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hotchscoffeecup · 6 months

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through love and loss

~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~

pairing: hotch/reader

rating: t

word count: 9.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?

“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.

“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.

“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”

“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”

His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”

“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”

“Humor me, will ya?”

Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.

“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”

You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.

“Can you do that?”

You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.

“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.

You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.

“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”

You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.

Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.

“I promise.”

His hand goes limp in yours.

The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.

“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”

There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.

“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.

The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.

Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.

“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.

“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”

Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.

“She suffered a blow to the head—”

Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.

White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.

Someone’s calling your name.

“He told me he loved me.”

And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.

•

“I can walk you inside.”

“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from

digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

“Just?” he hedges.

You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.

God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.

The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?

The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.

Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.

There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.

“What are you doing out here?”

You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”

You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.

When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.

His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”

Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”

Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”

A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”

“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”

Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”

Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”

•

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.

A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.

A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”

“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.

“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”

She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”

You inhale slowly and swallow.

You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.

Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.

“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.

When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”

“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sweetie?”

You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.

You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”

As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.

Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.

•

Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.

It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.

You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?

Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.

As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.

Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.

“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.

“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.

He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”

“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.

A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”

Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.

“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”

“Mm, not Reid.”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”

“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”

Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?

You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”

“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”

“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.

There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.

You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”

•

You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.

The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.

Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.

He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.

When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.

“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”

Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“How long, what?”

“How long do the dreams last?”

Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”

Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”

A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.

“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.

Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”

“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”

“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.

“Of course I can.”

You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.

He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.

He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.

You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.

He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.

•

The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.

The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.

You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.

For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.

You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.

He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.

He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.

You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.

You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.

Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.

“Another cup? Really?”

You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.

“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.

“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.

Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”

You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”

“Since?” he presses.

You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.

“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.

“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.

You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I’m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”

At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.

Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.

•

When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.

Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.

Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.

You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”

He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”

“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.

“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.

For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.

“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.

You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”

You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.

“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”

He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.

You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.

“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”

That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”

He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.

“So, what?”

He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”

“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.

“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”

You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”

“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”

“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”

He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.

“Thank you, Spence.”

•

Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.

You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.

Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.

You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.

Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.

Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.

If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.

God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?

You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.

You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.

His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a

moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.

“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.

Hotch nods, “Please.”

You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”

A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”

There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.

You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.

“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.

Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”

It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.

After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.

“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.

Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”

You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

•

*Two years later

“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.

“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.

“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”

You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”

The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.

“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”

A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.

There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.

“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.

“Just about,” you say.

Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small legs hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.

You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.

A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.

You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.

“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”

You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.

“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.

And that’s an encouraging thought.

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elfven-blog · 1 year

Text

Is it that bad?

Summary: You get to the bottom of why you’re puppy has been so avoidant lately Puppy!Leon Kennedy x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+, Puppy Leon, Sub!Leon, female reader anatomy, p in v, breeding. (If I have missed any, let me know)

Word count: 1.6K

You didn’t know what was up with Leon lately, his mood seemed to swing worse than the pendulum in your office clock. One moment he wanted you as close as possible as he pawed at your sides and suckled at your tits, and the next he was putting himself in his kennel or going out for hour long runs. Many thoughts ran through your head as to what could be going on in your puppy’s mind for him to be like this, but not a single thorough conclusion.

And today, you’d had enough of it. He had gone on another of those long runs, deciding to forego spending time with you even though neither of you were busy today. You were angry, your blood was boiling, and it was almost ready to bubble over into the fire. The tap tap tap of your foot rang out as you bounced your leg up and down, arms crossed as you stared at the clock from where you sat. The minutes ticking down slowly.

A few moments later and you hear the click of the door, eyes snapping to the hallway as Leon made his way into the living room. His ears were flattened to his head and tail drooped with no life in it, sweat dripping down his neck as he wiped it away, sometimes you hated that sensitive nose of his but then times like this, where the anger is rolling of you, it’s one of your favourite things. He can tell exactly how angry you are by the burning scent filling his nose.

You watched as his hands furled and unfurled, his leg twitching at the tense atmosphere, but you sigh and shake your head. When you stood from the sofa, the anger dissipating and being removed with just tiredness. He followed you immediately a whine leaving his throat as he reached to wind his arms around your waist, stopping you from going any further. You sigh again.

“Leon, can you let go?” His head buries into your neck where you feel him shake his head and his arms tighten around you. Your hand moved to try and pull his arms off you but there appears to be no luck as he’s much stronger. Leon presses his nose further into your skin and you can feel as he rolls his hips against your ass, and suddenly to mood swings and constant avoidance make sense. A whine makes its way out of him as he presses closer, almost bending you over as his hips rut against the friction and his cock strains at his shorts.

“Oh, Leon, puppy you could have told me” You felt the shaky hot breath against your skin as his hips pressed against you again, and his thighs tensed “is it that bad? You know I’m happy to help you” Leon growled lightly before his teeth grazed at your pulse and he pulled you closer, caging you into him as a wet spot grew against his shorts and your jeans.

And then he pulled away, his head lifting from your neck as he nosed at your cheek “I’m sorry, you were just so busy with that work project and I didn’t want to distract you, thought I could deal with it” There were tears gathering in his blue eyes, almost swallowed by his pupils and you took his hands from around your waist and led him to your shared bedroom.

“God, I thought you were angry, or or” the words stumbled in your throat and Leons eyes widened as he rushed to hug you, both of you landing on the bed as his ears flattened to his head and he smothered your face with his lips. Hands roaming all over your body as he pressed himself down against you.

“No, no, never that, never” his voice was a little more hoarse as his bottom lip trembled before he’s leaning down and pressing his mouth to yours with his tongue licking into you. Your hands moving to clutch at his t-shirt “gonna show my owner how much I love her, gonna breed her so she and everyone knows”.

His words goes straight between your thighs, slick dripping into your panties as you buck your hips up against his. Then you use the hands on his tshirt to push him over, rolling him onto his back which he is quite happy to allow. His tail thumps against the sheets, and his hands move to paw at your tits. “Uh uh, puppy. You’re gonna let me take care of you, even if you’ve been bad gotta make sure your balls are empty before I punish you” Leons head falls back with a groan as his hands dip below your top and massage at the bare skin under your bra, fingers rolling the pebbled nipple between his fingers as his hips move his thickened cock against your jeans.

With a soft smile, you pull away and he reaches for you as you shush him. You undress yourself completely and his mouth opens with drool sitting at the corner before his attention shifts to watch you pull his shorts and boxers down. His erection smacking against his abdomen and smearing the previous orgasms cum against the skin. His tip was red and still throbbing. His hands grip at your hips as he looks at you dazed already.

A low groan left his open mouth as your fingers gathered the cum leaking from his slit before you wrapped your hand around him, the skin of his cock burns hot in your hand as the shlick shlick sounds in the room. His eyes close as he tries to keep his hips down for you. Be your good boy and prove he can breed you well. Your own eyes darkened at the sight of him below you, the sweat from his run was still causing a shine to his skin as more gathered against his hair.

“There we go puppy, just lay back and relax” Your hand squeezed around the base, and you felt his cock jump in your hand as his thighs tensed and the drool slipped from his mouth and down his chin, matching the slick coating your thighs before you moved to hover over him “poor puppy, just needs me to look after him. To just take his cock over and over to make sure he’s empty.” His hips rut up, bumping against your dripping hole and causing him to moan at the fleeting touch.

As you sink down onto him Leon lets out the most pornographic sound and his tail thumps against the bed faster as his hands bruise into your skin. He his immediately pushing up further into you as his grip pulls you down, and your hands moved to steady against his chest as you struggle to keep up with his pace. But he decides its not enough and he rolls you back over so his hips can piston into you at a different angle, making you moan as all words are lost in your jumbled mind. His hands move to bend your legs up near your ears.

“So good, so tight, gonna breed you so good, make sure you’re full of my pups” his own mouth runs a mile a minute, all of his thoughts leaking out through his lips as he leans down. Pushing your legs further up as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth “Gotta make sure it takes, cant wait to see your pretty tits filled with milk so I can suck ‘em for you before pups get here” His hips are still rabbiting into you, his balls slap against the supple skin of your ass and his pelvis rubs your clit just right.

Your own thighs shake against his head and pleasure builds in the pit of your stomach, your arms lay by your side almost useless as he continues bullying his cock in and out of you. A squelching sound fills your ears as his tongue runs over your nipple before he moves to the other and immediately suckles that into his mouth as he moans around it, your cunt tightening around him. “Can’t wait to see you swollen with my pups, wont be able to keep my hands off you”

A broken noise leaves you, you’re not even sure what kind of noise its meant to be but Leons ears lift up and he seems to like it as he snaps his hips into your cunt again to try and draw another one out. His mouth moves from your spit covered tits to your neck where he licks against the salty skin, and he presses his body weight against you, sinking deeper into your hole as his tip hits the cervix.

Your hands clench at the sheets as your walls pulse around him, and your eyes close from the force of the orgasm washing over you. Legs squeezing his head while he rides your orgasm out, and his teeth bite into the skin of your neck as he pumps cum into your spent walls.

The both of you lay there for a minute before he moves with a groan and his hips push against you again. Your eyes fly open and wide as you look at him with an open mouth. “Already?”

A blush covers his cheeks as he dips his head down to press a kiss to your chest, and nods as his hips begin moving again. “Sorry, sorry, just, God can’t help it, need to make sure it all takes”.

This was gonna be a long rut.

#Leon Kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #residentevil2 #resident evil x reader #RE2!Leon x reader #Puppy!Leon x reader #Puppy!Leon #leon s kennedy x reader #leonkennedysmut #resident evil #Resident evil 2 x reader #leon scott kennedy #Leon kennedy x female reader #sub!leon kennedy #sub!leon

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the-s1lly-corner · 23 days

Note

yes that's It! can I ask for varIous creepypastas of your choosIng, wIth the reader usIng the orange peel theory on them? If you want to of course.

Slenderman, Splendorman, Hoodie, Laughing Jack w/ the orange peel test

speed writing this before the nosebleed starts- i can feel it and i am locking in- i can now say ive put my sweat tears AND blood into my writing notes: reader is gn, short post cws: none

SLENDERMAN

it takes him a moment to think about what youve asked for him.. you want him to peel the fruit for you? dont you have hands..?

he does do it after a second before you ask again, the question just took him off guard for a moment

surprisingly, he doesnt peel it as neatly as his brother does, but he still gets the job done without making too much of a mess

passes the fruit into your hand, and waits for you to ask for something else if hes still needed

passes, i think, even if he doesnt understand why you need help with it... im sure he'll get it some day!

SPLENDORMAN

more than happy to do it! peels it off with a claw with little effort, even gets it all off in one go- it looks like a cute ribbon! tosses it into the trash so you dont have to

takes it even further and splits it into individual slices and even picks out the weird thready white bits... unless you like those bits, then he leaves them for you!

asks you if you want him to peel another orange for you- or better yet, are you hungry? he can make something for you thats more filling!

passes with flying colors

HOODIE

give him a moment and he will get to you as soon as he can!

peels it off as neatly as he can and discards the peel himself, you dont have to bother yourself with it

that being said... hes still wearing his gloves when hes doing it... he seems to forget to take them off a lot of the time- these are the same gloves that hes running around with and getting messy in

so... eating the orange after hes peeled it for you might not be the best idea, and you fight back the grimace on your face when you realize that his hands are sticky now too, on top of being covered in god knows what

passes because he does it but good god you need to convince him to take his stuff off around the house

LAUGHING JACK

stretches his arm across the room- remember, clown stuff- and yoinks the orange from your hands... look you dont even need to take the time to walk over to him!

has... never peeled an orange before so hes going to be a little messy... not to mention his claws, which make the entire ordeal even harder

resorts to puncturing the fruit and tearing the peel off, leaving the fruit a mangled dripping mess in his palm as he passes it back to you with a smile on his face- not one of malice for tearing up the fruit, but out of genuine pride that he got it done

passes on the technicality that he did it without resistance and gave it his best shot

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scuttlingcrab · 2 months

Text

A Hellish Dealer

Inspired by the Merchant Raphael that could've been, but now only exists in our imaginations. RIP. Gone but not forgotten. Thank you @firlionemoontav for the prompt idea and letting me know that we were robbed of Merchant Raphael!

Summary: Raphael isn't only a saviour, but a proficient salesman. After coming to Tav’s rescue, again, he offers the little mouse an item, straight from his Devilish line of goods, that he hopes will aid her in the fights ahead.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via devils-little-mouse)

Tav gasped for air, clutching at her chest. Her temples pulsed, her skull vibrating along with each thumping heartbeat. Her throat burned as she inhaled, like she had swallowed a bucket full of coal. It made her want to vomit, a cold sweat dripping from her forehead. Tav shivered, struggling to sit up. She eventually found the strength to hug her knees in a sad attempt to warm herself.

Without warning, memories flashed before her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been falling, her body plunging into something sharp. Pain jetted through her chest, a searing sensation stemming from the pits of her soul. Her companions' screams echoed in the recesses of her mind, their pleas for help, cries of agony had blended into one… until there was only quiet, her entire world consumed by nothing but shadows.

Tav blinked, her eyes caked with dirt. She rubbed away the grime, her mind scrambling, attempting to put the millions of shattered pieces of this reality back together. She loosened the laces of her tunic, hoping that would give her some more room to breathe. Her hands stopped abruptly, running over a massive tear in the middle of her chest. She looked down, eyes widening at the discovery that her entire tunic was covered in dried blood. She instantly reached for her back, feeling an identical rip between her shoulder blades.

Tav’s chest tightened, spots of black dotting across her vision.

Breathe, Tav. Breathe.

She felt the floor with her fingertips. Stones. It was damp, slippery.

She’s still here. Breathe. That’s it.

She turned her head, attempting to look around, to search for her companions… but her vision was hazy, the specks of black refusing to leave her alone.

Tav’s nose itched and she suppressed a cough, tears forming from the corner of her eyes as the scent of sulphur suddenly assaulted her senses.

