#There was nothing wrong with him likeing Adam

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

༶•┈♛ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ♛┈•༶. (releasing when I hit 1,000 followers!!)

𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓・l.f.

🔪 — You can't fall in love with him, he can't fall in love with you—that would be apocalypse.

LEE FELIX was your new bodyguard, and you hated his guts. Growing up the Mafia's princess, daughter of the most ruthless mob boss in the world, you learned at a young age—all humans are expendable. Now you're 5,956 miles from home, landing in Seoul South Korea with your infuriatingly perfect bodyguard on a very important mission—locate and eliminate the man responsible for sending your father's worst criminals to prison. Nothing makes sense. Who is making so many ruthless criminals voluntarily confess all their transgressions? The more you and Felix dig into the past, the more you seem to expose. There’s so many gaps in the story, dark secrets to be uncovered, and betrayals to lament. Nothing is as it seems when you’re chasing a ghost. Will you be able to keep it together, seeing felix every day for the next year? There's so much that could go wrong.

♟️ — paring・felix x reader // genres・mafia!au, bodyguard!au, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, slow burn, found family, mystery!au, hurt and comfort, smut…maybe // words・ // warnings・fights, knives, guns, blood, kidnapping, violence, death, drunkenness, parental manipulation and abuse,

a/n・I struggled so much trying to write this fic. I certainly couldn't have done it without the lovely @jeonginsleftcheek who was my biggest supporter from the very beginning and all the way through when I had a mental breakdown, an existential crisis, a small writing hiatus, changed the plot, then changed it back, then changed it again, and changed it again but she helped me through it all. I truly cannot thank you enough for all your help. I hope I did it justice.

“𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

—Sade Andria Zabala.

You were so close, so close you could count every freckle sprinkled over his cheekbones, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

This was wrong.

Then, why can’t you pull away?

Felix tilts his head against the headboard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. His fingers twitch on your hips, “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t answer that yourself. It felt a little like falling, like you had just tripped over your shoelaces and now you’re suspended mid-air. What are you doing? You are feeling butterflies, swarms of them, fervently flapping their wings in your stomach, desperately trying to keep you upright. You are hanging onto his shoulders like they were your anchor. You are fighting warmth inside your chest, a seed planted so long ago, finally blooming.

It leaves you dizzy. So odd, so unnatural to feel such tenderness in a single touch, a single emotion. What is he doing to you?

You knew, secretly, you knew.

His hair was messy and tousled, a stray lock falling into his eyes. You brush it away.

“You’re making it so hard to hate you,”

(If you wanna be added to the tag list let me know!)

[caramelmiacchiato]

after an entire day of no wifi at school i finished shatter me!! so here r my thoughts:

ab the characters:

juliette is not a bad fmc like ppl say, personally i js think shes traumatized as hell and carries a lot of wrong beliefs that were forced upon her since her childhood

warner is CRAZY that guy is INSANE he has serious mental P R O B L E M S. but i dont dislike him, im js intrigued for now

im indifferent to adam ig, hes sweet, but kinda dumb and ik hes hiding something

james i love you

kenji is fine ig, hes funny but im still indifferent ab him

plot:

many things happened and yet nothing happened. idk the pacing was weird i never knew what to think. my permanent state while reading was "???????????". i never knew if i was bored or if i was enjoying

others?

i kinda shipped adam and juliette at some point around 50% of the book but after they ran away tgt and kept making out after every five seconds i couldnt stand them anymore ☠️

i dont trust that castle guy

its cool to know other ppl have powers like juliette

why does she uses so many metaphors 😭 i never knew when she was being fr or not like "i got shot in the head and my guts spilled in the floor. anyway adams lips r so pretty". confusing af

the makeout scene w warner was also super weird bc wtf wasnt he supposed to be super smart???? how did he get fooled so easily?

anyways ig thats all, if i remember smth ill post later 😋 gotta start reading destroy me now

tagging some moots who followed the reading journey: @rainforcsts @y2kinnow @meangirlsbway @0littlejoysworld @luvrism777 @jtoddsangel @inkstainsonmysheets

[beef-brisket]

The shift in the palace was getting stronger and stronger. And Satan was hating every minute of it. He was being kept in the dark about everything. His family was different, Hell has seemed to have abandoned him, Adam was stronger, easily being able to man handle him when needed, and Heaven was more than silent about this supposed fallen angel.

And Hell has picked this angel? It was ridiculous, an insult to everything Satan has done for the realm and the scum that falls here. He felt used, exploited, and drained until he was nothing.

Adam: Doesn't feel good, does it?

Satan growled as Adam walked behind his chair and sat on the other side of his seat. The king hated that Adam seemed to be able to guess what he was thinking. It was frustrating. Enraging.

Adam: I didn't want this to happen to you, Sat. Maybe a few thousand years ago, but not now.

Satan: Quiet, mare. You'll speak when I ask for your opinion.

Adam smirked and leaned back, folding his arms: I'll speak when I want, thanks. Good try, though. Really. Solid try. Do you really think you breeding me made me weak? You could never handle birthing an heir. The sore feet would be enough to make you cry. Pathetic bastard.

The king glared at Adam, but he didn't dare say anything else. He's inflicted horrible pain into Adam, and since his fifth birth, he never reacted to the pain. Only the fear of Satan. He knew he was losing his influence over Adam. Slowly but surely. And all of that has led to this moment. His husband didn't cower in his presence. In fact, Satan was fighting with his instincts telling him to hide from Adam. And to keep his mouth shut.

Adam was quickly getting annoyed of the silence: Have you heard from Heaven?

Satan: ...No.

Adam: Have you found that angel?

Satan: ...No.

Adam scoffed: Fucks sake... I'll send my own letter.

As he stood, Satan growled: How dare you. You, of all royals, making contact with Heaven will disgrace my name and position!

Adam leaned on the table, getting in Satan's face. His queen smirked: Good. I hope it hurts.

With that, he walked off without giving Satan another look.

-

"We request the king and queen of Hell to attend a meeting at the Embassy of Heaven, a day from now. In response to an angel who has fallen from our ranks."

Satan: Un-fucking-believable. You?! They responded to YOU?!

Adam smiles and waves his letter around: Seems so, Buttercup... oh, please get that look off your face. Especially before our meeting, we want to be a united front or whatever bullshit Asmodeus goes on about.

Satan: We are not united. I AM KING. You are the queen! You are nothing! NOTHING!

Adam sighed: Come on, Sat. Grow up, will you? There's more important shit happening than your dick getting cut by Hell.

Satan: What is a king of Hell without Hell's approval?!

Adam: Hm... a jester?

Satan growled: Grow up, Adam.

Adam: Oh, I've been grown up for thousands of years. It's my turn to be the cocky asshole. Now, hurry up and get dressed. We have a meeting to get to.

Satan: ... I'm finding that angel. And ending him.

Adam: ...Oh! That's right! Hell picked him over you, didn't it? Oh, Sat. Killing him won't do anything! Of anything, you'll just piss Hell off- but go ahead! I'm curious!

-

The meeting was a waste of time. At least, that's what Satan thought. Adam took control of the meeting very quickly, to the shock of the angels.

The queen usually never spoke a word, but today, it was the opposite.

