letter, having some 'take care' and 'goodbye' from both of your parents.

now in the car, on the way to elvis' special, you thought of the phone call from last night. you still couldn't understand why he wanted you in Graceland, why did he wanted you in his special- why did he wanted you in his life?

you only saw him when he was performing and you bet a million dollars he flirted with girls at every show of his, so why you? what made you special?

“ we've arrived. ” a buff man sitting next to the driver said to you, getting out of the car and opening the door for you to get out.

you were outside some big studio, you couldn't read the big sign; your mind foggy from the ride and the phone call you remembered, opting for just saying a quick thank you to the man and walking next to him, entering the building.

everyone was doing something, some people were fixing the stage, some of them were walking with some big costumes in their arms, few ones were laughing and chatting while they waited for their cue.

“ over here, please. ” you turned to the sound of the voice, noticing the same man was opening the door to some kind of hallway.

after a few more minutes of walking, you arrived to the final door.

the man knocked three times, taking a step back.

who opened was the same man that you saw at elvis' show that night.

“ ah, just who we were waiting for! so glad you could make it, my dear. ” he talked with a strong accent, you stayed silent. “ i'm colonel parker, elvis confident and manager. ” he laughed a bit as if what he said was a joke. “ you must be miss y/n. ”

“ y-yes. ” you smiled, shaking the hand he was offering you.

“ well! i will leave you to it. hope you can make him understand some things while you're at it. ” he moved to your side, looking at you with a complicit look. “ tell him to do what i tell him to do. ” he nodded, walking away with the man that escorted you there.

after seconds of standing there, you just entered the room, closing the door behind you.

“ uh, hello? ” you asked, looking around until your gaze fell to some curtains that were moving.

“ y/n? ” elvis asked as he opened the curtain, walking out with just a robe.

“ oh, uh, uhm. ” you focused your attention on the tv next to you, gulping as he just chuckled.

“ sorry... wasn't expecting you so early. ” he apologized, walking closer to you so he could see you better.

“ no, it's fine- sorry. ” you whispered, looking up at him, your hands trembling.

“ i'm really glad you could make it, sweetheart. ” he softly said, his hand grabbing yours.

“ um, yeah. ”

you started to feel uneasy, grimacing when his thumb caressed your hand, taking a step back before talking again.

“ well, i-. can we talk about... the Graceland... thing? ” you asked, feeling a bit calmer when he sat down, still standing up.

“ yeah, sure, but i have ten minutes before changing and going out. ”

“ i don't like the idea. ” you blurted out.

a moment passed, the only sound is the tv playing in the background; some news that neither of you payed attention to.

“ what do you mean you don't like the idea? ” his tone sounded harsh.

“ we don't know each other and you are this big star and- and i am... me! ”

your hands were shaking, elvis gaze on you made you feel scared. if you could tell your past yourself to prepare this conversation, you'd do it.

“ and? ” was the only thing he asked.

blinking a few times, you answered. “ nothing more. ” and it was the truth, you didn't had anything else than that. why would elvis presley, from all people, want you?

“ oh, baby... ” he whispered, standing up again and the fear in your body made your senses high. “ you're... for me. ” he said as if it was the most simple thing, the most logical explanation to it. “ no one else could have the power you have on me. you could tell me to leave all of this, ” he moved his hands around the room. “ and i would. in a heartbeat. ”

your gaze was glued to his, your hands fidgeting with the belt in your dress, your lips forming a slight pout.

“ do you want me to? ” he asked.

“ no! ” you quickly answered. now you felt confused, again. something you feel like every time he sweet talks his way in. “ elvis, i don't think you understand. ”

“ i understand perfectly. ” he grabbed your hands, kissing your knuckles with a gleeful smile. “ and i will act, darling, i promise you that. ”

just as you were about to ask what did he mean by that, the colonel knocked after opening the door.

“ my boy, you're on five. ”

elvis just nodded, glaring at him as the colonel almost rolled his eyes before closing the door.

“ sorry to cut this short, baby but i have to go. ”

you just nodded, your hands cold as his warm ones left them, standing still as if you were frozen.