A large black shadow came into view, looming above her ominously. She blinked again and the area around her slowly came into focus, the shapeless being forming a clearer silhouette… and then a face. Their features morphed into something familiar. Big dark eyes stared down at her, the irises briefly flickering orange, like tiny flames. They were tall, their hair short and brown…

Wait a damned second.

“Raphael?” Tav whispered, confusion contorting her face.

Raphael smiled wide, bearing his teeth. He wore the same shit eating grin from when they first met on that bridge, when this entire fiasco began.

“It seems you’re not very perceptive after all, despite my countless warnings.”

“Your… W-what?” Tav coughed, blood splattering on her palms. She immediately wiped it away on her trousers, growing more disgusted with herself.

“The infernal markings, scattered throughout this Mausoleum. So simple I had assumed even a half-wit such as yourself could’ve spotted them.”

Tav swallowed, another lump forming in her throat. Now that Raphael mentioned it, there were a bunch of weird symbols littered throughout the doorways of that stupid fucking Mausoleum, and a few of those scribbles suspiciously resembled arrows. She had shrugged them off, thinking it was some kind of joke or just someone’s sad attempt at artwork. Not actual warning signs from the Devil himself… pointing in the right bloody direction this entire time. They had been lost for hours, going back and forth one twisted hallway after another.

Well, Karlach was right… and Tav was a fucking idiot.

Tav stood abruptly, hoping to cover up her festering embarrassment. As soon as she rose, the room rotated, faster and faster like she was caught in the middle of a windstorm. The floor came up to meet her in a blur and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for another explosive impact. She instead felt a sharp tug on her arm as her body was yanked to one side, promptly followed by a pleasant embrace. Tav leaned into the hold, enjoying the stillness and melting against the comforting heat radiating from…

She opened her eyes, only to find herself snuggled in Raphael’s arms, her head resting against his chest. She held her breath as she glanced up at him. He winked in response and Tav blushed, her cheeks catching fire almost immediately. That damned face, that damned Devil… she never thought his smile could get any more condescending.

Tav ripped herself away from Raphael, wobbling as she tried to keep herself upright without his support, but it only got worse.

“Oh Gods, I’m going to be sic–”

The sound of a snap ricocheted throughout the chamber walls, settling her stomach and the spinning room simultaneously.

“The little mouse, ever so hasty to escape the hands that saved it. You nearly soiled my favourite pair of boots. I will have you know, these are quite expensive.”

Tav held her hands out wide to keep her balance, shaking away any lingering bouts of nausea.

“My f-friends… what have you don…”

“Oh, they aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’d like a few more minutes alone with you.” Raphael paused, his eyes travelling up Tav’s body as if he was about to devour her for supper. “And please wipe that bewildered look off your face. Yes, that boney little cretin that lingers at your camp isn’t the only one who can bring mortals back from the dead. Now sit still, else you’ll ruin my handiwork.”

There was another snap and Tav was transported away from the Mausoleum in a rush of sparks that tickled her skin. She materialised on a spacious balcony, her body gently fitting into a plush leather chair. The material stuck to her exposed skin like glue as she fidgeted. Tav inhaled sharply at the view, blood-red skies and an otherwise barren wasteland overtaking her vision. The air was thicker here, weighing on her shoulders like a heavy piece of armour.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Tav whispered, just as a dark Hellish cloud appeared on the horizon, growing more ferocious as it crept closer.

Raphael sat in front of her, legs crossed and cradling a silver goblet. His eyes glimmered against the fiery skies of Avernus as he continued to gaze at her. Out of fondness or hunger? Tav had no fucking clue anymore.

A small table was placed between them, lined with a tray of refreshments.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’d like to offer you some commodities for the fight ahead.”

“Hold on. Since when are you , the almighty Raphael, scary Devil-man who threatens foolish mortals, a vendor?” Tav leaned back, laughing hysterically. She watched as Raphael’s smile faded, a menacing scowl replacing any hint of amusement that had previously occupied his face. “Gods, I must’ve really, I mean really, hit my head back there.”

Raphael’s neck twitched and his eyes narrowed, but he remained calm, taking a sip from the goblet.

“There is a whole world of services you’ve yet to discover that only I can provide. I just so happen to have an entire line of goods that are simply too Devilish to keep all to myself.”

“Do you think I have any bloody gold left? I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be done with this never-ending bullshit! As if this damned tadpole wasn’t enough, you have to be creeping and crawling around every corner! I’ve ju–”

Raphael leapt towards Tav, erupting into his cambion form. Tav cried out in shock as the table burst into flames, the bottles of wine and various jars of food exploding. She winced, covering her face to protect herself from the flying shards of glass. Raphael crushed the goblet in his hand like it was nothing but cheap, flimsy material. Wine oozed from his fist like blood, the liquid sizzling as it touched his skin.

He leaned closer to Tav, pointing a claw at her face.

“I would hold that wretched, ungrateful tongue if I were you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be nothing but a sack of flesh rotting on the shores of the Chionthar.”

“Raphael, I’m sorry.” Tav muttered, her words barely audible against the thunder from the approaching storm.

“I cannot hear your pitiful squeaks, little mouse.”

“I’m sorry.” Tav said again, her voice shaking. “I-I w…”

She hid her face in her hands before Raphael could see her weep. She felt humiliated. Actually worse, like she was a spoiled child having a temper tantrum. Ungrateful.

Tav choked on her tears, her body trembling against each emotional wave that crashed against her, destroying what was left of her self-control. The sadness was suffocating, her exhaustion crippling. She was just so tired. Of everything. Everyone. Fed up with being bent and moulded like she was merely a piece of metal in a forge. It wasn’t only Raphael. No . But her companions, pulling her in twelve different directions all at once, each with their own personal vendettas. And that tadpole, swimming around her brain, digging deeper and deeper into her subconscious. The sleepless nights, tossing and turning from the voices in her head.

It was too much.

“Why did you bring me back?” Tav muttered eventually.

There was a brief pause as thunder cracked through the air, a hot gust of wind blowing across her hands.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Raphael replied, softly.

“I hope you make it quick then. So the next time I fall you can just leave me to die in peace.”

“Yes…” Raphael began, delicately peeling Tav’s fingers away from her face, lowering her shield. He placed his own hand on her cheek, the warmth from his palm drying the tears that fell. He held his hand there for what felt like an eternity, and in truth, Tav didn’t want him to let go. She tried to look away, but she was drawn into his gaze; those dark, deceitful eyes, slowly losing herself the more she stared into that welcoming abyss.

“I think I’m satisfied.” Raphael continued, releasing Tav from his hold. “Consider that my first and only warning. Next time I won’t be so… generous.”

Raphael returned to his seat and Tav let out a sigh, pressing her fingers to her cheek where the remains of his touch still lingered.

He clapped his hands twice and a massive wooden wardrobe appeared behind him. He twirled his wrist, opening the double doors and showcasing an endless expanse of weapons, armour, and potions. He swiped his hand and the thousands of artefacts flew past him at a rapid speed. He hummed thoughtfully until he raised an index finger and stopped the movement, staring at a large metallic staff in front of him. It floated patiently, the metal was smooth and twisted, almost like silver vines.

“That’ll do nicely…”

Raphael moved his index finger and the staff flew out of the wardrobe, hovering before Tav.

“Feast your eyes on this . It can detect creatures who might not want to be found, simply activate the barrier with an intermediate incantation and nothing can hide within its boundaries. I think it suits your strengths just enough to get this next job done.”

The staff bounced in the air as it twirled, beckoning Tav to touch it. She reached towards the staff, but Raphael yanked it away with the flick of his wrist.

“Tut, tut. I don’t just hand things out for free, not even to my most treasured customers. I can give you a discount, however.”

Tav opened her mouth in protest but Raphael raised his hand dramatically to silence her.

“Those soul coins, I can hear them screaming from your person. A far more satisfactory payment for my services. I don’t stoop so low as to accept gold .” Raphael practically shuddered as the words left his lips.

Tav hesitated, her hand resting above her trousers.

“Come now, Karlach doesn’t need them. If you give her any more, she’ll likely explode before you reach Baldur’s Gate.”

“How did you… riiight .” Tav muttered, nodding to herself. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, yes, yes, I know.”

“Ah, has that tadpole riddled brain finally caught up?”

“Fine.”

Tav unclipped a leather pouch from her belt, digging her fingers inside it. She removed a soul coin and held it up to Raphael.

“And for an additional soul coin I can throw in a few revivify scrolls, 4 for the price of 1. Seeing as you could barely walk the halls of the Mausoleum without falling into a trap meant for the undead. I simply don’t have enough time on my agenda to wait for you buffoons to drop like flies again. Which will undoubtedly happen, I can assure you. I might even bet you on it.”

Tav bit the side of her mouth, trying to keep herself from saying anything stupid to rile his temper a second time. She shook her head as she pulled another soul coin from the pouch. She placed both coins in her palm, extending it towards Raphael. He giddily accepted, snatching the Hellish currency in one showy movement.

“Ta.”

Raphael inspected each soul coin carefully, rubbing his thumb over the jagged designs. He brought them to his ear, closing his eyes as he listened to music that Tav could not hear. He sighed with pleasure, nodding along to a silent melody.

“Oh, how delicious. There is nothing that brings me more delight than the screams of doomed mortals. One of life’s simple pleasures.”

Raphael bounced the soul coins between his fingers, like he was trying to impress Tav with an amateur magic trick, until they vanished in a puff of smoke. The goods Tav purchased flew into her hands, nearly causing her to topple over in the chair.

“Well then, thank you for your business. I’ll be sure to keep my fingers crossed you can survive the next few hours. You know what’s at stake. Until we meet again.”

Before Tav could even utter her thanks, Raphael stood from his chair, gifting her with one of his flourishing bows. Her body was enveloped in another burst of sparks and just like that, she was swiftly returned to the Mausoleum. She unexpectedly found herself yearning for the stifling air of Avernus, her thoughts rushing back to Raphael.

Tav stood in the same chamber, but she was no longer alone. Her companions were lying at her feet, just like the Devil had promised, groaning as they regained consciousness.

“Gods, my head. That nearly ended us all…” Astarion whispered, jumping to his feet.

“Yeah, what a fucking close call. Good job getting us out of that one, Tav,” Karlach added. She remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“It would have been an undignified death.” Minthara said, rising to her knees as she released a healing spell. “And worst of all, my vengeance would have remained unquenched.”

Karlach laughed, using her elbows to lift herself up.

“We’ll get that bastard Thorm soon enough, Minthara.”

Minthara huffed and the companions continued the idle chatter, their voices slowly fading from Tav’s focus.

Tav looked down at the metal staff in her hands, her grip tightening around it.

Right, she better not fuck this up. For all of their sakes.

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #raphael x tav

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prythianpages · 1 year

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ACOSM | The Night she was Born

azriel x rhys's sister (oc) however, since this is her birth story, Azriel is not in this.

warnings: birth scene, mentions of blood, some angst and maybe mild fluff

A/N: this is just an imagine of the birth of Rhysand's sister, the first to my collection of imagines that follow her story. I do want to put a disclaimer that some details will be different in my series of imagines following Rhysand's sister, to what is actually canon in the books. Another disclaimer is that I've been in love with the name Yvaine since I watched Stardust and thought it would be a fitting name for Rhysand's mom after learning it meant "evening star." I am aware that there is a fanfiction that also named her the same but when I chose to name Rhysand's mom this, it was not my intention to copy it. I actually hadn't gotten to that part in the fic yet when I had already written this.

Screams of anguish followed by frantic orders filled the room. Sweat glistened on her skin, her dark hair sticking to her forehead. She hunched over in pain, her grip tight on the bed post as she refused to lay down. One of the maids rushed to open the doors to the room’s balcony and then drew back the curtains to all windows before opening those as well, allowing in the fresh draft of cool air in.

The moon was aglow, casting its light upon the room as if it was bestowing its blessing upon the coming of the second child of the night court. But still, it did nothing to relieve the lady in distress as she let out another scream, causing the little dark haired boy beside her to pale, stricken with his own fear over hearing his mother’s agony. She had been like this for hours.

At the sound of the doors to the chambers opening, the dark haired boy turned his head. Tears glistened in his deep blue-violet eyes as they fell upon the High Lord of the Night Court. The little boy ran toward him.

The High Lord’s face crossed with fear, the color draining from his face at the sight of his wife–his mate– in pain. He paid no mind to the boy who had ran to him and sought out comfort but instead continued to walk to his mate.

The High Lord did not say a word. He did not need to. His hand reached out toward his wife’s, finding it to be warm and clammy. He felt her relief shoot through their bond at his touch. She loosened one of her hand’s grip on the bedpost to allow herself to wrap them around her husband’s instead.

“Push harder, my Lady.” Madja, one of the Night court’s healer, instructed as she kneeled before her Lady and urged the maids to aid her in helping with the birth.

The High Lord watched his mate struggle, unable to hide the worry on his face. Their first born had come with ease. With Rhysand, it had been a smooth pregnancy with the babe arriving right on his expected due date. It had also been a short labor with minimal pain. Nothing compared to the scene before him. Very few things were capable of instilling fear into the High Lord of the Night Court…

Losing his mate was one of them.

“My High Lord,” Madja began with a frown. Tears streamed down her face as she brought up her bloodied hands–his mate’s blood. He followed her gaze to the pooling of blood on the floor that seemed to be growing more and more by the second. He felt like the breath was knocked out of him. He recognized that tone in Madja’s voice. “She’s lost so much blood. I’m afraid–”

“You will save this child at any cost!” The Lady of Night screamed in between her tremors. Her desperate eye’s met her mate’s. She knew what Madja was about to say and as she looked into her mate’s deep blue-violet eyes, she knew what his answer would be.

“Yvaine–”

“Please.” Yvaine, the Lady of Night, begged.

“We will save them both.” The High Lord said in a commanding tone as he returned his gaze back to Madja. A frustrated glower was etched on his face and his eyes were alight with a warning. If either of them die, you’ll be next.

The High Lord of the Night Court was powerful. However, his powers specialized in destroying and misting his enemies. He was not well endowed in the healing aspect, which is why he summoned more healers from the Night court, cursing himself for underestimating the need.