"Sera! Answer me!"

Everyone stopped talking and faced the door. Someone was in the lobby, making a racket.

Satan growled while the angels just looked bored. Adam, on the other hand, felt like he recognised the voice. He stood, slapping away Satan's hand when it reached out to grab him. He would smile at how Satan cradled his hand afterwards, still not used to Adam's strength, but as he reached the door, the owner of the voice yelled again.

"Damn it, Sera! I did nothing wrong!"

"Answer me!"

Adam pulled open the door and saw the strangely short man walking around, he obviously hasn't seen the queen yet.

"SERA-!"

Adam smirked: If you keep yelling, even the dead will hear you.

god of Marriage

@beef-brisket

It was another usual day in Hell. The red sun was shining down on everyone. The sinners were writhing in pain as they dealt with divine wrath.

Hellborn of all class were dealing with their own duties. Succubi were singing their songs and casting lust all throughout the seven rings.

Sirens and sharks were dealing with their own greed and serving themselves.

The imps and hellhounds served the higher power. Which of course were the nobility and royalty.

Most especially the Queen and King of Hell.

Specifically one little imp was servicing her king quite well. In the office of none other than Satan himself.

He had a maid pinned under him as she laid on his desk. His pants around his ankles as he thrusted with all his might in and out of her.

Their moans could be heard from outside the door even as Satan tried to keep their noises to a minimum.

No need for his husband to hear and find the two in this compromised position.

With just a couple more thrusts Satan let his load splatter all over the poor girl.

Satan: Oooooooh…..FUCK that was really nice.

The poor servant was panting trying to catch her breath: Indeed it was sire.

Satan slowly pulled out of her. The girl’s pussy dripping with her own juice. Satan pulled the condom off of his own gigantic dick.

It was covered within his seed. Satan will forever be in debt to Asmodeus for creating such a wonderful and strongly effective contraceptive.

Satan: Well, that was great but I better get back to my work. It was fun while it lasted Daphne.

Imp: ….My name is Selene sir.

Satan: Yeah, yeah.

He waved her off as he pulled and zipped his pants back up before opening the door. Where he immediately took a step back.

Before him was the Queen of all Hell, his spouse, glaring at him with all his might.

Satan: Hello darling!

All Adam had to do was have a Quick Look around him to see the maid scrambling to cover herself.

His glare grew harder as he crossed his arms over his extended middle.

Adam: Really? Again!?

[fairydust-stuff]

I lot of fans write Kaoru as this nurturing voice of reason and its like?????

I look at Cherry & Adam and I'm like I believe you two raised hell as children. I'm convinced Joe is the reason neither of them got themselves killed or arrested. But I also think they encouraged/ egged Joe to wild dangerous crap as well.

Cherry is feral he wacks kids, and he beats on Joe. He taunts Adam while beefing with him.

He's got a big heart but also an explosive temper and a low-key piss me off and I will fuck your shit up vibe. Also a fierce competitive streak.

[jesse-pinko]

Every other aspect of Jesse’s trauma makes me go oh no poor blorbo :( but his relationship w his parents and thinking ab it in the context of the series aftermath actually makes me unwell… they never even knew him they only ever saw the worst in him and now they’ve had that validated by his own actions and they’ll never know how sorry he is and that he was a good kid at heart and they didn’t imagine it and they still love him but how can they have loved him if they never even knew him and only ever saw the worst in him *flatlines*

[monsterbisexual]

i'm choosing to think of these as foreshadowing or dramatic irony even though the other movies (therefore their fates) weren't actually written yet

[iruludavare]

          "I did not."

     A mirror. Two diverging paths from a similar point. As the words leave her lips, that steeled gaze does not shift, flecks of blue that might have glittered and shifted like their own contained pools of water for the first time icing over. On compassion and disdain for those who would seek to use others for their own gain, or hurt the world around them in selfish pursuits, she can agree. And that alone. In him, she sees nothing. Not a shred of herself. Just a shadow of a man, who upon those same hands that have toyed with the glass in front of him and attempted to pour her own glass oozes a layer of blood not his own. Will never be his own.

          "And eternity was what he thought would change my mind. Not death, not words," She continues, and once again does her tone settle into something void of emotion. Unreadable, or so the heroine hopes. "Maybe he wasn't wrong, but not in the way he was thinking."

     They sit here, both with an infinite stretch of time before them. Him, by choice. Her, by punishment. And yet Adam speaks of a glorious purpose and the truth of the love she bears for the world. A love, she thinks, that perhaps he can see and yet the own in his heart that he drives equivalency to a concept darker and more twisted. A kind she wants no part in being compared to. From beneath the table do her fingers twitch, drained and numb.

          "Let me be frank. I don't need to hear from a man born into a line of opportunities that I had to fight for, and circles I had to prove the worth of my existence to, that I will be used and trodden on while trying to better this world."

     There is no animosity. No scathing tone, no frown, and no narrowed stare. It is not a slew of insults Serena hurls but perhaps something she ought to have said before the moment he had spoken in such a way. Before the topics could have shifted. Instead of entertaining him. A speech rehearsed in the depths of her mind, now given voice. All that the woman does is straighten her posture, or what could be from a spine already stretched.

          "I'm well aware. I've lived it my entire life, and will continue to do so until the end of time. To a degree, I've accepted it, and had to ever since I was a child. Not because it's a noble sacrifice, but to survive."

     And she knows what is to come next—deflections of the truth, claims of a misunderstanding. In the worst case, aggression and defensive statements. None of which a bother.

          "We are not mirrors of each other. Your heart bleeds from up high, in the same place as the people you despise, and for people and experiences you can never truly know. Mine does from living among those who have had to go without. Being one of them. Don't play out some twisted fantasy through me."

"I would rather it not be." He admits simply. "And so long as I can trust those in Flare who's vision I share the way I do, it need not be."

It was true. He did not wish to have to do things alone. And so far, that was nothing more than a consideration. A contingency. And it made sense, in his eyes. His love for his world and those in it truly did go beyond Flare. Lysandre may have ignited a spark, but the fire he lit in Adam would be turned on him just as easily if it needed to be.

Adam cared nothing for power, but he had it in spades. He was sure, even now, he outclassed the girl that Serena had been when she crushed this Lysandre's dream into dust by a mile.

And while Serena can hone in - and indeed, she does - Adam does not seem to shift. He does not wilt, he does not look away. He does not shrink under her gaze - he meets it, not with steel of his own but with a relaxed neutrality and genuine tone.

"My belief in wanting to build something better and brighter is my purpose." Adam replies firmly. "And if they wish to tell Lysandre that, if they are watching me - let them. I do not fear it. I would expect the same to be said of me; in fact I am sure it has been over the years. In fact, I would expect the same to be done to me, too."

Adam listens, then, and his mouth slowly turns into a frown. Perhaps not petty or spiteful, no, but his desperation was aimed at killing Serena as revenge. Or perhaps he had simply lost himself in those final moments; Adam would never know. Nor did it matter; the Lysandre she knew was merely one of an infinite number. This one failed, his did not.

"That does sound like something Xerosic would do in that situation. A cruelty I do not agree with."

Adam's eyes flick away to watch the street for a moment, then back to her.