“ hope i see you in the crowd. ” he whispered close to your ears, closing the curtain behind him. leaving you to your thoughts.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️₊ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ₊

the colonel guided you to some kind of studio cabin, sitting next to some other people.

you saw the first part of the special, smiling unconsciously as you saw how happy he was to perform again. but, apparently, you were the only one about it.

some men started reclaiming the christmas special that was promised, the colonel trying to defend himself (not elvis) in the topic, leaving you alone in there for a moment before the colonel came back, sitting next to you.

“ after everything i do for him... he doesn't listen. ” he grumbled, his cane between his legs. “ but you did nothing than flutter your eyelashes and you have him wrapped around your finger. ”

shocked at how his anger was now directed at you.

“ e-excuse me? i.. don't understand what do i have to do with this- ”

“ please, everyone says that. ” he stood up, with the help of his cane, starting to walk out.

you just looked at your lap, speechless at how he suddenly acted as if you ordered elvis to do this.

“ ask him about priscilla. ” he said before walking out.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️₊ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ * ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ ₊ . ˖ ৎ୭ ॱ₊

elvis called for you so you went back to his dressing room, you were just a wreck; the colonel just blamed you about that fiasco between him and his contract with some important people or something, elvis didn't talked to you the whole time you were there...

and you were hungry.

“ sorry, sweetheart. ”

you perked up at his voice, glad that you could finally talk with him.

“ it's fine, i just want to talk. ”

“ great, we'll do that back in my room. ” he said while grabbing some of his stuff.

“ no, elvis, i want to go home. ”

“... okay, thought it would need some more talk about that but sure, we can go to Graceland-. ” he talked while moving his hand, like he usually did.

“ my home, elvis. ”

and that was it.

“ how many times are we going to have this conversation? ” his harsh tone was back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“ wh- what are you talking about? i told you i don't want to-. ”

“ AND I TOLD YOU I WILL DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! ”

you jumped back, grabbing the chair behind you as support.

“ you will come with me to Graceland and that's final. stop being a brat. ” he put his glasses on, starting to walk out of the room.

“ who's priscilla? ” you asked, loud enough for him to hear. and he did hear it.

“ what? ” he asked, turning back to look at you.

“ who's priscilla. ”

“ who told you that name? ”

you stayed silent.

“ y/n. answer me. ”

“ the colonel. ” you were scared. so scared. you want to go home.

you could feel the rage growing inside elvis, his hands started shaking, his jaw clenched, his hair was out of place and his feet was tapping the floor.

“ the colonel. ” he, weirdly, softly said.

elvis walked in front of you, making you flinch, tears brimming your eyes.

“ don't listen to him, baby, please. ” he cupped your cheeks with his hands, his glasses didn't allow you to see his eyes and for some reason that made you scared. “ he is a liar. ”

“ elvis... who-? ” your mind told you to ask. ask about that person. you have to know.

“ she is no one. ” oh, so is a she.

“ oh my god. ” you shook your head, trying to break free from his grip. “ is she your girlfriend or something? ”

“ she is no one, i swear. ”

“ elvis. ” you harshly said. “ i don't want to break anyone's heart- ”

“ you're breaking mine. ”

“ stop. i don't want anything with you, stop it. ”

elvis took a step back as if you shot him.

“ y-you... you said you liked me. ”

“ as a friend ! stop trying to turn my words upside down, stop it! ”

he moved his hand as if he was dismissing you.

“ 'm doing nothin'. ”

you only closed your eyes. wake up. wake up from whatever nightmare you're having right now. wake up. wake up. wake up. wake u-.

“ baby, please, believe me. ”

you opened your eyes, seeing him in his knees in front of you.

“ i love you and only you. ” did he just-.

you gasped, trying to walk back and get out of here but he grabbed your dress with his hand, burying his head in your stomach.

“ don't leave me, please. ”

“ elvis, please-. ”

“ don't leave, i'll do anything! ” he said louder than before.

“ no, elvis, listen-. ”

“ DON'T LEAVE. ” he screamed so hard even your ears hurted, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“ i won't! i won't, i won't... ” you whispered crouching down to his level, hugging him.

you closed your eyes, this level of fear making you almost throw up, missing the triumphant smile elvis had on the other side of the hug.

he finally got what he deserved after so many years of being brave and strong. you.