Upon their arrival, Madja barked desperate orders at them as she took the lead on Lady Yvaine’s labor. The High Lord did not know how much time had passed. He could only focus on holding his mate and whispering reassurances to her as she continued to hunch over in agony. Yvaine was strong and she would get through this.

“The baby is coming!” Madja shouted in relief. “I can see its head!”

One last scream came from the Lady of the Night followed by silence.

Then, another cry—a babe’s cry.

Madja caught the babe in her arms, wrapping her around the towels she had prepared earlier as her helper cut the umbilical cord. The High Lord carefully held Yvaine as some of the healers cleaned her up and switched her nightgown. Yvaine had lost a lot of blood that would slow down her recovery but she would live and that’s all that mattered to the High Lord.

As the High Lord helped Yvaine to rest in their bed, he couldn’t but smile in relief. He pressed a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Well done, my love.”

Wrapping the now clean baby in a new blanket, Madja approached the High Lord and Lady Yvaine. A warm smile on her face as she looked down to the crying bundle in her arms. “It’s a beautiful baby girl.” Madja said, holding out the baby to them.

The High Lord dropped his wife’s hand, allowing her to stretch her weak arms forward and beckoning for Madja to place her baby in her arms.

A girl? The High Lord couldn’t help the disappointment that settled in as his gaze fell upon their newborn. A girl was not what he was hoping for and as his gaze inspected the babe further, he couldn’t help but notice how small she was or how fragile her little wings appeared. This was the babe that had caused his mate so much distress and pain over the past couple of months. He was hoping the pain and struggle meant the coming of another strong boy such as it had happened for the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“Such a frail little thing. What a pity,” he couldn’t help but mutter as he turned and made his way out of the chambers, alluding that he had other present matters to attend to.

“Rhysand.”

The dark haired boy–no older than two– turned to his mother with wide eyes, his little wings outstretched and taut. Despite being told to return to his chambers so that he may avoid the horrors of childbirth, he had opted to stay, determined to be one of the first to meet his new sibling. He swallowed the urge to bring back up his dinner and approached his mother with caution. He brought his wings back in, careful not to hurt his mother but anxious to see the small bundle in her arms.

Rhysand’s mother, Yvaine, smiled with tired eyes, patting the spot on the bed beside her. He successfully hopped onto the bed and eased himself into her open arm as she curved it around his shoulder, bringing him close. He found himself staring into eyes that mirrored his own and hair just as dark as his. She also had wings like him. As Rhysand curiously looked upon his new sibling, the baby’s cries came to a stop as she did the same.

“Sister?” Rhysand softly asked, sparing a brief glance at his mother before he returned his awe stricken gaze to the baby. While his words were few, his mother had done well in teaching him two more words in anticipation of the babe in her stomach: brother or sister. She had opted to keep the gender a surprise to all, including herself. While she knew her mate and husband had wished for another son, she secretly wished for a daughter. And when she heard Madja’s announcement of a baby girl, she was over the moon with the news, despite her aching body.

“Sister.” His mother confirmed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a big brother now, Rhys.”

A tiny gasp escaped from Rhysand. Big brother.

“Have you thought of a name, my Lady?” Madja asked, feeling her heart swell at the sight of the three.

Lady Yvaine looked down at her baby with such love and tenderness. She had heard the words her husband had muttered under his breath before departing, her heart aching at his disappointment. She could not disagree more with him. The baby in her arms was not an easy one to carry or bring into this world but she did not care. She was just so happy and relieved to finally have her daughter in her arms, safe and sound.

“She is to be strong and brave in a world like this,” Lady Yvaine stated, reaching out her finger for the baby to grasp. She broke into another smile as the baby wrapped her hand around her mother’s fingers with a surprisingly strong grip. It was as if the baby had agreed with her and a name instantly came to mind.

“Valeria.”

“Valewia.” Rhysand repeated slowly, causing his mother to giggle and those around to swoon over the adorable moment.

“Oh, my little stars.” Lady Yvaine cooed as she brought both of her children closer to her, inhaling both of their sweet scents deeply. “May you always shine bright, even on the darkest of nights.”

#rhysand #acotar #night court #rhysand's sister #acotar imagine #rhysand imagine

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merp0515 · 2 months

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Healing Past Scars Ch.1 Blind Belief

Summary: After the dealing with so many traumatic incidents, our beloved meme guardain boys have to come into terms with both past and present scars. Will they be able to conquer them with an iron fist or will those same wounds destroy them both?

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts,PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Healing , Developing Relationship

Link to my previous post with other fanfic places I posted this fic at is here!

TW: The following story contains dark themes such as PTSD, and disturbing imagery.

It was raining hard late into the night at the showgrounds. Everyone was fast asleep in their respective rooms peacefully except for one. Four had just finished editing his latest video, ready to call it a night. He gets up from his chair and stretches his body. He changes into his PJs and hops to his bed and closes his eyes to forget reality for a moment.

Fog clouds Four's vision as he tries to watch where he was stepping. He looks around cautiously, trying to figure out his location. He looks ahead to see a silhouette of something he couldn't put his finger around.

"Hello! Can you help me figure out where I am? I'm a little lost here!" He shouted at the shadow from a distance. The shadow doesn't reply. The guardian walks towards the mysterious figure, his brows scrunched in irritation as the silence between the two thickens. The fog slowly clears up the more SMG4 gets closer to the figure. The figure's shadow clears as Four gets close, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes widen seeing a person he hasn't seen in a while......Desti.

Desti looks at Four coldly. Her octarian eyes staring deep into his soul. Four could feel himself sweating as the scene changed to where she had died but something was different. Four looked down to see the very sword that killed her, pierced into his heart. He instantly felt everything at once. The pain, no way of breathing, and the shockwave his body felt as he kneeled down before her.

"If only you had been quicker with realizing that anime trash was behind me, I would have been still alive and Meggy wouldn't have gone through such a traumatic event." She spoke with such venom in her mouth. Four began coughing up blood as it started to spread on his overalls. He looks down in shame, looking at his hand, shaking tears threatening to come out.

"I...I was trying to save everyone." He managed to say before the scene and the person changed again. He closes his eyes, feeling himself glitch into the transition. He notices the sword that was previously on his chest disappear and holds on to his chest, anxiety slowly kicking in as he is back in the god box. More specifically, where they first met the real SMG0 and Niles.

He looks up to see the sky, remembering the mixture of colors where they fought Eldritch Zero and almost dying in the void of the box with Mario and SMG3. He hears a dark chuckle, snapping himself back and gasps in horror as he sees both his avatar and his guardian partner's Mario reskin covered in many injuries.

"MARIO! SMG3!" Four screams in terror and he runs towards the two but is cut short due to something landing between him and the lifeless bodies. He looked closer to see the thing that stopped him was none other than Melony in her Fierce Deity form.

"M-melon-" Four began to say before Melony cuts him off from speaking further. Her bubbly tone was replaced with a more serious and angry tone.

"Why?" She began, her face twisting into an angered expression that scared the shit out of the meme guardian.

"Why are all the bad things happening to us while you only get so little pain? Are we just characters that you can just play with their emotions and screw them over whenever you want?" The melon Deity says, her voice shaking from the tears that came out with her grief.

"It's a shame really." Another voice rang as the two original guardians appeared in between Melony. Zero looks away, not looking at the heartbroken Four. The teary eyed guardian looks to her right and growls in anger as Niles stares at him with a smug ass smile on his face.

"And yet with your best intentions, have you ever stopped to wonder if you ever did more harm than good?" Niles asked in a taunting tone.

Four's eyes widen in rage as he runs to the trio going head on towards Niles screaming angrily. Both Niles and Zero disappeared at the same time and fell to the ground right in front of Melony. He looks up in horror to see the two merged into their Eldritch version behind her staring him down emotionlessly. She picks up the blue hero effortlessly as the male struggles to get away from her grasp.

"M-melony please.....listen to me.", SMG4 tearfully said, feeling his face wet with tears.

Melony opens her mouth to speak to Four before throwing him into the abyss. But instead, the voice of the monster behind her spoke in her body as he was thrown far into the next place.

"P A T H E T I C."

Screams were heard in the void. Four felt like he was flying into the void for an eternity when suddenly felt himself going downwards to something.....and he was going down at the speed of light. Four shields himself, shutting his eyes tight as he was embracing for impact that never came.

Zero

One

Two

Three

Four

He counted to himself as he tried to calm himself down. He waited for anything to tell him he was either alive in his dream or awake back in his new room. Sounds of the keyboard echos in his ears as he opens his eyes immediately wondering where this nightmare had taken him this time. He looks around the room he was in. His heart racing, realizing where he is. Back to the beginning, where it all began. Four's breath quickens as he watches his 2022 self glued to the computer, his room a mess along with his restless appearance he had the day he snapped at his friends for turning off the wifi.

"It's crazy isn't it?" He heard a familiar voice from the shadows. Four jolts up in surprise to his friend Axol sitting on his old bed, looking at him with sadness and pity. The axolotl looks back to the older design, a frown intact on his face.

"I was once the world's best mangaka. I had it all. Fame, fans, people that adored all my hard work and enjoyed all of what I brought to the table. Meeting you all and going through all the insane near death experiences changed my life." Axol said with a heartbroken tone.

"A-axol please..... I-I'm sor-"Four weakly tries to apologize to his friend and carefully walks towards him.

"YOU APOLOGIZE?! AFTER BEING DEAD FOR ALMOST THREE YEARS ONLY NOW YOU CHOOSE TO APOLOGIZE?!" Axol screamed at Four with such rage. Four immediately stopped approaching and jolted in surprise, seeing him in such a state. Axol's body changed from his original form to the second stage of the time "Zero" possessed him.

"I NEVER GOT TO EXPERIENCE TRUE ROMANCE AND GO ON PROPER DATES! INSTEAD OF THAT, THE GIRL I FEEL FOR HAD TO KILL ME!!!" He shouts more aggressively. Four fell to his knees, looking down in shame. Letting his dead friend chew him out with his words.

The ground beneath him changes again to the outside of where the castle once was. Four looks up to the empty space before him. His guilt kicks into high gear as he lets his tears fall out and hugs himself in pain. He drowned out all the audio in the current setting he was in that he didn't hear someone walking towards the weeping male. He stops his tears for a moment to see a familiar shoe that had a skull on the side standing in front of him. Four lifts his upper body to see his ex rival looking at him. His face was unreadable as Four felt his lips shiver as the other male kneeled in front of him.

"Just like when I almost died during the 10th year anniversary party and during the god box incident. I almost died during Mario day.... didn't I?" Three spoke with pure fear in his eyes. The final glitch changes from the old castle to Three's Coffee N' Bombs where it was infested with snails. Four's eyes widened in fear and looked behind him to see a scribbled out face of Mario petting one of the snails. The blue guardian could feel himself tearing again as he felt Three's hand gently grab his face to see him. Seeing the way the other meme guardian stared at him shattered his soul, making him cry on the spot. Three's eyes changed from his warm ruby colored eyes to the yellow colored eyes, his skin and hand covered in black veins.

"Can you imagine what that's like?", Three gulped as he felt his own tears coming out seeing his partner cry. "To be completely and utterly failed.....time and again....by someone that meant the world to you..."

Four shot up from his bed drenched in sweat. His entire body was shaking from what he just experienced. He shakily covered his face with his hands, his sobs echoing in the blue man's room. He cursed the loud pouring rain outside for creating such a horrible nightmare. All he wanted was to create a new home for everyone after everything was said and done. Is having a peaceful life in his new home really hard to have?

In the meantime he'll have to do what he always did when this recurring nightmare happened. Hold himself close and let his tears out until there's nothing left so he can sleep.

#smg4 #smg4 fanart #smg3 #smg3 fanart #smg34 #smg34fanart #smg43 #merp #Healing Past Scars #fanfiction #smg4 fanfic #smg34 fanfiction #tw dark themes

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maybeimamuppet · 2 months

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Do you believe Regina is redeemable?

ohhhhh buddy the whole can of worms this opened

to make a long story short: yes.

to make a long story longer with a tw for mentioned child abuse/neglect and suicidal ideation

i think every iteration of her deserves a shot at redemption.

canonically regina is at most seventeen years old. yes, she’s almost an adult. yes, she does and has done despicable things at this age and even younger. but she is still young. she is still a child. to completely, black and white say, that she is at her core an unredeemable monster who doesn’t even deserve to try does a complete and utter disservice both to her and the people she’s hurt in her past. to say she will be the way she is forever negates all the suffering she goes through and puts others through in canon, misguided though it is.

regina is also basically the textbook for a personality disorder and specifically bpd. borderline is (in a lot of cases i’ll say rightfully) very harshly judged. there’s a lot of stigma around it and cluster b disorders as a whole. but bpd is also caused for the most part by neglect and abuse in childhood. we only ever see regina’s dad in 2004 canon, for a single scene, crying over regina wearing the rabbit halloween costume. he’s completely absent in both the stage show and 2024. and looking at her mom, it is very obvious something has happened to the both of them and that this child (or neither of these children if you include kylie from 2004) is/are not getting the emotional guidance, support, and attention they need. who knows what happened before canon as well. who knows what her dad was like.

speaking as someone who also probably has bpd (which i discovered through doing research to write her better) i can say it is a terrifying experience. i’m lucky in that i’m able to resist my compulsions most of the time, but having them at all is beyond terrifying sometimes. i am filled with rage on a hair trigger these days. sometimes i’m able to process this anger in a healthy way. i can rationalize. i can think through it. i can calm myself down.

other times i can’t. i can only glance through the mean girls tag on ao3 now because if i look at numbers or think for too long about it, i compare the new fics that have come with the 2024 movie to things i’ve written. to see these fics that, while fantastic, are much shorter or don’t have as much effort put into them as what i do get literally ten times the love does hurt, as much as i adore and appreciate what i do get.