"I had." He admits with a nod. "Just as I am. That is why I believe you and I are not so different. A fork in the road took us down two paths that run parallel, but we both speak from a place of compassion. Perhaps, even, in some ways I am the mirror of you in my world. Or the other way around. Semantics."

Adam waves his hand and continues. "I do not believe he was wrong to choose you. Yes, it was his undoing here. But he saw the right things in you. The truth of your love and compassion for your world and everyone within it. His mistake was assuming that when all was laid bare, you would choose as I did."

He smiles briefly.

"And you did not."

[gabbynorth98]

You won, Hangman.

Did it make you feel better?

[encrucijada]

if we framed piedad becoming an oracle less as a fun epilogue tidbit she agreed to (for various personal reasons) and instead frame it as apollo "stealing" her because of their gift of prophecy... listen, adam would have only needed 3 beers and an afternoon to take over olympus

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Lucifer rolled his eyes and waved her off, he knew that she just wanted a reason to yell at Adam or any of the staff.

Lucifer: Yes, but there's no harm in giving him a hand. You sound tense today.

Lilith looked over at Adam who was fisting part of his outfit out of nerves. He looked as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

But he's done nothing wrong..... Yet.

Lilith: Can you blame me? What with everything coming up I'm a mess.

Luicfer nodded, he knew that she was singing more so for fun rather than a living.

Lucifer: You'll do great darling.

He looked over to Adam who looked unsure of what to do. The sunlight behind him made him look angelic.

Lucifer: I won't keep you any longer Adam.

Lilith: Yes, get back to work.

Adam nodded and took off past the couple, her tone was stiff and her violet eyes hardened like amethyst crystals. Once out of that room, Adam went to clean the rest of the windows.

Lucifer: You need to lighten up, he's only doing his job.

He booped her gently on the nose. Lucifer knew that if anything were going to happen between him and Adam it wouldn't happen right away especially with Lilith hovering.

But he really wanted to see what's under that uniform.

✨️Maid in Hell✨️

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Lucifer didn't like spending money, especially on bullshit things his wife tried to explain away. Well, "explain" was a stretch. She really just waves him off.

Lilith annoyed him on a daily basis, but fuck, he loved her. And besides, he went out of his way to make her miserable when he wanted. That's why he's sitting out in the garden, by the pool on his sun lounger, in nothing but his swim shorts.

With his red sunglasses on, he was able to spy on one of those bullshit purchases. A maid that Lilith was insistent on hiring. But, the ridiculous part was that she hired a man. But the MORE ridiculous part was that she still required him to wear the traditional maid outfit.

He watched the maid from his spot in the sun. The man was on the second floor, cleaning the windows in the sun room. Half of them were stained glass, but the maid was cleaning the normal glass, so Lucifer could see and watch everything.

Even to this day, he couldn't understand Lilith's reason to hire a male maid, something about him not being attracted to a man. What flawed logic, seeing as he was pansexual; something his daughter told him about. But he won't question his wife, he doesn't feel like arguing for days about this.

So, for now, Lucifer will enjoy watching Lilith's bullshit purchase. Even in that dress, Lucifer could see the way his body shook when he cleaned, or how long his legs were, especially in those heels.

The blonde rubbed his upper thigh as the maid turned away, reaching over to another window, showing Lucifer the round of his ass. He knew it wasn't on purpose. He seemed to be the only employee Lilith hired that actually did their job properly.

Lucifer: Fuck...~. Should probably introduce myself, hm~.

[futuristictheoristcowboy]

i think its funny that in good omens some 11 year old swearing technically did more in stopping Armageddon successfully than the demon and angel main characters who spent the entire series trying to stop the end of the world. like girl, they didn't even get trialed for saving the earth, they got put on trial for being gay with each other really

[tojilicious]

when you asked gojo satoru if you could be on top for once, he threw his head back and laughed like you told him the funniest joke ever. he'd grin at you and have the nerve to ask if you were absolutely positive about wanting to be on top.

"you sure you can handle it, cutie?" he'd lean down, smugly smirking right in your face as he cockily raises a brow. "i'm a lot to take in, y'know?'

and you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face.

so you did.

"f-fuh.. fuck!" satoru groans, throwing his head back into the soft material of the pillow as his pretty eyes screw shut, lips falling open to let out a shaky exhale.

satoru looks absolutely wrecked under you, but fuck, he looks pretty like this. his slick and pink lips parted and glistening with his spit as he exhales shaky breaths and whimpers. his cheeks are flushed with the prettiest baby pink hue and his long snow-colored lashes are complimenting that hue, pale brows knitted together as he concentrates on not spilling inside of you so soon.

"everything okay, 'toru?" you'd innocently ask him as you lift your hips up to leave just the tip to be clung onto by your snug walls before falling back down, enveloping his cock fully until the tip was now snugly pressing against your cervix.

"are you sure you can handle it?" you grin as you mirror his stupid and wrong observation back at him now. your hips swivel, clit brushing against his snow frosted pubic hair as you make the tip of his cock make out with your cervix.

"i- i can! i can..." it's coming out in a pathetically choked out cry as his hands move to grab and grope at your plump ass cheeks, spreading and pressing the globes together as you continue to grind against his cock.

his groping only serves as motivation for you to bounce with more purpose and force now. every time his cock fills your dripping cunt to the hilt, you're pushing your hips forward to grind on him right as your hips lift up to repeat the action over and over again. a few more bounces pass and before you know it, you're not able to drop fully onto his cock because satoru's now lifting his hips off the mattress to meet you halfway.

it's crystal clear how desperate satoru is to cum now and his groping of your ass is even rougher as he pushes you towards him, encouraging you to grind harder onto his throbbing cock as you ride him.

"b-baby.." he stutters, whimpering as he uses all his strength to look at you. "'m so fuckin' close." he confesses, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the thick lump in his throat, feeling the coil in his stomach tightening right to it's limit.

satoru's words only serve as motivation for you to finish proving him wrong and you bounce on his cock like a sex frenzied rabbit, the sound of skin slapping against skin emanating from each drop of your hips as your pussy squelches every time he fills you to the hilt and soon..

low and pathetic whimpers and moans begin to fall out of satoru's agape lips as his hips stutter erratically. his pretty blue eyes cross then roll into the back of his skull and you feel a sudden warmth blossom into your stretched out walls as his heavy balls pulse and twitch—his milked cock shooting ribbon after ribbon of hot white cum into your pretty cunt. ♡

[confines]

does anyone have any tips tricks or guides for not alienating a young person who has an older rich boyfriend and three new tattoos and two new piercings and plans for lots more very soon

[millers-girl]

bitter/sweet

a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…

warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, fainting/medical emergency, mild language

word count: 5.5k

a/n: my new hyperfixation i guess ???

“Fuck,” you grumbled, clutching your thumb in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, the fibers more crimson than cotton. The pain throbbed in pulses, each step sending a sharp reminder up your arm. You kept your eyes on the linoleum floors, following the resident as he led you deeper into the chaos of the emergency department and into an exam room.

“Oh,” the resident, Student Doctor Whittaker, said, his voice pitchy as he glanced at the kitchen towel. He quickly averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah, maybe we should keep that wrapped.” 