[starscrimbly]

Percy jackson show has consumed my mind as of recently and i have been given severe brain rot. So before my brain explodes here’s my PJO playlist and the lines/characters that got me to put each song there in the first place

- seven by Taylor Swift

- Annabeth & Percy w/ Grover

- “I’ve been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted”

- The Family Jewels by MARINA

- All the Demigods really but specifically Piper and her attitude towards Drew

- “Did I beat you at your own game? typical of me to put us all to shame”

- Brutus by the Buttress

- Luke and his relationship with Hermes

- “And as I set to face it, I’m unsure should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?”

- Also Clarisse (I will never be my fathers favorite son) La Rue and how she first feels about Percy

- “Whats more wrong; that I too wish to be great or my mother (father) wished she’d had a son?”

- Not Strong Enough by boygenius

- LITERALLY EVERY DEMIGOD EVER

- “Always an angel, never a god.”

- Percy & his speech that was like every undiagnosed autistic kids 3 am thoughts

- “I don’t know why I am the way I am”

- Soldier, Poet, King by the Oh Hellos

- Annabeth, Grover, Percy

- do i even need to explain, the whole song literally

- The Archer by Taylor Swift

- Thalia (she is THE ARCHER)

- “I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the prey. Who could ever leave me darling, and who could stay?”

- this is me trying by Taylor Swift

- Annabeth: directed at her mother

- “I was so ahead of the curve that the curve became a sphere… I just wanted you to know this is me trying.”

- Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

- Clarisse and Silena as an Achilles & Patroclus parallel

- “The self is not so weightless nor whole and unbroken… so jump and I’m jumping since there is no me without you.”

- I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski

- Percy with every demigod ever :( (Ethan, Luke, Zoe, Bianca, Silena, Charles…)

- “I bet on losing, I know they’re losing and I pay for my place by the ring… I’m losing by their side”

- Class of 2013 by Mitski

- Annabeth

- “And I’ll leave once I figure out how to pay for my own life too, Mom, would you wash my back this once, and then we can forget...”

- Last words of a Shooting Star

- Zoe (I can see the stars m’lady)

- “And you’d say you love me and look in my eyes but I know through mine you were looking in yours… I am relieved I left my room tidy goodbye”

- Wasted Summer by juju

- Annabeth and her relationship with Luke

- “I wasted like half of my summer(s) tryna hold on your hand you’re the leech I’m the man I guess you don’t understand”

- Bite the Hand by boygenius

- The campers to their godly parents

- “Maybe I’m afraid of you I’ll bite the hand that feeds me, bite the hand, I’ll bite the hand that needs me”

- Vampire Empire (demo version) by big thief

- Annabeth & Athena (also her dad) but also like every demigod and their parent

- “You turn me inside out then you want me outside in you spin me all around and then you ask me not to spin”

- Cool About it by boygenius

- Nico with Percy post crush reveal

- “I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning, tellin you it’s nice to see how good your doing even though we know it isn’t true”

- Letter to an Old Poet by boygenius

- Annabeth & Thalia towards Luke

- “You’re not special you’re evil, you don’t get to tell me to calm down.”

- Come Over Again by Crawlers

- Annabeth with Luke when talking about Thalia

- “Take her name out of your mouth you don’t deserve to mourn.”

- Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski

- Annabeth with Athena (disregard the romance)

- “I don’t blame you if you want to bury me in your memory I’m not the girl I ought to be”

- First Love/Late Spring

- Annabeth and Percy

- “And I was so young when I behaved 25 and now I find I’ve grown into a tall child.”

- Eat your Young by Hozier

- The Gods constantly sending their kids into hopeless situations and not caring

- “Seven new ways you can eat your young, come and get some, skinnin’ the children for a war drum.”