by nature with my other illnesses i have to pour my entire heart and soul, blood sweat and tears into every word i put on a page. every fic i’ve done is a piece of me that sometimes feels like i’ve torn it out of myself and given you to read. sometimes seeing that get 150 hits compared to a cadina fic that’s half as long (but again, still amazing! they all deserve every hit and kudos and comment and whatever) getting up to 1, 10, 50k hits just latches to a particularly sadistic part of my brain and it’s all i can think about for weeks. and it makes me want to quit. either writing or living.

and that sounds dramatic because IT IS. and i’m fully aware having those thoughts and urges is irrational. i don’t want them. i miss feeling like i have a community on ao3 (i absolutely have one here and i love all of you in my little circle with my entire being.) i hate having to avoid reading about my favorite characters because it does that much damage to my mental health. i am afraid that it takes something that small for me to have these massive thoughts.

all of that to say is that bpd makes switches easier to flip. it makes bad choices easier to make.

the reason i’m still here. the reason i still write and i haven’t deleted everything i’ve ever done. the reason i haven’t done a number of other things that i won’t say because they aren’t really relevant. is because i have chosen not to. it is incredibly hard sometimes. but it is still a choice you have to consciously make. you have to consciously decide to hurt someone. you have to consciously decide to say things. you have to consciously decide to humiliate your best friend in front of countless other people.

regina did make those choices.

and for that she does deserve consequences. she deserves repercussions and she deserves flack. she does not deserve to get hit by a bus (except for it being the catalyst to help her realize she needs to change) or being force fed to reach her biggest insecurity and fear without her knowledge.

she made the earliest choice when she was either eleven or twelve years old, that we know of.

that is a child.

regina is a child who is clearly suffering in some way we don’t see. she absolutely should be held accountable for what she does and what she has done. but she also deserves to be allowed to apologize and try to make amends. she deserves to be allowed the opportunity for growth and to heal and to become a functional adult who is capable of meaningful relationships and success. she deserves to be allowed to try.

does she deserve immediate or any forgiveness? no. the people around her also deserve the ability to make the choices with her that they will. she has caused harm, people are allowed to process the harm she has put upon them however they will.

but she deserves the opportunity to make it a choice for them.

she deserves a chance at redemption.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #kinda got away from me there sorry lol #not the direction i was planning to go but whatever #anyway thank you for the ask dear friend!!!#much obliged ♡︎#regina george #mean girls

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mercillery · 3 months

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ADMIRALS AS TEACHERS

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD + MODERN AU???

CHARACTERS: Akainu + Kizaru + Aokiji

NOTES: This was has been sitting in my drafts for a while... Also, to whoever sent in requests yes I am working on them just give me time please <3

AKAINU

Honestly, Akainu would likely teach a subject that requires an unwavering commitment to discipline, structure, and a strong sense of justice. Subjects such as ethics, law, or history seem to be right up his alley. Specifically, I envision him as an Advanced Placement (AP) History teacher. His approach to teaching would be strict and authoritarian, instilling both respect and a sense of fear among his students. 99% of the students in his class are driven by fear of him rather than actual motivation to learn. That being said, the atmosphere in his classroom would be one of constant pressure and high expectations, which almost every student finds overwhelming and intimidating.

Akainu would demand nothing short of absolute perfection. He would have zero tolerance for disobedience or laziness, expecting his students to show the same dedication and rigor that he himself embodies. Any form of attitude or defiance would be met with immediate consequences—Akainu would not hesitate to expel a disruptive student from his classroom without a second thought. Is spending time outside the classroom better than being stuck in his class? Probably. But your chances of failing his class have probably just increased by a lot, and he will absolutely catch on if you’re just being disobedient to skip his class. So don’t abuse this.

His primary focus would be on the material being taught rather than on his students' personal feelings or stress levels. To him, the importance of the subject matter would always trump any student's grievances or frustrations. He would expect his students to maintain a laser-sharp focus, regardless of how they feel about school on any given day—meaning that you’ve got to bring your A game to his class every day. It’s that or nothing. Even if you’re grieving or stressed like crazy, he expects you to give it your all, no matter what. Sorry!

Akainu motivates his students through a combination of fear and respect rather than through encouragement or praise. He firmly believes that the fear of failure and its consequences is a powerful motivator, driving students to excel in their studies and adhere to his exacting standards. For students who are particularly afraid of failing or falling short of his expectations, Akainu's methods can be both terrifying and effective. The fear of disappointing him or not meeting his high standards often has students working themselves to the brink, sweating blood, and shedding tears to avoid his wrath. Despite the intense pressure, those who manage to channel their fear into diligence and hard work will find that they can succeed in his class! And yes, he does notice when his students are actually trying and putting in effort; he just isn’t the type to announce it to the whole school building out loud.

His classroom is orderly, with students seated in neat, precise rows. He enforces assigned seating, meticulously choosing who sits where. And this isn’t a random arrangement; Akainu deliberately separates friends, ensuring they sit far apart, while placing those who aren't close right next to each other. This strategic seating plan is just another layer of his strict control over the classroom environment, much to the students' frustration. Moreover, the walls of his class are adorned with military posters and detailed maps of various historical battles. This carefully curated setting, combined with his demanding teaching style, ensures that students understand the weight of their education under his watchful eyes… 👁️ 👁️

To conclude, Akainu’s teaching methods are definitely controversial, as most view his strictness as too harsh or oppressive. However, he believes that it is necessary to prepare his students for the harsh realities of the world they will eventually enter. He has good intentions, believe me. He’s just too strict and intense.

AOKIJI

After mulling it over for a while, I still can't pinpoint the exact subject he would teach. Environmental science, literature, or geography all come to mind, but I can't decide :( Regardless of the subject, though, one thing is certain: he’s a student favorite for a multitude of reasons. Despite his frequent tardiness—honestly, he’s late to his own class more often than not. Students and faculty alike wonder how he manages to keep his teaching position. But the truth is, no one really cares because Aokiji is simply adored by everyone—specifically the students. His laid-back attitude and approachable demeanor make him the most beloved and popular teacher in the entire school. It's almost as if his popularity grants him immunity from the usual rules and expectations. He’s the kind of teacher who leaves a lasting impression—the one students talk about long after they've graduated.

As I mentioned just now, Aokiji has a habit of arriving late to his own class, but his students don’t mind because that just means they get more time to chill. His tardiness has become a running joke among the students too. In fact, it’s almost a tradition at this point. Despite his late arrivals, Aokiji makes up for it by staying late to help students who need extra assistance. If you're wondering about his usual delay, it's typically just a few minutes. However, on Mondays, Thursdays, or any of those universally dreaded days, he can be 20–30 minutes late at best.

Unlike Akainu, Aokiji very much cares about his students' well-being, even if it’s not immediately apparent. Despite his tired and nonchalant appearance during class, he absolutely cares—trust me on this. If you’re struggling to focus on school because of other issues weighing on your mind, you can turn to Aokiji. He’s always ready to listen, and he’ll never dismiss your concerns. Whether you need to talk things through or just need some space, he’s there to support you. He might suggest signing you up for a guidance counselor or offering some time alone to collect your thoughts. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable and less stressed, Aokiji will do his best to accommodate. His students know they can rely on him, not just as a teacher but as a genuine source of support and understanding.

His class is... messy? Chaotic? Unorganized? Probably all three. Desks are scattered haphazardly around the room, with some areas having far more desks than others. Aokiji doesn’t care where his students sit as long as they aren’t too disruptive. He’s the kind of teacher who gives his students the freedom to arrange themselves. Some students take advantage of this by placing their desks close to his, eager to chat and interact with him since they absolutely enjoy talking with him. If Akainu ever walked into Aokiji’s class, he’d probably have a stroke. The disarray and lack of strict order would be too much for him to handle. But for Aokiji and his students, this chaotic setup works perfectly.

Aokiji is also known for his patience with his students. When one or a group of students become too disruptive, he lets it slide a few times, but with each incident, he becomes a bit more firm—not mean, just firm. He understands that students need a bit of leeway, and his relaxed approach reflects that. Despite his leniency, he rarely has to make students change their seats for being disruptive. His students usually get the message after a few warnings and straighten up, likely because they genuinely like and respect him as a teacher. However, if a student is being outright disrespectful or causing problems for him or another student, that's when Aokiji's demeanor changes. He becomes noticeably firm and directly addresses the issue. He’ll tell the student that they need to either chill out or take a walk around the school for a few minutes to cool off. When something like this happens, the entire class becomes captivated. It's almost as if every student suddenly has a bowl of popcorn, eagerly watching the situation unfold. They relish not only the chaos of the situation but also the rare moment of seeing Aokiji get serious, given his usual laid-back attitude.

In conclusion, Aokiji is one of the coolest teachers in the building. That’s about it. Everyone loves him and wishes to have him as their teacher for every class.

KIZARU

I'm definitely getting physics teacher vibes here... Yeah, Kizaru would be the perfect fit for teaching physics. Physics can be really complicated and confusing, but with his laid-back attitude, you'll feel much more at ease. His relaxed approach helps take the edge off, so you won’t find yourself too stressed out or panicking when grappling with the subject matter. And there’s an added bonus: Kizaru speaks incredibly slowly (like in the anime lol), which gives you plenty of time to process everything he’s saying. This means you can really take in the information and understand it better, rather than feeling overwhelmed by a barrage of fast-paced explanations. So, even if physics isn’t your strong suit, Kizaru’s teaching style makes it a lot more approachable for you.

Now, unlike other teachers, Kizaru actually goes out of his way to make his class entertaining and engaging. He understands that while some students can push through the boredom and focus solely on the material, others struggle with staying attentive. He completely gets it—he’d be bored too if his own class was dull. With this in mind, Kizaru uses everyday objects and interactive demonstrations to bring physics concepts to life. Whether he's using a simple toy car to explain inertia or demonstrating wave interference with water in a tub, he makes sure that the principles of physics are not only accessible but also enjoyable to learn. Additionally, Kizaru infuses his lessons with humor and a touch of sarcasm, making jokes that keep the class lively. His witty remarks and playful banter can quickly recapture the attention of his students if their minds start to wander. And just like that, in no time, he wins over his students, making physics a subject they look forward to rather than dread.

Kizaru is incredibly patient with his students. He never rushes them and always takes the time to ensure that everyone understands the material before moving on. If a student is struggling, he's always ready to offer one-on-one help. His supportive approach fosters a casual atmosphere where students feel comfortable asking questions and participating in discussions! For those who are too nervous to ask questions in front of the class, Kizaru has a special approach. He makes it a point to quietly check in with these students individually, asking if they have any questions or need further clarification. He understands that some students are just too shy or prefer not to speak up in a group setting, so he keeps a close eye on those who tend to be more reserved. This attentiveness ensures that everyone, even the quietest students, has their needs met. Kizaru’s ability to create a welcoming and supportive environment means that no one gets left behind!

Inside Kizaru's classroom, it's a hub of physics experiments and fascinating gadgets. From gyroscopes spinning on desks to pendulums swinging gracefully and intricate Rube Goldberg machines humming with activity, the room is alive with hands-on learning opportunities. The seating arrangement in Kizaru's class is designed to promote collaboration and lively discussions. Desks are often grouped in clusters, encouraging students to work together on projects and problem-solving exercises. What's more, Kizaru allows his students the freedom to choose their seating partners! However, he maintains a balance by gently addressing any disruptions that may arise. While students are generally free to sit where they please, he sets clear expectations for behavior. If there's occasional distraction, Kizaru might let it slide a couple of times, but he ensures that the focus remains on productive learning.

I feel like outside of just normal class, Kizaru leads or supports a physics club, where students can delve deeper into their interests, participate in science fairs, and engage in fun physics-related activities like building rockets or participating in robotics competitions.

Kizaru takes an understanding stance if he notices a student having difficulties because of personal problems like stress or other issues. He acknowledges the need for space and time to attend to personal problems and acknowledges that everyone encounters challenges occasionally. As a lenient and understanding teacher, Kizaru absolutely prioritizes the well-being of his students. If someone requires additional time to cope with personal challenges or simply needs a break to recharge, he's supportive and accommodating. Whether it's offering extensions on assignments, providing extra guidance, or simply lending a listening ear.

In summary, Kizaru's physics class is a dynamic blend of humor, creativity, and hands-on learning, transforming physics into an exciting and accessible subject for all his student!

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elliespassagerprincess · 1 year

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𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫: 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

This story is not based off a song! It’s my own little idea :)

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jackson!ellie x fem reader

Remember requests are always open! Feel free to leave one!

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: mentions of death, suicide, overall depressing themes

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: What’s the point of living, if you aren’t by her side?

Ellie lay on her back with her eyes closed. The sun shining on her pale and freckled skin. She hummed at the feeling of the grass scraping against her arms. The soft sound of water gushing could be heard from below her, as the two of you lay on a hill, she couldn’t be happier. She was away from Jackson. Away from everything and everyone. And the love of her life lay next to her. Ellie smiled softly just thinking of you. This is what she has always wanted. To be with you, in a beautiful place far away from everything. She loved you more than anything. All Ellie wanted to do is keep you safe, and moving as far away from people and most living things was the best option in her eyes. The safest option. If the two of you were this far away from any infected and people you both would be safe.

Ellie’s thoughts of keeping you safe were interrupted by a soft whisper of her name. She turned her head to look at you, and you were already looking at her. Ellie gave you a soft smile, taking in your features. You’ve been together for years but fuck, you were beautiful. She wasn’t lying when she said you were the prettiest girl she had ever seen. Every time she looked at you, was like she’s seeing you for the first time all over again. She always wondered how she got lucky by getting someone like you. You were way out of her league.

You and Ellie lay there just looking at each other for a while, before you spoke up

“You know, you have to let go of me”

“I can’t”

“Ellie” you said, your tone sounding desperate and frustrated. You sat up and Ellie followed you by sitting up as well, you rubbed your hands across your face and you let out a sigh. Ellie gently put her hand on your shoulder.