You arched a brow at him, settling onto the exam table as the paper crinkled beneath you. The air in the room smelled sterile – alcohol wipes, latex gloves, and that faint antiseptic sting. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you? Because hate to be the one to tell you – you might be in the wrong profession.” 

He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no – just… been a rough day,” he said, the humor dropping from his voice. “Can’t really handle another loss.”

You paused, tone softening. “Oh. Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You glanced down at the towel, now visibly seeping. “Did you get a hold of my sister?” 

He shook his head, eyes already shifting toward the door. “I tried, but she’s in the OR; still scrubbed in. But, don’t worry; Dr. Abbot is the attending on call tonight. He’s one of the best – ”

You frowned. “Abbot? Where’s Robby?” 

Before he could answer, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves with a practiced snap. His scrubs were black, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his expression was carved from stone. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but wavy; he easily had fifteen or twenty years on you… Still, he was cute.

“Well,” he began, his voice low and even, “It’s almost nine, and contrary to popular belief, even Robby needs to go home and rest. So, lucky you – you get me.” 

You blinked. “Wow, smart and pretty. Lucky me indeed.” 

He gave a subtle eye roll before his gaze met yours – steady, unreadable, deeply hazel. “So, what’ve we got?”

Whittaker stumbled to present. “Uh – female, 27. Has a deep laceration on her thumb. Cut it open on a grater – ”

“Mandoline slicer,” you corrected.

Abbot moved toward you, taking a seat on the wheeled stool. As he unwrapped your hand, you couldn’t help but ask, “Careful – you’re not gonna get queasy, too, are you?”

Without missing a beat, he stoically answered, “Only if this turns into something worse than a hand injury… like small talk.”

You let out a surprised laugh, half from the pain, half from how dryly he delivered the line.

“You’re funny,” you grinned. “I like you.” 

He said nothing in response, merely peeled the cloth away, sticky and crimson, revealing the deep gash across the side of your thumb. Cold air kissed the open skin, and you hissed. He examined it without a flinch, gently turning your hand between his fingers.

“So, what were you doing with the mandoline slicer?”

“I’m a chef,” you answered. “The prep rush was insane today – guess my hand just slipped.” 

He pressed carefully at the space between your thumb and index finger. You flinched, instinctively pulling back, but his other hand caught yours firmly, anchoring it. 

“What?” you asked, watching his expression shift as he looked up.

“Stitches,” he decided.

“Fuck that.” 

He arched his brow. “It’s a deep cut; can’t just put a bandaid on it and kiss it better.” 

“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” you flirted, finding it to be an easy distraction from the pain. Still, his face remained unchanged. “Come on, are you serious? You really can’t just wrap it up and call it a day? I have to get back before the dinner rush.”

“It’s not optional,” he informed. “It’s not gonna heal if it’s not stitched up.” 

“Don’t worry,” Whittaker piped up again, voice chipper. “Dr. Abbot could do this in his sleep.” 

“I could,” Abbot said, already reaching for gauze. “But Whittaker’s going to do it instead.” 

“What?” You both asked, heads whipping to him.

“It’s a good learning opportunity,” he replied casually. “And Robby’s always goin’ on about how we’re a teaching hospital. Besides, it’s just a few stitches – a teenager could do it.” 

“A teenager is about to do it,” you muttered. 

���He’s older than you,” Abbot pointed out, making your frown set on him. 

“I want you to do it.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because he got queasy just looking at the kitchen towel,” you explained. You and Abbot both turned to Whittaker, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s either you, or I wait for my sister to finish surgery,” you stubbornly gave him an ultimatum. “And she told me about those patient satisfaction scores.” You let out a low whistle.

Abbot stared at you for a beat, then turned to the student doctor. “Whittaker.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Go get me the lidocaine.” 

You grinned in victory before offering your hand back out to Abbot.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he muttered, arms crossing.

“You and my sister should start a support group,” you shot back.

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we will.” 

When Whittaker returned, Abbot explained the procedure before getting to work: numbing first, then the sutures, probably six or seven. His voice was calm, precise. You clenched your other hand into a fist, eyes fixed anywhere but the needle. The sting of the lidocaine made your jaw tense.

“Ready?” Abbot asked. You nodded silently, lips pressed tight. 

His hands were rough but skilled, careful – you could sense it. 

As your eyes gazed over the room, they settled on the chain tucked beneath the neck of Abbot’s scrubs. 

“Military?” you asked, voice quieter now as your free hand reached out to pull at the dog tags.

Without looking up, Abbot momentarily halted his work to swat your hand away. When your hand settled back by your side, he replied, “Used to be a medic. Liked the chaos so much, I went to med school for emergency medicine.” 

You winced as one of the stitches tugged. “You good?” he asked, glancing up. 

You gave him a wry look. “If I cry, will you hold my hand?” 

“I’m already holding your hand,” he deadpanned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Then, buy me dinner? Or, let me buy you dinner, at Francesca.”

“Francesca?” Whittaker perked up. “Wait – you work there?” You nodded, smiling. “That’s cool. I’ve heard some of the other residents talking about it. They really love the food.” 

You turned back to Abbot with a pointed smile. “See? Good food, good company – what more could you ask for?” 

“Probably some peace and quiet,” he muttered. But, before you could press, he was already tying off the sutures and wrapping your hand with fresh gauze.

“So,” you said eventually, “what’s the damage?”

“You’re a rightie?” he asked; you nodded. “It’s your dominant hand. That, and the fact that restaurants have a high risk of infection – wet, hot, high-contact. It’s gonna take a minute to heal. Probably five days off work to initially heal and reduce strain; another five until you’re back to full-duty – and when you are, make sure you wear some sort of splint or gloves. Come back then and I’ll take ‘em out. Sound good?” 

A week off work. 

You already knew you weren’t waiting that long.

Still, you grinned up at him. “Whatever you say, handsome.”

Two weeks later––four days after you were meant to get your stitches out––you finally found yourself back in the hospital. You couldn’t say you missed the bright fluorescent lights or the constant beeping of machines – you weren’t sure how your sister did it every day.

You did, however, miss Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody. 

That’s what you’d started calling Dr. Abbot in all your conversations with your sister. She’d blinked at you, been less amused, and professionally corrected you every time you brought him up. 

“You mean ‘Jack’?” She’d say, and you’d grinned at that, ready to use this ammunition against him.

And, even though you had every intention to return earlier so you could see Jack sooner, work at the restaurant had gotten busy. Between a busted oven and two line cooks calling out, you’d been elbow-deep in chaos. You’d barely been convinced by Eleni, your sous, to come back even now. She had to practically push you out the front door. 

Taylor, the charge nurse who brought you in, gave a smile as she informed you, “Dr. Whittaker will be in in just a few minutes.” 

Your spine straightened immediately. “Actually, can you get Dr. Abbot? Tall one with the storm cloud for a personality. You know the one.” 

Taylor nearly dropped her tablet laughing. “Oh, I like you,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Let me see what I can do.”

Luckily, it seemed like a slow night in the ED––well, slower than usual––and in a few minutes, your request had been granted.

“You know,” Abbot said by way of greeting when he entered the room, “you don’t get to request a specific doctor in the ED. That’s not how it works.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Then how come you showed up?” 