- Inkpot Gods by The Amazing Devil

- ANNABETH AND PERCY

- Percy: “Please, let her live just one more day cause she is so much more than all her scars… I’ll stay, because I will be the man my father never was”

- Annabeth: “Please rest assured that you might not fear a man, but to a woman, by the end, you’ll kneel and plea. Cause I’m more than what my mum told me to be”

- I Know the End by Phoebe Bridgers

- Percy, Annabeth and Grover: specifically the lightning bolt quest

- “Let the ultraviolet cover me up, whent lookiung for a creation myth… slot machines, fear of god, windows down, heater on, big bolts of lightning hanging low”

- Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives

- Hermes and Luke

- Luke: “On some level I think I understood, that a ship could never really love an anchor, so I did the only thing that I could and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor.”

- Hermes: “And you'll never see the reasons I had, for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you, I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel… wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes?”

[thelittlepalmtree]

Hey y'all, expecting Jewish folks to speak out against Israeli occupation has the same energy as expecting Arab folks to condemn 9/11. Let me give you some examples of when it is and isn't appropriate:

Antony Blinken: US Secretary of state. Has Jewish ancestors. He is one of the main people in our government in charge of policy. Not only should he be asked about the conflict he is a person who can make change and has power. He is also expected to have a competent knowledge of the situation, history, and current data. He should be questioned and criticized. However, there should not be the underlying assumption of Zionism due to his heritage. He has actually been more supportive of Human rights in Gaza than Biden has.

Gal Gadot: Gal Gadot served in the IDF and currently lives in Israel. She has posted multiple times in support of Israeli occupation. Her Instagram is currently chock full of pro-Israel posts. It is completely fair to question her stance on the Palestinian lives lost because she is actively discussing this conflict. Again, though, her status as Jewish should not mean that she is evil or inhuman. She should be evaluated on her statements not her heritage.

Natalie Portman: Made the movie Freezone about the issues between Israel and Palestine in a way that was very humanizing to both groups. She has an Israeli father and has spoken to the UN about the need for a peaceful solution. She supported Israel after the October 7 attacks but has been noticably silent since them. It is appropriate to question this silence and even criticize it, but it's not fair to paint her as a zionist who has never cared for Palestinians when she has been critical of Israel in the past.

Sarah J Maas: Jewish. Visited Israel once. Literally has not spoken about her experience in years. Has never made any comments about the occupation or Israeli policy. To be honest, probably doesn't know anything about it. There's absolutely no reason why anyone should go to her for any political opinion she is deeply unqualified to make any kind of statement. You shouldn't be asking her for one.

Taylor Swift: Not Jewish. Knows nothing about this. Is just rich and famous. We have no reason to believe she has any understanding of this conflict. Not only should she not be asked for a statement, it would be deeply irresponsible for her to give one as she is neither a stakeholder in the area nor an expert in its history.

Now if you're full of rage because you read this and you think you're somehow saving Palestinian lives by commenting on all of Taylor Swift's Instagram posts, let me give you another ego hit. I'm Egyptian. I am not a direct stakeholder, but obviously, Egypt has a long history with this conflict and currently borders Gaza. Not only that, the US government essentially provides money to Egyptian dictators that they use to imprison public critics in exchange for Israeli security. My family members in Egypt run the risk of imprisonment if they speak ill of the government and the US government facilitates this in order to protect Israel's apartheid state. So I do not make this post because I believe Israel to be good. I think that when we resort to antisemitism, we delegitimize our cause.

I understand that you are angry. I understand that it feels like Israel gets away with so much. That doesn't mean antisemitism is okay. Racism is still bad when it's in service of what you think is a just cause. Dehumanization is still bad when it's being done against people who dehumanize others. It is easy to blame random people you know who actually have zero power here. It is hard to accept the people who have the most power (Joe Biden and Benjamin Netanyahu) are unreachable because of their own horrible convictions. It is hard to accept we (Americans) have all accepted and contributed to a system in which the majority of us are powerless. It is hard to accept your own powerlessness. But that is what you must do.

You cannot do anything but bear witness.

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 7 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, angst, profanity, everyone cries, mentions of sex, mommy and daddy issues (the reader has both), the mcs don’t hear each other and are unable of normal communication, both Chan and the reader are mentally unstable and have major trust issues, typos, a slight Taylor Swift reference (yes, again). Mind you, these two are grown adults, who are unwilling to find a compromise and communicate, putting the blame onto each other. No one is right and no one is wrong (kind of). What I wanted to say is that this is a description of an unhealthy relationship and it’s bad for both of them (but more for the reader) ok tnx for coming to my ted talk

Author’s note: this is the shortest part so far, cause I felt like this chapter should only revolve around the main conflict. This is a breaking point for both of the characters, so tell me what you think of it so far!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 6 | Part 8

“What? Why would you say that?”