“Please” you whispered, voice barley above whisper. “I can’t rest in peace” you continued your sentence

“You aren’t dead” Ellie said quickly

“I am”

“No you’re not” Ellie said loudly, tears running down her face as she got up and looked down at you

You looked up at her and gave her an apologetic smile “Ellie wake up”

“Baby please”

“Ellie wake up’

Ellie sat up in her bed covered in cold sweat and tears. It was dream. A fucking dream. Ellie laid back down with a huff, and turned to your side of the bed. She let out loud broken sobs as she reached out to grab your pillow and she held it to her chest sobbing.

3 months ago you and Ellie had got married. It was a beautiful ceremony, and you both were surrounded by your friends and family. It was everything Ellie dreamed of. Your wedding reminded her of all those wedding magazines she always saw when she was out on runs. She never imagined, that she would ever get married. Until she met you. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with you.

3 days after the wedding tragedy struck. Ellie hated it when you went on patrol, but they were short on people due to both Ellie and Jesse being sick. Ellie had a gut feeling that morning when she woke up. Something was wrong. But she pushed the feeling aside, not wanting to upset herself. Later that day Ellie went to the gates of Jackson to wait for you. She got into her best outfit and used some 22-year-old perfume. The high of being married has not run out yet and she planned to take you out that night. She still couldn’t believe it; you’ve been married for 3 whole days.

As Ellie made her way to the gate, paramedics were running to the gate, and her heart dropped at the sight. She saw people running to you. Your lifeless body laid there. Bruised. Bleeding. It was very obvious you were not breathing. And there was blood everywhere.

Tears fell from her eyes as she reached out to grab you, but Tommy held Ellie back as the paramedics were trying to resuscitate you.

Ellie screamed, she fought Tommy. She did everything to make him let go of her but she couldn’t, his grip was too strong.

Ellie watched as they tried. “Please baby” she begged over and over again. Broken sobs and sentences left her lips. Please just get up. It felt like an eternity, but at some point they stood up. The paramedics gave Ellie an apologetic smile and apologized saying there was nothing they could do to save you. As soon as they said that Ellie’s world came crashing down.

As the months went by, Ellie lost herself. She doesn’t eat she doesn’t sleep. She can’t do anything but cry. She had no purpose. No one to look after. She felt worthless. Lonely. She felt lost without you. She was not going to move on. You were the only one for her. Ellie slowly walked to the bathroom, pained by all the memories this house has of you. Ellie didn’t want to live without you. There was no point.

Ellie spent that day with her family. And she was happy. Content. She made a choice. And she was happy with her decision. As she bid her goodbyes, the Millers watched her walk home.

“Don’t you think she was a little too happy?” Joel asked concerned about Ellie’s behavior.

“No, I don’t think so” Maria commented

“Just be happy for her she’s healing” she added

Joel just nodded Maria’s words. There was definitely something wrong with Ellie.

Ellie laid on her side of the bed holding your pillow. She smiled at a picture of you, that was on the wall. Ellie’s eyes drifted from the photo, to an empty pill bottle.

“I’ll join you soon baby” she whispered.

“Not even death can separate us”

And those were the last words Ellie Williams ever said.

Her body was found two days later. As sad as it was, Joel knew how much she loved you. He knew she wouldn’t be able to live without you. All Joel hopes, is that if there is a god out there, that he put you two together. That you and Ellie spent eternity together. Because that’s all Ellie wanted. Ellie wanted to be with you forever. No matter who or what it takes, no matter who she had to hurt, she was going to be with you forever.

Authors note: Thank you so much for reading! Remember you are loved and to always spread kindness. If you have any requests or ideas feel free to let me know!

Yours truly,

Zia:)

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xfancyuu · 2 years

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~ cause i can feel a real connection, a supernatural attraction. [aemond targaryen]

PART I (my blood, sweat, tears, and my last dance, take it all away.)

after four months of misery i have returned! my job prevented me from writing but i can confirm this is a three part series, this fic contains a westerosi wedding, the next will contain a valyrian wedding and the third part, well that's a surprise. reader is afab with she/her pronouns if requested i will write non-binary characters. ! i'd also love some feedback for this! i'd love some pointers on what you liked/didn't like about it! i try to make reader an actual person and appealing to all but she may come off a certain way (though i think that's the stress of the situation rather than reader being an awful person bc she's a lot more mellow in part 2 — maybe bc it's actually smth she wants to be involved in rather than a massive wedding, she wanted a more intimate moment lol).

this fic contains: bolton!reader, wedding, afab reader, no appearance indicators (except height, aemond is taller than you), lord bolton (your dad) worries about you a lot and idk if that is in canon standing but you're also his only daughter. your mum may be cersei lannister coded??? she's kinda mean but she's giving the reader some truths in there even if they won't apply to reader. reader's lifespan is called short though her and aemond are both around eighteen-twenty-one (but this is some time before the war & that gossip girl thanksgiving worthy moment — the girls that get it, get it) [5,079 words]

You had hoped the waiting was worth it, your father's insistence that you would be respected and appreciated by your future husband hadn't calmed you one bit. You knew what was expected of you, what the night would entail, and it had put you on edge, Aemond Targaryen was a temperamental man in the almost two years you had known him, you simply did not know what to expect. The blood of the dragon ran deep within him, he was chaotic and could do as he pleased to you and those around you if you did not please him correctly.

The preparations had taken many moons themselves, your father's involvement with the whole ordeal was rather surprising to many, fathers didn't typically involve themselves in matters such as weddings except choosing the man. Yet your father was proactive — you were his only daughter, his sweetling, his pride and joy. You had surmised the man did not want to let you go, to send you into a life of baring children and labours which he himself could not look over and sooth your worries.

Yet that had not happened, and you couldn't understand his ceaseless worrying. When you had told him you had met the great Vhagar he had almost had a heart attack. You had such a joyful emotion, however, your father could only hope it continued to stay that way. That the Prince would not feed you to his dragon the moment he had you alone once more which you had to assure your father that you were certain Prince Aemond was as fond of you as you were him.

It had felt like a ridiculous farce at first, the looks towards you when it was announced you'd be marrying the second son of the King. The whispers behind your back which they had thought you hadn't heard, how such a beautiful girl was fated to marry a man who could not match such beauty. You had scoffed at the time, beauty had not mattered to you — moons later it still had not mattered. They had called Aegon beautiful, yet he was one of the most despicable men you'd had the displeasure of spending time with, constant comments that his brother should take you before the wedding and how he would have his way with you if he so wished. You'd take a man the court had deemed undeserving of your beauty over that.

"If you wish to flee I would not stop you." your father spoke as he had entered the room, your family must have been in the sept waiting for the spectacular show you would put on which would no doubt be the talk of Kings Landing for the many coming moons.

"Why would I flee?" you had asked, playing with the beads of your dress, the Northern tradition of wearing white was not lost on you. Your father spared no expense in creating the dress you had wanted. The dress was truly beautiful, aligned with jewels and beads, some of which sparkled as though they were stars with movement. "You do not truly believe the Prince would hurt me? Once we are married we shall be happy and not much shall change from how it now."

The look on your father's face was enigmatic, you could never decipher what the man was thinking. If your mother was here she would have told you. "Once you are married mother and I will go back to the Dreadfort, your brothers will be returning with me and you shall be alone." The unspoken threat of being alone with the Targaryen-Hightower family was evident. He hadn't trusted them from the moment you had stepped into the dreadful place.

"But I won't be alone — I shall have my husband and hopefully we shall bring children into the world not long after... There are ravens, Aemond has a dragon, I am not trapped here and I shall be able to visit you." The optimism that you possessed was something your father had never possessed himself. You were too much like your mother. He didn't want to tell you that obeying your husband would be customary, that you would be a member of the Royal family, that you would not be a regular person with your own opinions.

"I shall look forward to your future visits. You know what tonight will entail? Please do not fight back and do as he says." You had not known what your father had meant. Your mother had taught you the basics, taking a more hand on approach than many others you had met. "But for now you shall walk down the aisle, looking like the Northern beauty you are, you shall do our house — your mother and I" your father corrects himself, "proud."

Your father was not a sentimental man by design, this behaviour felt strange to you. Perhaps he knew something you did not. "I shall always do you proud, now cloak me before I weep." you had demanded of him.

The flayed man was not something you'd associate yourself with. It was barbaric, horrific and downright made you feel hostile. Yet your father wore his sigil with pride, the technique passed down from father to heir did not involve you, yet your own father had decided despite you being a female your house traditions were important. It was awful you'd to think of such things on your own wedding day. You'd be cloaked with a different shade of red — you'd be a Targaryen by the day's end.

You felt content knowing that your house banner — the sigil that made you a Bolton would be symbolically stripped away by the man you were sure you loved despite the lack of life experience required to make such a decision. The colour was in stark contrast to your dress. The blood-red and pink colours blended with each other compared to your white dress, it stood out, you stood out. Many of the ladies of the court had told you that white was not a colour a lady such as yourself should wear. You were not quite sure why, it matched the snow of your home, the bleak surroundings you found yourself longing for. Your hair styled in traditional Northern intricate braids which you had personally asked for. You would not change a habit of a lifetime for the pleasure of others, Aemond had never seemed to mind your abrasive disregard for the court's fashions and styling. You doubted he'd have a problem with it now.

"You look beautiful, my sweetling," your father had told you, taking in all the grace and beauty you possessed. His comment had made your cheeks heat up — you were familiar with tearing your appearance apart in mirrors at most given opportunities, compliments were not commonplace. Especially from your father.

"I am mother's child." you had joked, trying to relieve the tension you had felt in your body as you drew closer to the sept. The religious element hadn't appealed to you, the Gods you worshipped were not those of the Seven. "I do hope nobody makes a scene, I do not think I'd be able to control myself from attacking someone."

"And suddenly you show signs of being mine."

"Please make sure nobody makes a scene today, the Princess is here with her children, and it makes everybody on edge as it is." You had told him, sharing a look, a look which ensured your father would allow nobody to embarrass you or your husband.

"Today shall be the happiest day you have lived in such a short lifespan, and you shall have many more to come." Your father had ended that conversation short. It was only then you had noticed you were about to enter the sept. "Tell me one last time you should want to leave, and I will take you away this instant."

"I told you before, it should be my honour to marry — I love him father, as he does me." You had told him with such sincerity, your father simply kissed your forehead, accepting your current position on the matter, never wavering. Perhaps your father was more displeased in losing you than you had originally thought. But you'd always be his little girl, and marrying reminded him you were growing up and having your own life experiences.

The stares had almost made you bolt, but your father's grip prevented you from doing so or stopping in your tracks. You would not make a blunder of the entire event, you would walk to the altar with a smile planted on your lips and the grace and elegance your mother had instilled into you.

The trip to the altar was quite short and sweet, not a stumble, some had gasped, but you had thought it was simply because your dress was beautiful. You hadn't wanted to leave your father, not entirely, a part of you was still a child, wanting to go back home and frolic in the snow with your brothers for another winter. But you were no longer a child, you would no longer be a girl frightened of the responsibilities you had to partake in. Yet why were you feeling so incredibly warm and wanting to remove your own skin?

It hadn't stopped, the moment you were placed in front of Aemond, ready to be cloaked as your father removed your own cloak. Despite being so incredibly warm, the coldness had hit you like a wave. Or perhaps it was something else, anticipation for the entire event to be over. For you to finally have your own husband to yourself. To act as though you'd always been taught. To at least kiss him in public rather than the brief and few kisses you'd shared in dark hallways.

Your thoughts were moving at such fast speeds, you had almost flinched when you were cloaked with the three-headed dragon. A symbol so synonymous with the house you would be married into. Yet you kept your composure, still smiling and turning around so you could at least grab Aemond's hand. He had grounded you in the moment — a much needed clarity to the thoughts you were having.

His own hand had taken yours, how you wish you could at least speak to him. Yet you could not, the ceremony was under way and the best you could do was squeeze his hand as to tell him you were fine, that you were here and that this was happening.

Dissociation was a problem, you had always been called a daydreamer yet doing so at your wedding? You were truly a mess, an unadulterated, unfiltered mess. The way your hand kept on squeezing Aemond's, the way you didn't listen to a thing the septon had said. How your eyes had glazed over and how so badly you wished this would end, being the centre of attention was not something you enjoyed.

It was a blur. You had spoken the ceremonial vows as expected, yet you hadn't realised you were doing so. Instead, you had taken in your husband. How beautiful you considered him, his beautiful white hair had not been styled differently, his eyepatch was still there — your objective for tonight was to remove it without him refusing, he could not refuse you — his lady wife now. His clothes were significantly different, gone with the green colour you loved so much in favour for traditional Targaryen colours.

The kiss was just that. You would not make a scene despite the way he had held you do tenderly, you could not do that here and at this moment. You were in a sacred place — not that you believed this room was sacred, you had to behave. Alicent was a devout believer and you doubted Aemond had wanted to anger her or the septon. Brief kisses were what you were used to and you so badly had wanted more, ached for, desperately needed.

"You did so well" Aemond had whispered into your ear as your kiss had ended. The cheers of the newly-wed couple had surrounded you and you were not too sure what to think.

"You give me far too much credit."

Aemond hadn't given you enough credit. He was sure he would have had to have married for an alliance with a wife who would come to resent him yet he considered you special. Never once had you flinched away from his company, never once had you looked at him as though he was less of a man and never once had you made fun of him despite what your teasing of him may have suggested. You were fun, adventurous and above all you had agreed to his betrothal without a second thought. He truly did love you, he would love the life you two shared together, he would love the children you produced and most importantly he would never do anything to deliberately hurt you. The two years of courting had proved as much.

The evening was going quite well, though you had noticed Aemond's attention wandering elsewhere. "Does something displease you, husband?" you had asked, gaining his attention once again.

Though he hadn't given you a reply, simply hummed and continued staring at his nephew as though he had wronged him in some way. "You're looking at Luc? Is it Luc? I'm unsure on which one is which — as though he has stolen your food and goading you about it."

"Do not speak to me about Lucerys." Came Aemond's sharp reply, you couldn't understand the seeming hatred he had for his nephew. Your own nephew's had meant the world to you, often spending time with one another when their septa's were busy, influencing them with your own opinions and behaviours.