He ignored that. “Why didn’t you let Whittaker take them out?” He already sounded annoyed, and it brought you much more glee than it should’ve. “You know he’s perfectly capable of removing stitches. And putting them in.” 

“And pass up another moment of your stellar bedside manner? Now, why would I do that… Jack?” You smiled sweetly.

His eyes flicked up fast at the sound of his first name. “I hate your sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“She’s the best and you know it.”

Instead of arguing, Jack gently pulled the wrap from your hand. His fingertips were warm through the gloves, deliberate in their movements as he examined the injury. 

“You didn’t wait the five days before going back to work,” he said flatly, frown setting in.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course I did – In fact I – ” 

You cut yourself off when you saw the look he gave you. All stern disapproval and low-simmering frustration – hot. And in a moment, you crumbled.

“Okay, okay, fine – but I took three days off! That has to count for something! I was going stir-crazy in my apartment, Jack.” You squirmed under his gaze.

He let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled, brows pinched slightly as he prepped the suture scissors in that deliberate, quiet way of his.

You couldn’t watch as he moved with steady practiced precision. Instead, your eyes settled back on his dog tags and after a moment of silence, you asked in a soft voice, “How could you tell? That I went back to work early?” 

He met your eyes then, frowning. After a beat, he answered. “The skin around is red, irritated. The inflammation just started going down. You should’ve come in early if you were gonna go back to work. I said day 10.” 

“I know.” 

Dryly, he continued, “This is day fourteen.” 

“I know, Jack.” You frowned now too. “You know, if you keep on like this, you’re not getting your present.” 

That was when he noticed the light pink bag that sat on the chair by the exam table. 

“I brought you something. As a thank you for stitching me up.” 

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Not a bribe to soften the blow because you knew I’d know you went back to work early?”

You smiled up at him, this time in a way that asked for his forgiveness. “Why can’t it be both?” 

Jack rolled his eyes, then began removing your stitches. “It’s healing,” he noted, “but slower than it should be. You pushed it too hard.” 

“I was careful,” you defended. “I let Eleni do all the chopping and lifting heavy pans – I just ran the line… and plated.” 

Jack hummed, observing. “You’re holding tension through your whole arm. That’s not careful.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but just then, he snipped one of the sutures and you flinched with a hiss of discomfort. His hands paused immediately, and his expression shifted – not annoyed this time, but concerned.

“Still hurts?” he asked, quieter.

You tried to play it off, half-laughing. “Hurts less than not being in the kitchen.” 

Jack sighed again, shaking his head. “You think I’m impressed by your stubbornness?” 

You gave a crooked grin. “No, but I think you like it.” 

He didn’t answer, just focused on removing the next stitch. Silence stretched between you, the only sound the soft snip of scissors. When he finally leaned back, he said, “Okay, that’s the last one. Take it easy, okay? I mean it. Just plating for now – carefully.” 

You lifted your head. “And if I don’t? You going to come hold my hand through the dinner rush?” 

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll come by the kitchen if I have to.” 

You watched him, smile growing. “Still thinking about saying yes to that dinner I offered?” 

Just as quick, he quipped, “I’m thinking about you not landing in my ER again.” 

Your brow rose. “Keep it up and you’re not getting the tiramisu.” 

As he was wrapping your hand in new gauze, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. “Tiramisu?” 

“My sister said you wouldn’t stop talking about it a few days ago. Got a craving.”

“Yeah, for DiAnoia’s,” Jack corrected. 

When he was done wrapping your hand, you hopped off the exam table and offered him the light pink bag, with a tiramisu boxed inside. 

“It’s better than DiAnoia’s,” you promised, already halfway to the door. 

He snorted at that, not believing you. “But, be careful, it's sweet. Might clash with the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.” 

“I don’t brood,” he called after you.

You turned at the doorway, walking backward as you smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to your face.” 

Then, you spun on your heel, feeling his gaze on you as you let the door swing closed behind you.

You couldn’t tell if the emergency room was changing or if you were just getting used to it. The fluorescent lights felt ambient now, the loud chatter muffled, and the beep of vital machines now felt distant.

“Miss me?” You grinned up at Jack as he strolled towards the nurse’s station. You leaned casually against the counter, trying not to let your excitement show too much.

Without looking up from the chart in his hands, he replied, “Still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

You glanced over at Taylor, who sat typing behind the station, and dropped her a wink. “That’s not a no,” you stage-whispered, giggling. 

Jack finally looked at you then, eyes tired but alert, like your voice had stirred him awake. “What are you doing here?” he asked, handing off the chart to Taylor.

“What, can’t a girl visit her local cute, broody doctor?”

“I already told you I’m not that,” he frowned. 

You tilted your head. “Cute?” you asked, pretending to be confused. 

He narrowed his eyes on you. “Broody.”

“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “Of course not.” 

The silence between you lingered a second longer than expected – long enough for you to catch the faint circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. His scrubs looked wrinkled, like he’d been running nonstop since the start of shift. Your smile softened. 

“I’m dropping some food off.”

His brows furrowed now. “For me?”

Your smile only widened, but faltered just a touch as you took in just how off he looked, a little out of rhythm. That bone-deep kind of tired. You wondered if he’d eaten at all tonight.

“For my sister,” you said lightly, though your feet were already carrying you toward the break room. You grabbed a paper plate and plastic fork, and returned just as quickly. You set the plate down and began undoing the takeaway box you’d packed.

“Wait,” Jack started, a note of warning in his voice – he already knew where this was going. You ignored him, and scooped a generous portion of pasta onto the plate before sliding it his way. The steam curled up toward Jack’s face.

“Try some.”

He sighed, saying your name like it was both a complaint and a surrender. 

“Come on,” you coaxed. “Just a bite. And if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

He gave you a long-suffering look – but brought the fork to his mouth anyway. The first bite had his eyes fluttering closed, just for a second. A soft sound escaped him – barely audible, but unmistakable. You caught it.

“That was a compliment,” you accused, pointing at him with a victorious grin. “I heard it! Everyone heard it!” You turned dramatically to Taylor, who watched with a dry amusement before shuffling over to a patient’s room. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ok, hotshot, relax. It’s just pasta. Hard to mess it up.”

You scoffed. “You’d be surprised.” He shrugged, and you took it as a challenge. “Okay, then what? What can I make to convince you it’s not just luck – it’s these magic hands.” To make a point, you wiggled your fingers. 

To your surprise, he actually gave it some thought. A flicker of memory seemed to pass through him. His voice was quieter when he spoke.

“There was this dish we used to get when I was in the military – in this little town outside Kabul. Locals made it in the market stalls. It was kind of like a lamb stew, over some flatbread. Spicy. Kinda messy to eat. But damn good.” 

You blinked, surprised he’d offered to share something so personal. You cleared your throat, softly asking, “You were stationed in Afghanistan?” 

Realizing the slip-up, Jack shrugged it off like he regretted saying anything. His eyes drifted to a fixed point behind you.

“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his, which rested on the counter of the nurse’s station. The gentle tone of your voice kept him from pulling his hand out from underneath yours. If anything, that, alongside the glint in your big eyes, made him want to spill everything.

“It was the 68W program – for combat medics,” he revealed, using his free hand to pull the dog tags from under his scrub top. “Standard issue accessory.” 