With your back facing him, you swore you could see the atrociously saddening expression he wore on his face. That was heartbreaking, wasn’t it? Harsh words barked at him so abruptly he couldn’t even fathom them, unexpected, right, Chan? It’s not like he had done something similar, yeah?

“You fucked it up, that’s why”, ouch.

To Chris, it seemed as if he was seeing a completely different person, not you, not the you he was so used to. The caring you, the you that was smiling and asking him about his day, the girl that would hold him tight whenever he felt bad. He’d never heard you say things like that, things that would actually hurt him. But wasn’t he the first to shove his thunderous inability to demonstrate human emotions down your throat?

“I know”. His wobbly voice made your turn around to face him yet again. Glistening cheeks, arms crossed at his chest, wrapped in an unsuccessful attempt to hug himself. You hated seeing him like that, knowing you were the reason he was audibly sobbing. “I know I fucked up”, Chris muttered through his cries, “I know I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I don’t-”, he took a breath only to let out a heavy sign, resulting in another weep.

He stood there, right in front of you, silently begging to take a step further. And his figure, once of a confident man and now so small, shoulders shaking while he was wiping the running tears. His collarbone glistened too; and you could only hold back the upcoming tears, nails digging in the palms of your hands. You’d rather bleed than show him it affected you as well as it did him. But you’d rather die than admit it.

You slightly moved — automatically almost, the urge to pull him in and never let go clouding your head for a moment. You’d cry together, and then the two of you would reconcile. That’s what you wanted, right?

You stopped amid your movements, hand still reaching out to him. You wanted him for so long and when you finally had the chance to be together, he washed it down the drain.

“Why did you tell me all that, then? If you’re so sorry”.

His eyes darted to your face; you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to alleviate the lump in your throat. Chan looked defeated — eyes puffy, blood vessels in his eyes had burst making even the apples of them red; and his whole face, you saw, you fucking saw it, slightly lit up when he looked at you. Unbelievable, the thought ran through your head, how could I make Chan cry? Am I the heartless piece of shit in this scenario?

“I thought”, he stammered, “I thought it’d, uh… It’d be better for both of us”. You scanned him as if he were a criminal you were interrogating. “I’m a mess, every, uh, every girl I’m with… I always lose interest when they… When they fall in love with me, and I didn’t…” He stopped to take a breath. “I didn’t want the same… The same happening to you”.

His last words came out as a whisper, but you heard him. Loud and clear.

“I lo-“ He gulped. “I value our relationship too much to… To let it go too far and then, uh”, Chan rubbed his eyes nervously; every word seemed to come out with a lot of force. “I didn’t want our relationship to get too far and then dump you, ‘cause I fell out of love. I just didn’t want that”.

Now you were gawking at him. The tears you were suppressing so much appeared to cautiously creep up your eyes, breaking every barrier in their way. However… You couldn’t allow yourself to give in the most desirable emotions at the moment for one specific reason. And that reason was,

“What the fuck did you just say?” You almost barked.

The tone of his voice turned calmer for some reason, “I didn’t want to break your heart if it went too far”.

“That’s exactly what you fucking did!” You bawled, tears spilling from your eyes. “It went too far, are you kidding me with that “if” shit? Or”, you kept on spouting, “is having sex with your best friend a ‘norm’ to you? A daily routine?”

Chan took a step further, but you put a hand in front of you, signaling him not to even try. “I get it. Just calm down for a sec”.

Yeah, you knew you were being too loud for 2 o’clock in the morning or whatever the time was. You knew, but you didn’t care. His neighbors might as well call the police, you really couldn’t care less. You couldn’t hold back the wrath growing inside of you; it was unbearable to eat his words up and keep on going. It wasn’t possible anymore.

“Don’t fucking calm me down!” Blaring, you looked at him in awe. “What do you get? That you let this come too far, and then what? Bolted, ‘cause you’re incapable of being a decent human being?”