"So it does displease you?" The question wasn't aimed at Aemond rather an observation you had. "My apologies I did not wish to displease you on such a joyous day."

You hadn't got a response to that either, simply a kiss to your cheek, "My father promised me if I was upset he'd sort out the problem, if your family displeases you so, I could gather my father." That had earned a chuckle from Aemond.

"That won't be necessary my love, I have ensured nobody shall cause a scene, especially Aegon."

"And how did you get Aegon to behave?"

"With matters which needn't be known to you, my lady."

"My title is Princess —" your reply was instinctual, "And as a princess of this realm I demand to know how you ensured Aegon would not be a problem."

"I outrank you, my Princess," you do not know if Aemond is teasing you or mocking you, though the glint in his eye tells you all you need to know, "You would not wish to know such depravity Aegon seeks."

"You do not think I do not know about his depravity?" You had genuinely asked, your brothers may have sheltered you and been protective but men like Aegon forever slip through cracks. Ladies speak — they gossip a lot about Aegon and his antics.

"I do not think you know the extent, nor would I like you to, just be thankful his hands are on wine, he would not want to ruin such a joyous occasion."

"You are sure he won't be a depraved gremlin tonight? If he does something untoward against one of my ladies, I will not be responsible for my actions." Threatening a prince may not have been a good idea but you doubted Aemond would pay much mind to it, you're jesting, you always would be.

"The moment he does something to upset you I will personally escort him away."

"Thank you." You had spoke, deciding it would be best if you dropped the issue of the Targaryen-Hightower family as a whole, instead choosing to focus on your own. Your younger brother had sparked up a conversation with a girl from the Westerlands. "Do you think I should go and encourage my brother to ask the lady to dance?"

"Do not meddle in his affairs, princess, perhaps your father will be escorting you out while I escort Aegon." Aemond joked, while you tried to keep a straight face.

"I think the only person to escort me out of this ceremony will be you, my dear husband." The bedding ceremony was something you hadn't approached. Tradition was simply that but you did not want to face the humiliation it had brought with it.

"I cannot wait."

Your conversation had been cut short. The princess Rhaenyra engaging you in a conversation. You had felt terribly sorry for her with her first wedding — they had said if there was not one death at a wedding it would be an incredibly boring affair. You were happy with your wedding to be deemed boring and without complication. The conversation was polite, Rhaenyra introducing you to her children — Aemond had called them Strong bastards, not that you cared much, surely they were more Targaryen than Strong. Rhaenyra the true Targaryen heir had birthed them. But the politics in Westeros was not ready for educated women destroying their world view you supposed.

Princess Rhaenyra had you in a chokehold metaphorically, if you refused to dance with her eldest son, Jace as she called him you would be offending the heir to the throne which could have dire consequences. So you had relented, promising him a dance as the princess had insisted. Aemond didn't enjoy such nonsensical things, while you didn't mind it that much.

Your mother had always told you that it was important to know such things, dancing was one of them. Though you hadn't expected your first dance of the evening to be with the wrong prince. It was clumsy and awkward, the young prince had wanted to be there as much as you had, hyperaware of where his hands fell on you, of everybody's eyes on you and especially the eye of your husband who had seemed beyond tense. Jacaerys had been nothing but respectful, the music was upbeat and you had laughed multiple times in his presence. Rhaenyra had clearly wanted to fix broken bonds within the family which you were unaware of despite being within courtly life.

"Is it strange to be back in the capital, my prince?" you had asked the boy as the two of you had continued to dance, struggling to find conversation suited to the both of you.

"I am missing Dragonstone but it is lovely to be with family." There's an underlying issue there which you could not explore.

"Aemond and I must visit one day." The boy had become tense with the mention of his uncle, and while it had not subsided your suspicions you knew that the visit would not be happening from his response. "Aemond has been teaching me of Valyrian culture and it would be lovely to see where the queen Visenya had spent her time."

"Queen Visenya interests you?" Jace had seemed rather shocked to discover this, "My mother favours the tales of Princess Nymeria, her story is rather fascinating."

"I should like to befriend your mother, she is a woman of culture I see," your conversation had been cut short by your brother approaching you, "Please excuse me, my prince, it was lovely to meet you, but my brother requires my presence."

Once in your younger brother's arms the anxiety you could feel bubbling within you had dispersed, Jace hadn't scared you, it was Rhaenyra and the possibility of offending her. You may have been ranked Princess but that was purely through marriage, Aemond could get away with snubbing his sister's children but you could not. It could cost your head.

"Your husband looks like he could murder you." Your brother's intervention had made sense now and you were rather thankful for it.

"Murderous enough that I shouldn't approach him, or murderous in the sense I should?" You had asked him as you continued to dance, it had reminded you of your childhood. Forcing your brothers to engage with you in such ways, "Did father send you over?"

"No, it was mother, she fears for you tonight, I sense."

"And why should she be fearful?"

"You and I both know why, sister. Do not make me say it aloud."

"Should I go over and speak to her? Privately? To remind her that my husband is respectful and much more caring than many men could claim to be."

"Do as you wish but please do not anger him more than he is. We all fear for your safety, it is not everyday one married a Dragon Prince."

"There's an abundance of them, I'm sure if you asked nicely one of them would oblige you."

"Do not speak such things aloud, my head could be on a spike by the morn."

"It seems as though I cannot do anything right tonight." Your dance had once again been short-lived as you stormed off in the direction of your mother, looking for comfort, but you doubted she'd give you that.

"I cannot do a single thing right tonight." You complained to your mother once you had sat down next to her at the table so graciously provided by the royal family — away from you.

"I doubt you have the ability of foresight to change your actions. Why much you speak to me about such issues."

"It would be nice if you could comfort me for once." The wine you had consumed was slowly bubbling its way to the surface, never before had you dreamed of speaking to your mother in such ways.

"Why would I do that? You are a woman grown, you've made big girl choices, have you not? You chose to marry the prince, you chose to leave your family, you're choosing to create one of your own. Please do not mind if the one you are leaving behind are upset with your actions."

"I cannot do this tonight, I cannot fight with almost every person I have encountered." Your hand had gone for the glass of wine in front of you, but your mother had stopped you.

"The advice I am about to give you is invaluable and advice my own mother gave to me. Lie still and wait for him to climb off of you tonight, do not complain when it hurts and try not to make a sound."

You were utterly speechless, your mother had never been one to say an unneeded word, but this was just crass. "We're not talking about this right now."

"Fair enough, disregard the advice passed down from generation to generation."

"Tell me my dress or hair looks pretty, tell me I have nothing to worry about, just don't speak about such things in a room full of people."

"I just wish for you to be prepared." For disappointment was the undertone. "You're such a beautiful girl, you've done your house proud, but I do not wish to lose you in such ways, father doesn't speak much about your departure, but he shall miss you too."

"I shall miss you too, mother." You had reached for her hand, which she had gladly accepted. You feared it would be the last time you'd get a mother-daughter moment like this. It had felt bittersweet and you'd have your own children soon but she had caused the anxiety to crawl within you tenfold. "But the next time we shall see each other I would hope to have children."

"Just make sure you birth children with his hair colour and eyes." Your mother's words hadn't quite sunk in.

"Well, I can't help if they come out looking like me."

"There is a reason why they call them Strong, [Y/N]. Do not give them an opportunity to call your children Bolton's... Or any other last name than Targaryen."

"As I said, I cannot help if they look like me." You were exasperated by this point, just wanting the conversation to end.

"I would love them however they came out but please do not do anything which could risk your safety."

"Mother, you're speaking in riddles and happenstances. Please do not have another drink or father will be leaving here with you dragging out behind him."

"Heed my warning, my sweet child, but tonight you shall have fun and dance with whomever you deem fit. Leave me to enjoy my wine, even if your father has to unceremoniously drag me — or carry, we both know your father would never drag me — out of this room."

"I love you, mother." You stood from the chair, kissing her cheek on the way up, "Consider your warning well received."

"Such a good girl, what did I do to deserve such a child?"

"You only had one daughter." You joked, "Please excuse me, I have many things to think about."

"I love you too, please do not forget that."

Your conversation had left you feeling uneasy, your gaze trying to find Aemond's only to see he was busy speaking to his mother. Perhaps he wasn't as mad at you as you had originally thought. Though your mother's words of not baring children with the typical Targaryen features had almost dimmed your evening. What should happen if you bore the wrong sort of children. Would you be treated as though he treated Rhaenyra? Would you be so easily cast aside and insulted? You did not dare to let it leave your mind, the absolute terror could not show, but it was there, under the surface level smiles and pleasantries.

You had deemed your ladies the fittest to dance with, dance after dance you had spent with them, having fun, laughing while it seemed like they had almost inhaled wine.

Aemond's eye had followed you as you had enjoyed your time with the woman within your company. He supposed you had to get used to them, they would continue to be with you from this moment onwards. Or rather, until you gave them permission to marry whichever suitor they came to you with.

You were a fascinating woman, choosing not to stay in one space for too long, smiling pleasantly — there was a juxtaposition between you both, and Aemond couldn't be happier for it. You were like sunshine, always bright and bubbly, spending time with his dearest sister, ensuring she wasn't made fun of. He respected you, and he was going to show it tonight.

Your dancing had attracted attention from other nobles. It was not often that women had danced with one another for such a long period of time. Though your ladies were being picked off one by one, nobles wanting to gain their attention for marriage prospects. You were happy for them, truly, however much the loneliness spiked as your final girl stayed with you.

It had to be your brother — he was beyond bothersome, and you looked awkward and panicked on the ballroom floor. The gigantic dress taking up far too much space and without a partner. If at least one person had noticed your distress, they hadn't come to your aid. The jewellery on your being was fiddled with as you tried to make your exit look graceful, but you wanted to run far away from the humiliation of being partnerless.

You had been grabbed by the waist — you had almost fought back until Aemond had calmed you. "It seems as though you've danced with everybody in this room besides your husband."

You had laughed, though it had not been heard over the music, as you turned around to face your husband. "You did not ask me to dance... I didn't know you like to dance."

"I don't," He retorted, "But I'll make the exception for you."

"Oh, I must be so special."

"Whatever my wife wants, she will have."

"And if I want to leave with you, right now, would you save me from the festivities?" You inquired, the intimacy you had felt at the current moment had put you on edge, never being so close to a man before, much less a man you were expected to lay with. To produce heirs with. The expectation had piled up far too much.

"You want to leave? You looked as though you were having fun."

"Crowded places are not my preferred place to be, there is also too much attention placed on me, I don't know if I can cope for much longer." You were finally voicing what you had bottled within you all night, the shakiness within your voice to admitting such things had alarmed Aemond.

"We shall finish this dance?" He'd asked as the two of you continued, your steps were much clumsier than intended but you simply could not help it. "It shall be our last of the night."

"My blood, sweat, tears, and my last dance, take it all away." You had whispered into Aemond's ear as the two of you had danced together.

"Leave with me."

"To where? We cannot escape our own ceremony unnoticed."

"Do you trust me?" You had looked into his indigo eye, as though it was not a question you could contemplate — of course you had trusted Aemond, you had married him without hesitation when he had asked.

"Without hesitation." Came your response, your dress was bulking and heavy but you didn't doubt making a run for it would be hard but at least you had Aemond by your side.

"Then leave with me, most people are too drunk to notice us gone and I fear now will be the only time we can escape."

"You drive a hard bargain." The wine had made its way to your head, the giggles which had escaped your mouth were not sounds you'd typically make. "Save me life a prince in a fairytale, take the maiden and make off with her, is that it?" You'd always had a fascination with the fairytales from a young age. From maidens to knights to unexplainable beasts, from saving damsels to damsels saving themselves.

"You don't have to ask me twice." Aemond had left you no time to comprehend movement within your body, his hand still in your own as he dragged you off to wherever he intended the destination to be. However, as you left the room with as much subtly as a dragon screeching, your eyes connected with your mother's, showing everything she feared would happen tonight for you. Perhaps womanhood was more daunting, even with the liberation you so desperately sought from marriage.

thank u for reading this fic! again feedback would be appreciated but u don't need to give it, the next instalment will be posted in exactly a week (wed, 8th)! cross posted on ao3 under the name hedonism! reformatted on 7th april 2023.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #ive been writing e2l recently (not fanfic) and i wanted smth not... that despite how good aemond makes for an e2l fic #ewan just did an interview w the face and omg HIS face is beautiful and some of his answers had me dying #im so down bad for this man #i wrote some of this while clowning and encouraging my friend to get this number of a guy flirting w her but i'm the one writing x reader f #who's the real clown?#u dont know the musical journey i went on writing this bc it was surely a journey

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 1 year

Text

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 7.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: Gentle angst, Some tension and some romance between two adults with an unspecified age difference between them, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne songs Can I Stay and Hold You in my Arms

Tag List: @andimoon @his-mochi-cheeks

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

There is nothing that soothes the human spirit quite like love.

And there is nothing that tests a delicate newborn relationship quite like being so unimaginably busy that all of your time and energy is funneled into just surviving a particularly tumultuous work day. There was simply nothing left after you were done. There was no spare time to even think, let alone entertain the idea of having even a moment to look into the eyes of the man you loved.

This was crunch time. This was the final stretch. You had been running nonstop since you walked into your office and your phone started ringing and very likely had already been ringing long before you even opened that door.

There had been some issues. There had been some fires to extinguish, some egos to stroke, and on the other side, some to soothe. Someone had made a mistake, someone else was crying, someone else had left something critical out and something else was corrupted and had to be rebuilt from the ground up with a staggering and impossible twelve hours to do it. Everything and anything that wasn’t work had to wait. You moved on autopilot. Somehow your brain knew exactly how to split this up so that the work got done. You delegated and you instructed and you knew this would work. You knew this had to work because the alternative was simply unacceptable. You could hear it in your voice as you instructed your team and their serious faces told you that they would also give it their all for the sake of this project's success. They knew that all of the efforts and blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights they had put forth up until this point would all be for nothing if at the very end of it, if at the last possible second everything went up in flames today.