“I disagree,” you murmured, playful but sincere. “I’ve heard medics are some of the toughest ones in the room.” 

Jack let out a tiny almost-smile. “We were just the ones who didn’t get to shoot back.” 

You paused, then asked, “What was it called? The dish.” 

He thought for a second. “I don’t remember. I think maybe – palau something – or – I don’t know. Doesn't matter.” 

You shook your head, heart melting. “If it stuck with you… it matters.” 

Jack didn’t say anything to that, but his gaze found yours again – direct. You caught him staring. He didn’t look away.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you like me,” you teased, tone light.

He didn’t even deny it, just shook his head – either in denial or disbelief, you couldn’t tell. 

“That’s okay. I like you enough for the both of us.”

That brought a pink tinge to his cheeks. 

Instead of bringing attention to it, you simply offered a half-smile. “Okay. Challenge accepted. One mystery lamb dish, coming up.”

At that, Jack raised a skeptical brow. “You’re gonna recreate something I haven’t eaten in ten years, from a place you’ve never been, with no recipe?”

You shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally convince you to come to the restaurant.” 

And there it was – just for a second. The edge of a smile. Maybe even the beginning of a laugh. You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Admit it. You’re rooting for me.” 

Jack just shook his head, but didn’t speak. Didn’t stop smiling either. Didn’t even say no.

The next time Jack saw you in the hospital, the occasion was less momentous. You didn’t have a light pink box with the Francesca logo on it and a sweet treat––or Afghani dish––inside. You weren’t your happy, bubbly self jumping around the place. Forget jumping, you weren’t even on your feet. 

You were in a hospital bed, fluids pumping steadily through an IV line taped to your arm. into your veins through IVs. Your sister, elbows resting on the edge of the bed, was scrolling through her phone with the ease of someone used to hospitals – until Jack stumbled in.

His eyes immediately found yours, and whatever breath he’d been holding on the way in came out sharp.

“Every day you’re here – you come and find me. Every day,” he said, voice low and urgent. “So, what changed today? Why was Robby the one to tell me you fainted?” 

You and your sister exchanged a glance. She was already putting her phone down, her expression turning serious.

“Because it literally happened an hour ago…?” you offered, wincing a little. “And that’s still day shift.” 

Jack raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every sharp movement.

“Robby had it covered,” your sister said, trying to calm Jack.

It didn’t help.

“Did he do an ECG?”  

“Yes.” 

“Echocardiogram?” 

“Yes, Jack,” she sighed.

“What about a head CT?

You frowned. “Why would he do a CT?” 

“Because you probably hit your head when you fell.” 

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t hit my head.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because Eleni caught me.” 

Jack’s eyes bounced between you and your sister. “This happened at work?” You nodded, slowly. “Did this happen because of work?” 

Suddenly, you were having a hard time meeting his eye. 

To make matters worse, your sister answered for you. “She was covering for one of the other line chefs, stressed about a critic visit – Eleni said she was barely sleeping – ”

“The critic’s a big deal!” you defended, “and Luca was getting burnt out. He needed a break.” 

“No, babe,” your sister cut in, not unkindly, “You need a break.” 

Jack stepped closer to the bed, scanning the IV bag. His fingers brushed against your arm, checking the line, then pressing gently against your wrist. “Did Robby hook her up to saline?” 

Your sister nodded.

“What about electrolytes? She’s dehydrated.” 

“He – ” Your sister paused, then asked, a little surprised, “How did you know that?” 

“Her lips are dry,” Jack responded, as if it was obvious. “She squints every time she looks up at the lights. And her leg is tense – probably cramping earlier.” 

You and your sister shared another look, then you grinned up at him, pushing his hand away from your arm to grab it in yours, warm and steady. “What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“You were worried about me,” you grinned, all grin and no apology.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his free hand defeatedly over his face. “Oh, my God. You fainted and this is what you’re focused on?” 

You gave him a small shrug. “I’m fine.” 

And, truthfully, you were starting to feel better. Color was returning to your cheeks, and the constant throb behind your eyes had dulled to a whisper. The IVs were helping; the rest, too.

A voice crackled over the intercom, paging your sister to OR 3. She stood, hesitating. 

“Go,” you said, waving her off. “I’ll be fine. Go back to work.” 

“Fine, but tell someone to page me when they discharge you. I’ll get someone to drive you home.”

You rolled your eyes but nevertheless nodded. As she stepped out, Jack moved to sit on the edge of the chair beside your bed, one hand running along the railing.

“How mad do you think she’s gonna be when I tell her you’re not going anywhere? I’m keeping you overnight.” 

Your head whipped toward him. “What? Why?” 

“For observation. I want to make sure it really was stress-related and not some underlying medical condition.”

You groaned, tilting your head back against your pillow. “Jack,” you groaned, frustrated by this decision.

“Oh, I know,” he mocked gently. “How could I do this to you? Keeping you overnight to make sure you’re healthy? I’m the worst.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as dramatically as you could manage while tethered to an IV. 

“Don’t be like that,” he tried, his hand uncrossing yours. Then, the same hand lifted to gently cup your cheek. “You know, you didn’t have to faint just to get my attention. Could’ve just called.”

The blush that crept to your cheeks was immediate, and you cleared your throat, looking away. “Dr. Abbot with the jokes – never thought the day would come.”

“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m a complex guy.”

He tugged your blanket higher, gently tucking it around you like it was second nature. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit.” 

You nodded, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. As Jack slipped out, he left the curtain half-open so he could keep an eye on you from the nurse’s station or while he was passing by to other patient rooms. 

Instead, you found your eyes drifting to him. Even through the haze of sleep, you watched him move through the ED like a controlled current – swift, focused, unshakable. He was in full command, teaching, managing, healing. Something about how intense yet calm he was eventually lulled you to sleep. 

When you woke again, sunlight was peeking through the slats of the blinds, and Jack was beside your bed, carefully unhooking the IV line. 

“Morning,” he greeted, voice soft as it pulled you from your deep slumber. “How are you feeling?” 

You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and let out a groggy sigh “Wow, thought I died and went to broody heaven.” 

“I’ll take that as ‘fine,’” he said dryly, grabbing a paper cup of water he’d filled for you and maneuvering the straw toward your lips like it was muscle memory.

“Can I go home now?” 

He nodded, his eyes still scanning your vitals, “Soon. Just gotta fill out your discharge paperwork and then shift’s over. I’ll drive you home.” 

“Drive me home? I’m wearing you down, old man,” you grinned sleepily up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, raising a hand to press the back of it to your forehead. “You feel okay? No headache? Dizziness? Nausea?” 

“Good as new,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Must be these magic hands.” 

He smiled at that, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before letting go. 

“So,” you began as he signed off on your chart, “does being injured get me privileges?” 

He arched a brow. “What kind of privileges?” 

“Favors,” you said with a shrug. “Like you finally coming to the restaurant.”

Jack let out a low groan, head shaking. “It’s too early for this – you’re never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“Not till you say yes. And, as you know, I’m very persistent.” 

“Oh, I do know,” he said, then held his hand out. “Let me see your thumb.” 

You blinked. “Why?” 