Chan sighed. “I didn’t bolt. I wanted to, uh… Minimize the damage. To make it less painful. I didn’t want to hurt you, ever”.

“But you fucking did!”

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me ‘baby’!” You raged. “Look at what you’ve made out of me, Chan! You hurt me, you caused me so much pain that I don’t think it can be fixed!”

Before that, before another set of his absolutely moronic confessions, Chan looked defeated because you were leaving him with no reasoning. Now he looked defeated as you spat all of the suppressed, unsaid emotions at him. He deserved to know. Bang Chan wasn’t the only person who could be brutally honest while loving the other. Allegedly loving, in his case, you thought.

“Every moment”, you wept, “every time you’d leave me, I’d cry myself to sleep ‘cause I knew you’d never, ever love me back. But then”, you chuckled, “I find out you actually have been in love with me this whole time, and the next thing you do? Throw me away”. You put the hands on the hips, head thrown back to prevent more tears from falling.

“I didn’t need your confession, I didn’t need nothing”, you resumed. “I just wanted, ugh… I just wanted, I thought my best friend would at least talk to me instead of crushing my heart”, and self-esteem. That one was wreaked as well.

“Oh, not you bringing up the ‘talk’ thing”. Did you mishear it, or was the tone of his voice quipped?

“What?” You panted.

“You, asking me to talk?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, right. Like you’re the one to share your feelings when the time’s given”. His rant implied, no, it directly stated something. You knew what it was, but as soon as the words left his mouth, you desperately needed to hear them. As if… As if you craved a real reason to leave him. Something that would hurt you even more than his previous actions. And, goddamn, you anticipated what he had to say.

“You said it yourself, didn’t ya?” Chan leaned on the doorframe; as if he needed physical support for the next poisonous words he was going to spit. “You’re unable to express your emotions because it scares you. And you’re the one asking me to talk? Huh”, he huffed. You stood there, hands squeezed in fists, the pain of your long nails digging into the softness of your palms almost unnoticeable now.

“You told me, I remember that”, he kept on, as if he hadn’t said enough already. “You told me your worst fear was to be like your dad. But you know”, Chan moved further, the space between you only a few inches now, “you’re as emotionless as he is. Or at least, as emotionless as you painted him to me”.

The cocky look on his face, almost as he was enjoying the pain he had caused you. Your father might have been an insensitive bastard but you were not like him. Chan wasn’t wrong while saying it was hard for you to express emotions, but god, you did! You cried, you apologized, you complimented, you praised, you comforted. You were there for everyone with a mug of tea, warm hugs and cozy silence. Sure, it might seem like you were callous ‘cause you didn’t say many soothing words, and yeah, it was hard for you to express your feelings and show vulnerability, but never in a million years have you neglected any of your friends needs. Chan included, Chan, actually, atop of the list, always.

“Say something else if you’re trying to hurt me”, you blurted out even before thinking, “I’ve come to this conclusion on my own. Sorry I’m not the perfect girl straight out of your wet dreams”.

Chan let out a sigh of exasperation, hands on his hips. “You’re right, I’ve seen you…differently in my head. Guess I’ve been projecting this whole time”.

“You’re not the only one”. You took the backpack, which was now on the floor next to you, in your hands. “Could never imagine the guy I’d thought to be the best one”, you put the backpack on your shoulders, “could never imagine he’d compare me to his ex all the time”.

“And when’s that happened?” The irritated sound of his voice and the eye roll had awoken some primal desire to punch him in the face right then and there, but you kept on standing, almost froze in your place.

“Let me enlighten you”, you answered, “that when you say ‘My ex-girlfriend was so good at swimming’ to your current girlfriend, when she can’t swim, is not the greatest thing to say”.

“You were not my girlfriend”.

That’s not something you didn’t know; that’s what you’d settle in your head, clear enough to have it understood. But you never heard it from Chan. And having the words flown out of his mouth, so effortlessly and carelessly, got you physically restraining yourself from grabbing your chest, right where the heart was. ‘Cause there was a spike of pain that shot into your heart and chest, and it immediately faded into a throbbing ache, your heartbeat pulsating in your brain.