There were several moments throughout the day when your mind sharpened in the middle of some soul suckingly heavy burden when you would look for him. The moments were short and fleeting, but when you looked for him, he was there. You just wanted to look into his eyes. You wanted a millisecond of comfort from them. You only wanted a small smile that could reassure you that this would pass, that this would be over soon if you only held on for a little bit. Those moments would be enough. You could withstand it.

He was just as busy as you were. Hell, he was the only reason why you were surviving this right now. Your heart ached to see the furrow of his brows or the rough hand rubbing over the back of his own neck to loosen some of his tension. He was running nonstop. You wished you could handle it all but you also felt so incredibly thankful that he was here with you.

It was always like this. Of course there would be unexpected things that went wrong, but many of these things that you were dealing with today could have been planned for. Most of this shit was predictable. It wasn’t like they were new to these kinds of projects. Why so many people in this industry left the most time sensitive and crucial tasks to the last minute you would never be able to make peace with but that didn't much matter when you were in the thick of it and your ass was on the line just as much as theirs was.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t get your part done. It was how incredibly avoidable all of this added stress could have been. You felt your temper flaring as you responded to the latest request that you push your already stressed out team even harder to clean up someone else’s mess. Even as you clearly recognized what this was. Some manager from some other department thought you seemed like a soft enough target that could be bullied or pushed around simply because you were a woman or because you walked around with that perfectly pleasant fake smile permanently attached to your face because you simply could not stomach the backlash from the alternative; people calling you a bitch because you were strong willed and no-nonsense and good at your job; people saying you were cold or an ice queen or probably just needed to get laid.

Clearly the last one couldn't be it because you’d just had the best sex of your life last night and you were still pissed off by today’s particular flavor of bullshit.

Your office door hadn’t been closed once. You hadn’t had a moment when you could just catch your breath, or even have a sip of the coffee that had grown cold on your desk. You didn’t have a second to close your eyes and cover your tired eyes with your hands and regroup your overtaxed emotions, there simply wasn’t any time for it. There were too many people fighting their own struggles that were relying on you to be the rock. People filed in and out like worker bees and you’d long since removed your shoes and your coat, pushed up your sleeves and got into the thick of it yourself. Your lungs worked to pull air into your body and oxygenate your blood and you were thankful that your heart kept beating without you having to think about it because you simply could not think about anything else. There was nothing in you left. You felt spread thin. You felt the gaps inside of your soul as you were stretched in six different places at once and occasionally and only when you could feel the darkness and the blackness that rimmed the edges of your vision beginning to grow and close up more of the light, there would be something to pull at you softly. Something tender and something healing and it was him. It was always him.

It would be a warm and discrete hand on your back, rubbing two or three circles into you. It would be a bump of a warm shoulder that leaned up against your own. It would be soft brown eyes that caught hold of your own flighty ones and he would pull his lips into a circle and motion with a single hand below his chin as if he were pulling something invisible down and out of himself. He would exhale an exaggeratedly slowed down breath, urging you to do the same. Telling you to breathe out slowly. Begging for your cooperation. When you would do it, you’d be rewarded with a microscopic wink and a smile. You were pretty sure this man was saving your life. And then on your desk there had been something small and tasty, wrapped in clear plastic cellophane with the words ‘eat me’ written on a sticky note on top of it and you had absentmindedly unwrapped it and eaten it, rewarded with another wink and a smile just when you did as he asked.

It had been hours of this. Your day had long ago turned into night time and you found yourself, impossibly, still at work. There had been a gradual but definite shift in the air as one by one, impossible tasks had been checked off. The progress had been astounding. You told them as much as the final check mark landed on the office whiteboard and the audible sighs of relief sounded out. You thanked them all from the bottom of your heart. You meant every word and one by one you were greeted with their tired smiling faces as they gave you their thanks for the work and the guidance and the war-like defensive you had taken to show each and every one of them that you had their back even despite mistakes or shortcomings, you would not let them be trampled on, all the while you concealed the black smudged footprints left behind on your own back as you took the brunt of it for them with a manic smile pushed onto your face and an undetectable to anyone but yourself, tremble in the hands that you gripped together so tightly behind your back.

But it was too much this time.

Everyone had to leave. Even - and especially your Assistant Baekhyun, who had stayed the longest of all; who lingered close beside you with a well concealed worried expression deep down inside his eyes despite the passive and pleasant smile on his face. Especially Baekhyun; who you had to practically push out the door, had gone. He had told you about some family dinner tomorrow. You used this as your fuel as you pushed. Something else too that he was committed to, you reminded him again and you insisted. He would be busy all day and you would hopefully be sleeping all day but he definitely had to go.

And he had gone.

A small flame of relief was burning inside of your chest. It wavered and flickered with the guilt over the desperation with which you had pushed him away.

As the final farewell sounded out and the noise and the din grew softer until you found yourself standing alone in front of the small sofa you kept in your office you could feel the stress and the worry that had been so all consuming finally beginning to leave your tired body and you knew it had been too much this time.

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep at all either, despite how much you needed to but as the office lights were turned off and the last person had long ago left you could feel the weight of the force of gravity pulling hard at your arms.

It had been too much this time. You struggled to settle your chest and all the heavy breathing and rapid beating inside there. You made an effort to relax your jaw and with it you exhaled a slow breath through your mouth and you closed your eyes up. But, despite all of your efforts at reeling it in and calming your body, you could still feel a fire-like burning sensation cresting behind your closed eyelids. It was strong and it was relentless; that burning. Your eyelids trembled and they shivered against it and you squeezed tighter but still they quivered; refusing to stay still; refusing to stay quiet and that burning built and it crested until it reached a tipping point.

The first hot tears spilled over your lash line and they fell straight down. You saw the wet drop soak into the rug below your feet. All at once it came. Your breathing was ragged and your chest shook as you gasped in through the quiet sobs that overcame you in the dark silence of this room.

You were alone now. You could have this moment of terrible, awful weakness. You had allowed yourself so few of them in your life.

So you cried.

You cried for the stress of it all. You cried for the unimaginable struggle it was to stay on top of it all. You cried for the delicate line you had to walk as a woman in male dominated world. You cried because you had to smile all the fucking time whether or not you even wanted to smile at them. You cried for the others who didn’t have a strong sense of right and wrong who let themselves become doormats or who did not have the influence and the power to stand up for themselves and you cried until you had nothing left inside of you to cry about.

You cried until your crying changed. You recognized the dramatics and you cried feeling exactly as ridiculous about yourself right now as you were acting. You cried because you had a headache, and your feet hurt and your nose was stuffed up so you couldn't even breathe right and your stomach hurt and you were hungry goddammit.

You cried because you had thrown away two perfectly good dumplings at lunch two days ago because at the time you didn’t want to have to run two more miles on the treadmill to make up for the calories and why were you so obsessed with calories anyway? Stupid society putting you into a box and telling you that you had to look a certain way. Stupid wardrobe with your tight skirts and high heels that hurt and those delicious dumplings wasted and for what? You cried until you were numb and your makeup had been all washed away and there was nothing left to do but wash your face with cool water and press your cool fingertips over your eyes to help with the swelling.

Your eyelids were sore and your nose was red and stuffy but you could feel the relief of this. You knew sometimes it just had to come out of you and there was nothing quite like a good cry to reset your soul. As you walked through the office with your belongings in hand you could see everything around you with a brand new clarity, even despite the puffy eyelids.

You would stop for some dumplings for dinner on the way home. There was a 24-hour spot near the bus stop that had some great ones and you would eat the entire order this time. You would stuff yourself with so many dumplings until you were positively sick of them and then you would roll into your bed and you would sleep and sleep and you would dream of his pretty face and his soft lips and his long fingers and you wouldn’t wake up early tomorrow, you pulled your cell phone out to make a point of turning off every single alarm that was set. You even flippantly swore you would not look at your work cell phone once! Okay maybe only once or twice, let’s be real. You knew when you were being too much.

Your dinner was hot and delicious. The beer you had with it paired perfectly with the dramatic romance movie you found that had just started on your tv and you settled into your sofa letting your mind wander as the couple on screen shared their first passionate kiss. The man of this story was pretty handsy, but honestly the woman had been sending all of the right signals his way. What kind of rating did this have? You watched with bated breath and wide surprised eyes as the two of them, unable to deny their feelings of lust any longer, gave in to their most carnal desires — and right there at work. They were at the office! You felt weirdly exposed watching this. While it was tastefully shot and there wasn’t even much nudity, there was definitely something extremely forbidden about the way he leaned against her on the desk, pushed her skirt up and pushed his hips between her parted knees. Your skin was flushed and hot to the touch.

You had to turn it off. The layout of the office, the desk they hungrily consumed each other on and even the window with city view looked eerily similar to your own office. You’d already made a mistake in watching as much as you had. The last thing you needed to test your self control while working in the same office with your secret boyfriend, public personal assistant, was the image of pulling him down into you by his necktie for a steamy kiss or worse, of him greedily shoving your skirt up and pushing his hips between your thighs; taking you right then and there on your desk with your blinds closed and only a single lock on your office door to keep you from both being exposed.

Something was wrong with you. Clearly you had been a woman who had neglected her own personal needs for far too long. You were overtired and heavily influenced right now and it was probably best for everybody if you just went to bed.

The vibe in your bed was just as troublesome. He occupied your thoughts so entirely you wondered how anyone managed to get any sleep at all once they’d fallen in love.

A buzz on your cellphone pulled your hands down from your own lips where you swore you could still feel the memory of his kisses and you found waiting for you a text message from your very own ‘Assistant Byun’, as you had saved him in your phone on his first day.

‘Noona, did you get home safely?’

It was the simple kind of message that made you smile and you were quick with a reply letting him know that yes you were already home in your bed.

‘Did you eat?’

He was fretting and fawning over you like he did and you slipped into your photo gallery to send him the picture you’d snapped of your delicious dumplings that brought you all of the fresh and juicy happiness and delicious pleasure that only carbohydrates could bring.

‘I ate them all ^^’

You showed him proudly and you giggled into your hands to see the flood of sweet and silly emojis he sent in response.

You were still giggling when your phone started to ring and it took you only one second to recognize that this was a video phone call. Your bird lamp was illuminating your bare face and you hoped your eyes wouldn't still be swollen enough for him to notice.

When you pushed the button to answer you were instantly rewarded with his beauty. His warm brown eyes and his bright smile greeted you and you could tell that he was sitting somewhere that was well lit as he held the phone far enough away from his face so that you could see him well. It felt like a drug. You’d been so busy and so wrapped up in other things today that you had actually missed him, despite having been with his ultra professional work persona all day. You missed his lovely face and the way he looked at you and smiled with you and flirted with you.

You could see the preview of your own face in the corner of your phone screen and you winced at just how exhausted you looked. It made you want to turn away. You didn’t have any makeup on and you could clearly see how flushed your cheeks and nose still were from the crying. Your eyes were puffy and it made you look very tired and Baekhyun was watching your face from his screen as his smile sagged just a little bit and he leaned forward, clearly sitting up straighter in alarm.

You should not have answered the call. You should have made up some excuse like you were too tired for a chat, or you were about to jump in the shower, or you were about to dig a huge hole and bury yourself in the dirt. Of course he would see it and he would know.

“Baby,” his soft voice called out. It sounded just like disappointment. His brows furrowed and he licked his lips and bit down on the bottom one, holding his tongue, keeping whatever he was going to say after that to himself. You heard the concern all over his voice and it made you bite down on your lips as you looked away from the screen to blink your eyes quickly, willing from the small bit of returning emotions you felt threatening to just go away.

You pulled a smile to your face and he watched you with his forehead leaned onto his hand propped on an elbow. On his lips was a deep frown.

“I’m fine. I really am,” you whispered and forced the smile up higher so it touched your eyes too. He didn’t say anything but his eyes watched your face much too closely, no doubt coming to all sorts of conclusions on his own. You felt the wetness in your eyes again and you rolled your eyes around to spread the moisture, pleading with yourself that you wouldn't cry again. You’d had enough.

“You cried alone…after I left. When I was gone,” his statement was a whisper that made you close your eyes up. “I should not have left you.”

You were just so very tired and seeing that look on his face made you want to soothe his worries and whatever misplaced guilt you saw in his eyes. None of this, absolutely none of it, had anything to do with him. If anything, he had saved you countless times today.

You had to reassure him as best you could, so you gave in to the concerns and you opened your lips to speak calmly and clearly. You had to let him know that you were fine.

“I’m okay now. I did cry a little. Today was a lot and I felt much better after I ate.”

“I’m coming over,” he said abruptly, with his voice hitching in his throat as he suddenly sat up straighter. He said it so firmly and quite irrationally that it pulled a small chuckle out of you. The man was impossibly adorable.

“Baekhyun, you are not coming over. You have that family thing tomorrow and I am going to sleep.”

You heard an audible hmph from him and the video jostled as if he threw himself back down in his chair in a huff.

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until you sleep then.” His pout was very much visible on his face and his voice he spoke out his idea of a compromise. In reality it sounded like heaven. You shrugged as if you were giving into him and you let the natural smile form on your face as you laid your head down on your pillow, allowing just enough light to fall onto your face so the video was still visible to him.

You could see movement on his side. Your idle curiosity about what his home looked like had you watching the background as he seemed to be moving through one room and entering a darker space. You longed to see it in person. You were so curious about how he lived. You heard a soft click in here and there was a dim light that shone on his face now. He had a table lamp too, but you doubted it was as awesome as yours was.

“Let me see your lamp,” you couldn't help yourself. You heard his laughter and he turned the phone to face something bright and ultra modern looking. It was abstract with shapes like hexagons and it looked more like a piece of expensive modern art than any regular old table lamp. You gasped out loud covering your mouth. It was so cool. It probably cost way more than your bird.

“I like your bird lamp,” he said up close to his phone and you rolled your eyes at his attempt and sighed out loud. His lamp was so cool. You wondered if he had that modern style throughout his home and your eyes glanced around your room at the mishmash of bright colors and cutesy things that you selected not quite for their cohesion as a whole but simply because they brought you joy. One such corner in particular with the chair that you loved paired with a fluffy bubblegum pink ottoman that some might call ridiculous if they were just a little bit closed minded. It was your reading nook. Not that you had any time to read, but it was bright and bursting with color and potential and it was your favorite spot. You’d taken Maximalism to a whole other level here.