Still, you offered it up. He examined it gently, brushing his fingers over the healing skin.

“When this heals completely, I’ll come to Francesca.” 

You beamed. “In that case, let’s speed up the process…” You wiggled your thumb closer to his face. “Never did try that technique of kissing it better, huh?” 

He gave you a look – but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb.

When he set it back down in your lap, your stomach fluttered.

“Now, can I take you home or are you going to make me do a blood oath first?” 

“You’ve been burying the lede, Abbot,” you teased, making your presence known as you walked across the hospital rooftop and joined him on the concrete ledge. Your shoes scraped lightly against the gravel as you sat, legs swinging just off the edge. 

He glanced over, brows furrowed in confusion. No one but Robby ever came up here. 

“Taylor told me where you were,” you informed. “How many conversations have we had – and you never mentioned this place? Or the crazy views it has?” 

The city was sprawled out below you, glittering the dark earth. A breeze tugged at your jacket, crisp with late night chill. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. 2:56am glowed dimly in the moonlight.

You shrugged, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

His concern was immediate, instinctual. “Is it the stitches? Are you feeling dehydrated?” He was already reaching for you, fingertips brushing your wrist as if searching for a pulse.

“No, Jack,” you laughed, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine. I just… woke up with a thought.” 

He stilled, waiting for you to explain what thought could’ve roused you out of bed in the middle of the night and forced you here.

You reached behind you and retrieved a familiar pink Francesca bag, the paper crinkling softly in your hands. In thick Sharpie ink, you’d scrawled his name with a lopsided heart beside it. His brows lifted in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, greedy fingers snatching the food container out of the bag and tossing the lid aside like it might disappear if he wasn’t fast enough.

Inside sat the Afghani dish Jack had told you about that one day at the nurse’s station. The rich, spiced aroma was carried through the night air – saffron, cumin, caramelized carrots.

“It’s called qabili palau,” you offered, watching him tear a piece of naan, scoop up a mouthful, and take a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes immediately rolled to the back of his head and he exhaled a quiet sound that was half-groan, half-moan.

“If you’re making those kinds of noises at my cooking, just imagine my skill in the bedroom,” you teased, flashing him a grin. 

That earned you a look – but not one you expected. Quiet, intense. His mouth twitched at the corner like he was trying not to smile, and then he went back for another bite. And another. You watched him eat in silence, the wind occasionally rustling his curls, and you couldn’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment, on this quiet rooftop, and this ridiculous hour.

He quietly finished the food, sharing it with you. And, when the food was gone, his eyes drifted out across the skyline. He looked… lighter somehow. And it reminded you why you loved being a chef – because food had the power to take people home, even when they were miles and years away.

You nudged him. “Oh – I almost forgot!” You excitedly held your hand up like a prize, thumb out. The skin had healed cleanly, leaving not even a scar behind. “All better.”

His eyes found yours, amusement dancing in them. “I’m pretty sure I said when it’s healed, not the exact moment it is.” 

You scooted closer to him, shoulders brushing, as you accused, “Oh, no. You’re not gonna get out of this.” 

He shook his head at you, like he had countless times before, but this time… this time the look in his eyes changed. Slowed. Softened. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting here, choosing him.

His smile faded as he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a windblown strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to,” he said softly. 

And then he kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed – not some messy, passionate crush. It was slow, intentional. The kind of kiss that people waited a long, long time for. His lips were warm, and soft, and they fit perfectly against yours. 

You melted into it, one hand curling around the front of his scrubs as the city disappeared beneath your closed eyelids. The hospital lights, the stars, the hum of distant traffic – it all faded until it was just the two of you. Just Jack.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far – just rested his forehead against yours, his breath brushing across your skin as he murmured, “You know, you scare the hell out of me. Make it hard to stay behind the lines I drew.” 

You smiled softly at that, brushing your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “Good. Means it’s real.” 

There was a beat of quiet. Then, he gently took your hand again, turning it over to inspect your healed thumb. You rested your head against his shoulder, grinning – you both knew exactly what this meant.

He sighed dramatically, mocking defeat. “What’s the dress code?” 

“No scrubs,” you teased.

“Button-up?”

“Only if it’s black. Very broody.” 

“Deal,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

.

.

.

read part 2 here !!

[beef-brisket]

Angel waved to Charlie: You to, toots.

Once he was gone, no one talked, leaving the lobby in silence. Charlie was exhausted and feeling so unsure of herself. How couldn't she put the pieces together? What kind of host is she if one of her workers was visibly suffering and she did nothing about it.

Alastor: I'm not sure I understand all the fuss, my deer! I think we're forgetting exactly who we're dealing with, yes? That man not only destroyed the original hotel but also ended the life of one of your guests! Nit to mention, had a hand at ending your darling pet.

Vaggie sighed: That was Lute, Alastor. Adam was nowhere near there...

Alastor: Hm. Even so. Hell is for punishment. This means that the first man has to be punished, yes? I suggest letting him wander around Cannibal Town for a time! I'm sure they'd love him there~.

Lucifer rolled his eyes: "Eat him", you mean.

Alastor's smile grew: Did I say that? Oh, how terrible of me~.

Charlie: Look. It's obvious he's been punished, and we weren't helping!

Vaggie: Good! Hun, I don't think you're really... y'know, grasping how BAD Adam is! He's been in charge of the exterminations for thousands of years! He enjoyed it, babe! Trust me, there's only three things that bastard loves, and that's food, sex and killing sinners!

Lucifer: And you're... certain of that?

Vaggie: Huh-? Oh, extremely! I worked under him for too long. I know how he ticks. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if he was faking that episode for sympathy! Especially since no one here was falling for his "woe is me" crap.

Everyone was silent for a moment before Charlie spoke up: Enough. All of you. We... we don't know the EXACT reason for everything. I... I think I should talk to him. Maybe with Angel present- and ONLY Angel!

Everyone turned and looked at Charlie, apart from Alastor, who seemed content that he said his piece.

Lucifer: What?! Apple, duckling, light of my life- are you insane?! You want to be in a room with him?! With only Angelo- no offence to him, but he wouldn't be able to protect you from Adam-!

Charlie: I can protect myself, dad! I fought Adam before, I even managed to hurt him-! I... I don't need protection. He's just a sinner now, without his divine powers he's just... like all of you.

Alastor chuckled, looking at his nailes: He's nothing like me, thank you.

Vaggie: Pft. Or me. I'm leagues better than him.

Lucifer: Uh- me to. I'm LITERALLY the King of Hell and he's just... some guy.

Husk: The ultimate "some guy".

As everyone laughed, Charlie got progressively more and more angry: The FUCK is wrong with you all?!

Everyone stopped and looked at Charlie. Lucifer slowly walked over to his daughter, shocked to bear such a strong word come from his sweet daughters mouth.

Lucifer: C-Charlie. Look, there's-.

Charlie: I know there's a lot of history, dad. Not just with Adam and Hell but with you and him, as well. I... I know what happened in Eden. That book you and mom made told me all i need to know! But, that's history. This is the present. Shouldn't you want to... move on?

Lucifer: M-Move on?! Charlie, this is ADAM we're talking about! He's held onto the past- since it happened!