“And don’t get me started on exes”. He continued. “I’m not the one to pine over a boyfriend I broke up with years ago”.

“I-I d-don’t-“

“Yes, you do!” You flinched at the sudden raise of his voice. “You’re still wearing the fucking necklace he’s given you! Even now!” Chan took a deep breath. “You don’t wear the ring I gave you, you don’t treasure it as much as you do this, as much as you have this stupid necklace glued to your skin”.

A moment of silence between the two of you. You observed him, not recognizing the man at all. Some minutes ago you were in his bed, “I love you” whispered to you as he desperately wanted to show you it was true. But now… Seemed as if all he was trying to do was to push you even further away.

The realization dawned upon you like a heatwave. It was him, not you. He was so incapable of recognizing his own feelings that now you were the bad guy, the villain in his story. Oh god, you hoped you were. Otherwise, it’d turn out that the both of your were wrong, that both of you were the cowards who couldn’t admit their feelings and faults.

No, you could admit (some of) yours, though. You did wear the necklace with Yugyeom’s initials, however, not because you were waiting to get back with him, but for the same reason you wore the old rings of your mom’s: you liked the jewelry. There wasn’t much you could wear, as you preferred wearing the same things for years when it concerned jewelry. Goddamn it, you wore the earrings your school friend had given you on your seventeenth birthday just ‘cause they didn’t make your ears itch! It’s not like you were wearing them with a hope to reconcile a long-forgotten friendship, for god’s sake! And the ring Chan gave you? It was completely out of your personal style, not fitting any of your fingers, but what, you were supposed to tell him you didn’t like the gift he’d given? Were you supposed to throw the ring at him, saying it didn’t fit your ‘aesthetics’? For god’s sake, some men and their logic. Unbearable.

However, you weren’t willing to explain all that. Chan had already projected a possible outcome of this situation, and your interference wasn’t even necessary. No matter what you said or did, he’d find a way to blame everything on you.

“I think I got it”, you mumbled. Turning to the door to leave him for good this time, you couldn’t but point out the last thing. “D’you know what the worst part of all this?” His face didn’t give away any emotions except for extreme annoyance and anger. “I still love you, Chan. No matter what you say, I’ll still love you. ‘Cause you’re my best friend, and you always will be”.

The way you slammed the door might have demonstrated your level of rage, but you sprinted down the stairs, ignoring the elevator. Stopping at the stairwell between the fourth and third floor, just amid your way down, you gripped the railings while quietly sobbing with your eyes squeeze shut. Your phone vibrated shortly, announcing the Uber had already come, and at that same moment, you heard the loud noise up the stairs. He called out your name, simultaneously running down. Oh shit, oh no, no. You knew you’d yield to him the moment he begs for forgiveness, and you couldn’t, just couldn’t let yourself fall into that pit again. Nothing good would come out of it; so you didn’t need another second to stand and think as you scurried down the stairs, into the street, almost flying into the car. The driver seemed to read your energy; after checking your destination point, he quickly drove away.

Through the car window, as you were literally drifting away, you saw Chan run out, panting, watching the car leaving his apartment complex parking lot. You’d think about it being a scene straight out of a rom-com later. You’d overanalyze it with your therapist later. You’d cry at home in several minutes. It all would be later.

Now you stared at the early sunset through the window, as the driver steadily drove through the city. Your apartment complex was pretty far away from the central area near which Chris was living, so it took around thirty to forty minutes to get back home at night. Good. You’d watch the buildings, the trees, the parks, the rare people on the street. You’d listen to the soothing music the driver had put on and melt into it, ‘cause that music was better than Chan’s loud banging in your head.

Love is a losing game, your mother once told you. You weren’t sure if she was talking about your father or some other guy she’d lost in her younger years, but you’d listen to this advice now. You wish you could just ask the driver to change the destination, to get you to your parents’ house, so that your mom could comfort you while you’d be crying in her tight embrace. But that was Eunjoo’s mother, not yours; yours would scold you for coming that late, she would spat ‘I told you so’s’ at you, cursing you for ‘peddling’ yourself for sex, as she liked to state. She’d blame everything on you, berating you for crying, saying, “The damage’s done already, why are you crying now?” Shit, you wish your mom would let you sob in her arms and tell you she’s there with you. Holy shit, that’s the only thing you craved right now — just to be comforted by, what’s supposed to be, your closest person in the entire world.

