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hairmetal666 · 10 months

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Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #oneshot #ficlet #angst #no happy ending #august #summer romance #heartbreak #mutual pining #based on a taylor swift song #i probably went overboard with the references to the lyrics #i'm not sorry #it's about the longing #august slipped away into a moment in time #whatever you do don't think about how the next time they see each other is Eddie pinning Steve to the wall in the boat house

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little-pondhead · 5 months

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Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

#pondhead blurbs #dpxdc #how we feeling about this fellas #i think it's an ideal angst fic #but i don't wanna write it lol #the younger danny is the worse it gets #someone said that danny shouldn't be afraid of the joker because he's a clown and freakshow is a ringmaster. not a clown #if i find that post i'll tag the creator cause i can't remember rn #but i'm imagining danny who is heavily traumatized and scared and lonely #finding out that one of his worst enemies he hoped to never see again is hunting him and is so close danny has to check his eyes every day #just to make sure they haven't turned red #his anxiety is out of control and he's not about to go find a Bat or Bird to talk to #who would believe him anyways? he's a monster #but danny needs help cause he will not survive this on his own and he knows it #freakshow haunts his every waking dream #but freakshow isn't from gotham. he doesn't have the city's curses engraved into his blood. he never died and he's not truly teasing death #so danny chooses to plead for help from the only predator bigger than freakshow (in his eyes) who IS from gotham #danny goes to the Joker. prepared to offer everything but his free will and free mind. he can't give those up. it's all he has.#danny is a feral house cat asking a tiger to take care of a mountain lion for him by offering the tiger his own liver on a silver platter #joker is...delighted? maybe? no one is quite sure. but he takes what danny offers.#here is this little boy. almost the same age as the second robin when he died. pleading for the JOKER to be his savior. this will be fun

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steddiehyperfixation · 6 months

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don't you forget about me (part five)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)

No nightmares make their way into Eddie’s mind that night, no bad memories stir in his subconscious. That night, instead, he dreams of Steve:

Steve sat in the back of Eddie’s van, lounging against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, perpendicular to Eddie who sat against the back of the seats, legs also kicked out and propped up on top of Steve’s as they passed a joint back and forth, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. The windows and doors were closed to keep the night’s cool summer breeze out and the smoke in, the air in the van pleasantly warm and thick and hazy; their minds so too.

Steve took a hit of the joint and attempted to blow smoke rings when he exhaled, making funny shapes with his lips and failing so spectacularly it made Eddie burst into a fit of raucous laughter. He threw his head back with it, hysterical and giggly in his high. Steve shoved at Eddie’s legs in mock offense at being laughed at, but it lacked heat, and he’d already caught the giggles from him too.

“You’re really beautiful, you know,” Steve said, dopey smile on his face as he watched Eddie laugh.

Eddie snorted. “And you’re really high.” He plucked the joint out of Steve’s hands, not giving the compliment much weight at all. People just say things sometimes when they’re too high, and he knew Steve’s tolerance for any sort of substance had gone way down since he’d gotten caught in that mall fire a couple weeks ago. Something to do with trauma or whatever.

“Yeah, I’m gone,” Steve agreed, blowing a raspberry at him. “But I meant it, though,” he said. His dazed eyes drifted lazily over Eddie’s face. “I think it all the time sober too, every time you laugh or smile or the light hits you just right. You have pretty lips and pretty eyes and pretty hair.”

“Yeah, it’s the long hair, man.” Eddie laughed, genuine but dismissive, taking a hit of the joint and saying on the exhale, “Got the wires all crossed in that lovely little head of yours. Your high brain’s just got me confused for a girl or something.”

“No.” Steve frowned at him, bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pout as he shook his head. “I’m not confused. I don’t think you’re a girl. I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy.”

“Hm.” Eddie took another hit, felt the weed float through his veins, cloud his mind even further. “In that case…” The smoke escaped past lips stretched into an unsuppressable grin. “You wanna know a secret?”

Steve angled his body towards him and leaned forward in interest. “Uh huh.”

Eddie snuffed out the joint, pushed away from the back of the seats, and pulled his legs off of Steve, sitting back on his heels instead as he shifted to face Steve better and move closer. Inches apart now, Eddie brought a hand up to Steve’s cheek and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy too.”

Steve giggled, smile wide and cheeks pink. He hooked an arm around Eddie’s waist and swept him onto his lap, making Eddie giggle too as he was pulled in close. Their foreheads rested against each other. Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie thought he got the hint. He leaned in, and for a second Steve leaned in too, only for him to duck away at the very last second, the would-be kiss amounting only to the barest brush of their lips. A small whine, confused and wanting, escaped involuntarily from the back of Eddie’s throat.

“Waitwaitwait-” Steve said, one hand pressed lightly against Eddie’s chest to hold him back. “We should be sober first.”

Eddie huffed, but agreed, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” His hand still cupped Steve’s face though, thumb running over his cheekbone as he asked, “Will you even still want to kiss me when you’re not high?”

“Of course I will.” Steve leaned into his touch. “Will you?”

“Of course I will. Have you seen you?” Eddie said with a light laugh. “How could I not?”

Steve grinned, bumped his forehead against Eddie’s again. “I’m gonna kiss you breathless when we’re sober, I promise.”

“You better.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek instead, for now. “I’m holding you to that, pretty boy.”