Charlie: He didn't mention it in the meeting we had. Or during the fight... you brought it up, though. Like you were proud of fucking him over.

Lucifer: There's that word again- and I didn't "fuck him over", I just did something that would benefit Lilith and Eve-!

Charlie: And Adam?

Lucifer: He... uh... wasn't part of the equation... at the time.

Charlie: ...Unbelievable. I... how about everyone just stay away from Adam, alright? I'm terminating his service until you can all act like proper adults. Especially you, dad.

✨️Busboy✨️

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Adam isn't scared of anything. Not since Eden. But feeling his very dead body coming back to life definitely scared him. He could feel his blood pooling in his wound before overflowing and running down his body until it soaked into his clothes. It was a strange feeling. To have a gaping wound that was slowly closing up.

His fear got worse when someone picked him up. He couldn't see- one eye swollen shut and the other too weak to open. But, he saw flashes of things as he was carried, Hell's sky one minute and then a high, grand ceiling. He had never seen the inside of the hotel, but he prayed to his father that this wasn't where he was.

His father must truly hate him. Or be using his as entertainment for Heaven. Or both. After a week of being in and out of consciousness, Adam now found him in the princess's office- which was way too fancy if you asked Adam - being talked down to by her. Or, that's how it felt. Even that fucking traitor had the nerve to stare him down, and that bastard of a king didn't know where to stand, behind him, like a freak or in front of him, like an asshole.

So, the king paced, also staring him down. Though his glare was more amused than Vagatha's. Doesn't make it any less threatening.

Adam tried to ignore the feeling in his still wounded chest whenever Lucifer got close, jumping when him or his daughter made any sudden movements. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. But he felt scared, all over again.

Charlie: So, before we even think of getting you into our redemption program, I want to be sure you're serious about this, Adam. Seeing as we've had... past dealings that haven't painted either of us in a good light, I want everything to be clear, okay?

What a load of bullshit. She's the fucking villain here. She has the nerve to fucking put him through a vetting process?! When in their meeting she made it very, VERY clear anyone and everyone can go for redemption.

Adam managed not to roll his eyes. Or glare. Or swear. Or attack. Or trash the room. He would be proud of himself if he didn't have the king and the traitor looks g ready to attack and kill him at any moment.

Charlie: So, for about... a year, you'll work for me, doing any tasks that are asked of you. You'll be respectful to those in the hotel, including Vaggie and dad. Especially Vaggie and dad. If I'm not around, you will report to Alastor, who I will properly introduce you to the next time he's feeling able. But, for now, I'll get you fitting for your uniform ans then show you to your room- oh! How exciting! Here, have a read through and sign when you're ready.

The first man wanted to kill her. Especially when she reached over, pushing some papers closer with her finger. Adam hated how his heart rate rose and his chest tightened when she was closer.

He didn't want to grab the paper, afraid someone might cut his arm off. But, with a hand shaking too much for his liking, he grabbed the paper and started to read through it.

It was a few minutes later that the king spoke up: Taking a while there, buddy. Are you sure Heaven taught you how to read~?

Vaggie laughed. Fucking bitch.

But what made Adam freeze has Lucifer's hands on the back of his chair, the fucker was leaning over, talking into his ear, but it was clearly loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

That was when he felt something he hadn't felt since Eden. Panic. He was starting to panic. Everything was closing in, which didn't help with the company he had. Feeling Lucifer's head made those bad memories flood back, especially the more recent ones, of the Devil destroying his face and breaking his body. Everything hurt like it was happening all over again.

Charlie: Uh- Adam?

Without finishing reading, Adam quickly signed the contract, which was just a pathetic excuse of an 'A' with a line through it. As soon as he signed it, the paper was snatched out of his hands, making him flinch, and handed to Charlie, who smiled.

The princess was surprised Adam actually signed the contract with so little fuss, but she won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Charlie: Okay, great. Everything's in order! How about we get you fitted? If you're not too sore-?

Vaggie: He's fine, Char. He's just trying to act pathetic so you can feel sorry for him.

Charlie: Oh? Well... That's not very good, Adam. Guess we can't expect the best from you yet.

Well, that fucking hurt.

Lucifer: Hun, he hasn't been the best at anything since he was made in that garden! I have a feeling we'll still be waiting a while!

Well, the fucking hurt more. What the fuck would this chump know? He fucked off not even half way through Eden's existence.

Charlie: Dad, please. Alright, come with me, Adam.

He flinched again when everyone stood and moved. He just wanted this to be over. Why was he acting so pathetic? Jumping or internally panicking whenever these assholes do something? This has never happened to him before. Not even during or after the first few exterminations. When Adam took too long to move, Lucifer grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. His body burned at the sudden, involuntary movement- he even put his hands in front of his face. Like a victim. Which he wasn't fucking.

Lucifer: Move. Now.

He quickly did as he was told, keeping as much distance as he could between him and Charlie.

-

The uniform was straight forward, or, it would have been if those two other cunts weren't right behind him. It didn't help that they stripped him when he took too long. Vaggie shoved his shirt back into his chest when he started bleeding again. Like it was an inconvenience to her.

Everything rushed back from Eden. Being surrounded by the angels, then to his rib being broken and torn out- then it flashed to Lilith. Wrapping through vines and rope, she had made tightly around his wrists to keep him in place. He felt her hands. He nails. Leaving red welts on his skin. He felt the hollowing hunger he'd get when she left him there for days at a time.

Charlie noticed the look on Adam's face and how his breathing would become either laboured or quick. He looked scared. And, maybe he had a right to be. Charlie made some rough estimates of clothing size before bundling them up in her arms and finishing the fitting.

Charlie: Okay, Adam. Let's get you to your room.

She reached out to him, and her fingers only grazed the top of his hand, that was holding his shirt to his chest. He jumped back like he was burned, his eyes wide and staring at her. She couldn't tell if the look was bagging her to leave or begging for her to take him out of here. Either way, Charlie didn't make another move to touch him.

They walked back to his room. It was slow, seeing as Charlie wanted to be next to Adam to give him a little tour along the way, but Adam wanted to be as far from her as possible. Vaggie was in front of her, keeping her eye on Adam the whole time, while Lucifer was behind Adam. He didn't slow down when the first man did, so he'd often walk into his back, which was a whole new reaction in itself.

Lucifer could see him cower and turn to face him- for only a second. As soon as their eyes locked, Adam would spin back around again. It was driving the king nuts.

Lucifer: Just fucking walk, will you?!

Charlie: Dad! It's fine. We're nearly there, anyway.

That made Adam look up. He watched Charlie unlock a door and hold it open for Adam. He has to walk past her. And Vaggie. They would be so close to him.

He must have been standing there for too long because Lucifer grabbed him by the waist band of his pants and basically threw him into the room..

Lucifer: You won't come out until one of us fetches you. And I'll know if you leave your room, got it?

Vaggie: And have a shower while you're there. Fucking gross, man.

Adam felt shame. He really was a mess, wasn't he.

Charlie reached in and placed his uniform on a small shelf neat the door: Have a rest, Adam.

She smiled before closing the door. The king didn't stop glaring at him the whole time it was shutting.

But Adam was finally alone.

Adam: F-Fuck- fuck. Wh-What the fuck is wrong wi-with me...?

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”