“Liar.” You said deep into your pout and he laughed out loud again.

“I like your bird. I like your pirate horse. I like your bedroom and I like whatever you have going on in that one specific corner of your bedroom. I like you. I like everything about you,” he said and you met his eyes as he laid his head down on a crisp white pillow case and turned his face toward the light source so you could see him clearly, just as you had done for him. If you allowed your mind to drift a little bit, it almost felt like he was here beside you. You could so easily look into his face and see the way his eyes blinked slowly and you could hear the way his breathing softened and evened out.

“He’s not a pirate. He was injured on the job and is waiting on a big fat worker’s compensation check to pay for his glass eye.” You could feel the sleepiness turning your imagination into overdrive and the sound of his laughter rang out making your phone speakers buzz as he threw his head back; your silly backstory for the painting that hung on your living room wall sending him into giggles.

“The grip you have on me is insane,” he said when his laughter calmed down and he looked deep into your eyes.

You watched him and he watched you until both of your eyelids began to sag and your blinks grew longer and longer.

“When can I see you again?” His words were slowing down. His eyes looked as heavy as yours felt. Your tongue felt thick and loose inside of your mouth and you could feel the sleep tickling up along your spine. You knew he saw you all day today and you knew that wasn’t what he was asking. You felt the same way deep in the middle of your stomach.

“I missed you today,” you said out loud what you had been thinking since you saw his face on your phone. “I missed you so much.”

He opened his eyes and a tiny smile crept in.

“I’m coming over,” he said again, this time in a dreamlike sleepy voice, not at all moving his head from his soft pillow. The thought made you hum out an appreciative sound and your lips pulled into a smile that sagged on your lips because of how sleepy you felt.

He inhaled a deep breath and his lips parted again, “I could hold you in my arms,” his dreamy words slipped across your pillow and planted delicate kisses on your closed eyelids and you could only hum again as he inhaled to speak once more, “I could hold you forever.”

His sweet whispered words danced behind your eyelids and carried you into your dreams where you met with him and his broad shoulders and strong arms. Where you danced with him and he held you and you melted and dissolved like butter in his unimaginable warmth.

Your Sunday had a late start.

The stress from yesterday's long day had taken a toll on your body and just as you had wanted to, you actually managed to sleep in. Your phone had a few messages waiting. A few work things, nothing urgent and nothing critical and two sweet messages from your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend — this word still filled you with butterflies just to think it. One of the messages was a short and sweet goodnight message with a heart emoji beside it, and the other was a picture he sent you of his smiling face standing in front of what looked like a forest with lots of lush greens trees in the background and in the far background sat some sort of building nestled within the trees. It looked a bit like a school out in the countryside. You wondered what on earth he was doing out there when there were things like cozy warm beds and hot coffee to be had at home.

You typed out a curious response, asking him what he was actually up to and you set your phone down for the time being so you could focus on getting your weekly chores finished. Boring stuff like laundry and changing your bed sheets. Taking out the trash and recycling and sweeping and mopping your floor, all the while listening to music, although at a much lower volume that you usually would use, in case your phone made any sounds.

Your day was satisfyingly productive and you’d reached the point in your day-off schedule that was dedicated entirely to you. You had soaked in your bathtub, you’d shaved and lotioned every bit of your skin that needed attention. You’d done your nails, all of them this time! You’d plucked and preened and got so caught up on your own little spa day that it soon transcended from just maintenance care to something a little more fun. You had styled your hair and did just a little bit of day-off makeup too, went a bit overboard with the good products that were expensive but you felt pretty this way. You browsed through your closet for something that felt nice and looked nice on your skin and your mind drifted to the mess you had been last night. Your face winced to remember the way he had looked at you then, at basically the lowest you could get. Why hadn’t you looked like this when he called you for that video call?

This wouldn't do. He had sent you a selfie just a few hours earlier, you could get away with one selfie to him, just some sort of redemption, to save face and maybe undo the most recent image he had of you in his head from last night. You went into your bathroom where the lightning was good and you lifted your phone camera up, snapping a few poses, liking a few more than others, you struggled with the decision.

Was his photo gallery also full of rejects or was the man as naturally beautiful and photogenic as he was smart and capable?

You held your breath and closed your eyes and you hit send and the phone did its thing as it took away your tiny gift and delivered it somewhere inside his phone which likely buzzed against his thigh inside of his pocket. In your head you counted down the seconds of silence, of which there were many.

You were still holding your breath when your phone buzzed happily in your hand and you swiped quickly to open his response.

It was nonsense. Just some jumble of letters and numbers and some symbols too. It brought a smile to your face in an instant and somehow this reaction from him felt even better than if he had actually responded to you with words.

Before you had a chance to say anything else, another message came through.

‘You made me drop my phone’

The elation was overwhelming. Such a small response from him had filled your chest with so much delight. This feeling was really like nothing else you’d experienced. You had to bite down on your lip to keep the smile somewhat under control.

Soon after the message appeared you saw a tiny heart appear in the upper corner of the picture you had sent him as he reacted to it and your own heart leapt up into your throat when your phone was ringing.

He was calling you. So suddenly?

You thought a few text messages at most would be exchanged. You hadn’t expected him to be available for a phone call. Whatever it was that he was doing it had seemed like it would take up all of his afternoon.

You answered with a cautious greeting and there was the smallest pause on the line before you heard his voice.

“Noona,” he wasn’t speaking at full volume and your ears picked up a bit of chatter in the room where he was. The voices were many and they sounded young. He was around children, it seemed. “My kids want to talk to you.”

You had no idea what was going on.

“Baekhyun, what kids? What is happening?”

The small voices you heard were rowdy and they were all worked up about something. You heard a few shouts behind him, some questions that you couldn't quite make out all of the words for.

“Miss!” A small voice was shouting and it sounded closer than the others. “Are you our teacher’s girlfriend?”

“You’re pretty! Are you going to get married?” A different tiny voice shouted from slightly farther away.

“Miss! What is your name?” There were a few more questions that you could make out. “Why did he put a heart on your picture?”, “Do you have a dog?”, “What is your favorite video game?”, and perhaps the one that made you smile the most was the voice that started this all and sounded like it might belong to the perpetrator holding the phone in his hands, “Miss, have you ever seen a real ninja, not on TV but in real life?”

You answered the ones you could answer as quickly as they were thrown at you.

Yes. Thank you. I don't know. Umm, I don't know that either. No I don't have a dog but I want one. Umm, I’m very good at Mario Kart. No, I’ve never seen a ninja. Have you seen one?

Clearly these kids were conducting their own very thorough investigation of you right now and they had some very clear metrics by which they judged their teacher’s girlfriends by.

You were laughing now and you could hear the struggle as Baekhyun’s voice spoke over their tiny excited hollers and he tried to rein them in.

“Beni, how would she see a ninja? They’re ninjas, that’s the point, you don't see them!” Baekhyun’s voice sounded over-excited and exasperated now and based on how far away he sounded he was not the person who was holding his own phone.

You heard a few thumps, some sounds of the phone being jostled about and your screen suddenly lit up as the audio call was switched over to a video call. It was a tiny boy’s face and he was peering down at you with a bright smile that was missing just a few teeth. A few more faces came into the frame and you smiled and waved at them and they all giggled excitedly to see you.

The phone was turned around and you could see a somewhat flustered Baekhyun standing with his hands on his hips in front of a stand up piano. It definitely seemed to be some sort of a school, or maybe a group home. The more you looked, the more dated and run down the walls behind him looked; the more this seemed like not an ordinary school. A memory was coming back to you, yesterday when you discussed his weekend plans and he had mentioned some place he went every week to volunteer. This must be that place; a school or it being a Sunday, probably the place where these children lived permanently and Baekhyun was obviously holding some sort of class for them. Something fun; art maybe, or music. Whatever it was, they obviously loved him there and were deeply invested in getting to the bottom of exactly who you were and what your connection to their dear teacher was. Deep down inside, you really hoped that you passed their strict tests.

“Okay, okay, you saw her and you talked to her. Now give me back the phone or we won't do the song.”

You recognized a hostage negotiation when you saw one. This man had clearly lost control of the small group of boys and was desperately trying to get the upper hand again.

“Song? I want to hear the song too!” You shouted on into the phone and the children all cheered excitedly in agreement.

“Yes! Yes, do the song,” they all yelled.

The phone was relinquished and you could see Baekhyun’s eyes reaching out to yours through the phone with a quick whisper “I’ll put you next to the piano,” as you had a new view of the keys of this piano and his slim fingers reaching out to touch the keys. You could see just the bottom half of his face and behind him, all seated on the floor with their excited faces watching enraptured were about six little boys with bright expectant smiles on their faces.

“Do you want me to sing it, or are you going to sing it?” He was asking them in a bright and cheerful voice.

“You sing it! You sing it!” They all clamored and to your absolute astonishment Baekhyun’s fingers touched the keys of this piano and the most amazingly beautiful melody began to play out. He made it look effortless and the results were so gorgeous you had to cover your open mouth with your hands to keep the shock from your face. He played like he had been playing piano his entire life.

The introduction to the song had reached a point for him to begin singing and Baekhyun inhaled a breath as he began. It was a light song, something soft and pretty, but what struck you immediately was his voice. It was shockingly good. He sounded like a professional and the more he sang the more you found yourself drawn into this man. You had to admit, the more he sang the more starstruck you felt watching him do it. The kids had a similar reaction and when the song reached its climax and he threw his head back and expertly belted out the most beautiful sustained high note complete with beautiful vibrato on the sustained note that you felt it tickle along your spine and bring along with it rows of goosebumps that traveled over your skin to hear it something so breathtakingly beautiful come out of this man.

How? How was he real? Could he really do this the whole time you had known him? Was there anything this man could not do?

You wondered if there was any bottom to this. When you thought you couldn't fall for him any further, a trap door would open up below your feet and you’d go tumbling another hundred meters.

He was done with his song and you were clapping and cheering just as enthusiastically as the kids were. He’d picked up the phone and his brown eyes found yours for a few whispered words. He was speaking very fast and his mouth was so close to his phone microphone that his whispers crackled in your phone’s speakers.

“Noona, the class is almost over, I have to go but I’ll call you later. Also you need to understand that I would kick your ass so bad at Mario Kart. K — I love you. Bye bye~.” He drew out the last word and the call abruptly ended leaving you stunned, still laughing, and feeling very much enamored with this man who had abruptly exploded into your life one day and taken hold of you by the heart, sunk his long fingers in very, very deeply, and absolute refused to let you go.

The interaction with him seemed to linger inside of you and you found yourself dazed as you wandered around your apartment, unsure of where to go next. You’d never quite felt so lost before. You spent most of your life with a well curated agenda and a plan. A schedule even for your days off, everything you did had a purpose that was carefully selected and chosen with some goal in mind.

But how on earth could you possibly tackle this feeling? You wanted to see him. You wanted to be near him and be close to him and you wanted to do the things he was doing with him and you wanted to breathe the same air he was breathing. It was maddening.

You no longer had a sense of what time it was. You’d wandered for too long when you finally came-to plopped down your sofa with the tv remote in your hand as you flipped through programs that didn’t have any the right feelings to draw you in.

You felt desperate like a caged tiger the longer you stayed here. You glanced at the clock in some useless attempt to orient yourself and to find your own mind again and you found that it was later than you expected it to be. Would he be done with his drive home yet? Would he be calling you soon as he promised so quickly the last time you’d spoken to him?

Maybe you needed a hobby. This was getting ridiculous.

Just a few more hours and you could get in bed and just a few more sleep hours after that and you could get up and get dressed in your sexiest business professional number and you could go into work and you could see him again.

Is this how addicts felt as they waited for their next fix?

A buzz on your phone brought you out of it.

It was Assistant Byun. It was your greatest weakness and he was the very powerful and addictive drug you’d been craving.

‘When can I see you again?’

It was straight to the point. It mirrored the exact same feeling you had been dealing with for the past few hours. No pleasantries. No ‘Noonas’ or cutesy emojis. No ‘how are yous’ or ‘are you busys’ or similarly cheap filler talk.

You looked down at his message and your hands clumsily struggled to type out a response.

He was faster than you were.

‘I need to see you again’

You had to steady your hands to type. You felt no hesitation with your next words. Of course he should. Of course he had to. You also needed him.

‘come over’

The warm flush that started in your cheeks spread over you slowly. It crept like a shadow moved and it was a thorough and a deep feeling as it spread. You felt the heat under your chin as it traveled down your neck, bringing with it that slow buzzing that made your breathing just a little shaky and unsteady. The saliva pooled inside of your mouth, just under your tongue at the thought of him being so overcome with the very same desire that you felt inside of you, it made the need that much more pronounced in you

Ten seconds passed and you sat with your eyes closed listening to the silence of your home and the silence of your phone without any sort of new message from him. When the sound did ring it out it came from an unexpected place and you lifted your head in quiet shock to hear your doorbell ringing a mere ten seconds after you had told him to come over.

‘I’m already here,’ the cheeky response from him belatedly buzzed in your hand, just after the doorbell rang and you were on your feet in a second, without any regard for how desperate you must look, because you were. You no longer cared if he knew it.

You pushed yourself to move through the space that separated the two of you and you rushed to unlock the door that separated you from him and when you pulled that door you caught the sight of his pretty face as he stood there at your doorway, leaning a shoulder against the edge and he was looking at you with a that breathtaking smile on his face, one hand pushed into his pocket. When he saw you the smile sagged and when he saw you his face changed. And with a slow and deliberate agonizing pull of his dark eyes, he ran them up the entire length of your body before setting them down devastatingly deep inside of your eyes and there was no longer any breath left in your body that could fight the dizziness you felt under his gaze.

Inside of his eyes a flame was ablaze and you, and you, and every single bit of you, was burning.

[To be Continued]

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

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