But you were being driven home. To home where the only one to comfort you, besides your sweet cat, would be yourself. Maybe you should really call Eunjoo tomorrow. That’s too much to handle on your own; you couldn’t bear the thought of going through this alone. You needed someone to confide in, someone who wouldn’t put every action of yours under scrutiny, like your mother would.

So you texted Eunjoo, simultaneously setting the alarm to 7 A.M. You’d have around three hours to sleep, but maybe you’d nap tomorrow — it was Saturday after all.

Later. All of that later. Now it was just you and the view outside the car. You and the jungle of thoughts in your never resting mind.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara @whyyougottadothatbro

Fic masterlist <3

[earlgreytea68]

In this year of 2023, we had so much Fall Out Boy astonishing amazingness that it's been very easy for me to forget the one huge disappointment for me of 2023, which was the Taylor Swift song. Like, it's funny because for years I really wanted a Taylor Swift / FOB collab, so it's amazing that I got the song and it doesn't make my list of, like, top twenty FOB moments of the year, because there were so many unbelievable, incredible, stellar moments of the year, like, WHO WOULD HAVE IMAGINED, the band got put on an album released by the biggest star on the planet and I shrugged, who cares?

I listened to the song again this morning, because I was like, Maybe I was just in a bad mood when it came out. So I tried to be more objective about it. And here's the thing: It's a fine Taylor Swift song. It has absolutely nothing to do with Fall Out Boy and Patrick continues to sound absolutely unrecognizable on it and I continue to hate it for that reason hahahaha. And it's extra-sad to me because it kind of made me over Taylor Swift, which is too bad, because I loved Taylor Swift, and I should be like, "Oh, it's just one song, whatever." But, I'm sorry, it's obnoxious to me to say you're doing a song with Fall Out Boy and then make Patrick Stump sound like that. Like, that is just insulting, I've got to be honest. Just don't do the song with Fall Out Boy. That would have been fine. And the song has drums and guitars, but they are not played by Andy Hurley or Joe Trohman, so honestly, what even was the point???? I always wanted a Taylor Swift / FOB thing because she says she loves Pete Wentz's lyrics, so that's what I wanted: an actual collaboration. What I got instead was whatever that nonsense was, where Patrick had to sing lines with a straight face that were like, "I want you now," or whatever, and I was like, This from the person who admires Pete Wentz's lyrics?????

I don't blame her for it entirely, I think the production on the song is awful. The way Patrick is drowned out in the production is just atrocious. Even when he finally lets his voice loose a little tiny bit at the very end, he's so far in the background, dialed down so much underneath her, that you wouldn't even notice him if you weren't listening very hard for him (which I was). But at the same time, I feel like she does that sometimes to her collaborators, that Lana Del Rey is almost nonexistent on the original version of Snow on the Beach and Chris Stapleton is nowhere to be found on I Bet You Think About Me. But neither of those artists are my fave, so it bothered me less. But once it happened to Patrick and I was thinking about it, it made me think less about Taylor Swift, and then that annoyed me extra, because I used to really like her, and now I just feel...annoyed lol.

So I was thinking about this whole thing and I was like, There's a lesson in this, too, and the lesson is to be careful what you wish for. But then again, not so much, because I also wished for a new Fall Out Boy album and that turned out great. So I think the lesson really is:

Appreciate the things you love when they come around. Fall Out Boy released a new album and had an incredible year and I had a blast with all of it, and I am really, really appreciative of that. It could have not been the way it was for me, but it was perfect. It was literally perfect. I feel so lucky, so fortunate, and so grateful, and that's really what I'm taking out of 2023. And, in a way, having this one moment in the Fall Out Boy year that I hated highlights how extraordinary the rest of the year was. That contrast is useful and instructive. Luckily, I hated one song. But I loved every other moment, and I really noticed it. What a year.

And that's it, that's my final word on "Electric Touch" lol