He was rewarded with another giggle and both of Steve’s arms wrapping around him now to pull him closer to his chest. Eddie slipped an arm around Steve’s waist too and settled against him, curled up so that he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. His other hand dropped from Steve’s face and drifted instead to land on the bicep of the strong arms that cradled him.

The giggly elation of their high was beginning to give way to a stoned sleepiness, the weed-soaked air draped around them like a blanket. They probably could’ve fallen asleep like that - it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d passed out back there after a smoke sesh - but the air would soon grow stale, not to mention every breath inside the hotboxed van only maintained their intoxication and Eddie kind of really wanted to be sober as soon as possible.

“It’s getting late,” he mumbled, reluctantly pushing himself away from Steve. “We should head inside.”

“Yeah, alright.” Steve, equally reluctantly, let go of Eddie and let him leave his lap.

They separated to climb out of the van and make their way to the trailer and back to Eddie’s room to get ready for bed, but they gravitated towards each other again, drawn together like magnets once they laid side by side under Eddie’s sheets. It was almost unconscious, really, the way they both reached out and pulled each other close.

By the time morning came, they were completely intertwined: both of them had both arms wrapped tight around the other, their legs entangled, Steve’s head tucked beneath Eddie’s chin and face buried in his chest. Eddie idly ran his fingers through Steve’s hair; Steve stirred at the touch and muttered a muffled, “‘Morning,” which Eddie softly echoed.

Steve pulled his head back from Eddie’s chest then and shifted himself up so that they were face to face - or, more accurately, nose to nose. “Oh.” He smiled a little. “Hi.” And Eddie echoed that too, with a matching small smile.

“About last-” Steve started to say, at the same time Eddie began to ask, “Did you-?” They both broke off into a light chuckle. Steve shook his head and said, “Sorry, you go.”

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Eddie asked, voice quiet and careful and hopeful.

“Every word,” Steve replied, his gaze soft as his eyes met Eddie’s. “Did you?”

“Every word,” Eddie confirmed. A slow grin spread across his face, and he slid his hand from Steve’s hair to trace his fingers along Steve’s jaw. “You have a promise to keep now, big boy.”

“That I do,” Steve agreed with a smirk of his own, pulling Eddie closer.

Their lips met, properly this time. Steve kissed him gentle and sweet and slow, and Eddie all but melted into it, a syrupy warmth flooding his veins. He kissed back, matched the pace. Steve flipped them over, pressing Eddie’s back into the mattress as he deepened the kiss and settled his weight on top of him with a languid, full body roll. Eddie moaned softly beneath him, his lips parting to accept the caress of Steve’s tongue which licked into his mouth in easy, tender strokes. His hands curled in Steve’s hair again and in the fabric of his shirt, back arched in an attempt to press himself even closer as Steve continued to kiss him like he was drinking Eddie in, like Eddie was something precious and Steve was determined to savor every taste. It was dizzying, hypnotizing, thoroughly fucking intoxicating.

When Steve finally pulled away, Eddie was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to speak. He stared up at him, dazed, eyes wide and mouth still open soundlessly.

“Told you,” Steve said, a smugness in his smile, “breathless.”

“Man of your word.” Eddie found his voice again, remembered how to pull air back into his lungs. “An attractive quality,” he murmured before tugging Steve down into another kiss.

This one got a little more heated. It was Eddie who took control this time, and he kissed Steve with fervor. He switched their positions, rolling over so that Steve was the one lying beneath him now, Eddie’s body grinding down as he landed on top of Steve. It was not soft and neither was the sound Steve let out in response: a guttural groan that rumbled against Eddie’s lips. Eddie swallowed that sound, bit down on it, devoured it; craved more of it. He left Steve’s mouth to kiss down his neck, scraping his teeth against those stupidly biteable moles and sucking a bruise onto the skin. Steve’s breath stuttered; as Eddie paired the lovebite with another harsh grind, Steve’s hips bucked up to meet him, pulling another deep groan from them both.

“Eddie,” Steve gasped out then. “Eddie, we should slow down.”

Eddie immediately clambered off of him. “Right, yeah. Too much. Sorry.” He put some distance between them, sitting more towards the edge of the bed and looking away awkwardly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Steve said as he sat up and shifted closer, placing a hand over Eddie’s. “I just- I don’t want this to be just that.” His other hand reached up to turn Eddie’s face back towards him. “I want something real with you. I want to do things right.”

“Oh. Yeah, I wouldn’t just-” Eddie shook his head and smiled softly instead, taking Steve’s hand from his face and holding it. “I want something real with you too.”

Steve sighed, smiled with visible relief. He squeezed Eddie’s hands. “Okay, good.”

Eddie’s stomach grumbled audibly then, and he said with a grin, “So, how about you take me out to breakfast, sweetheart, and we can go from there?”

Steve laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said, leaning in to give Eddie one more lingering kiss first.

Eddie wakes up wanting, a deep ache in his heart like there’s something missing now that he’s awake. Steve is still holding his hand, and Eddie looks over to see the guy passed out in the bedside chair, head lolled to one side, mouth open, a line of drool crusted down his chin. It’s disgusting. It’s fucking adorable. The ache in his heart twinges.

“Goddamnit,” Eddie groans to himself. He knows what this is. He’s got a fucking crush. On Steve fucking Harrington. Of all people. Of course he does.

For all his anti-jock rhetoric, even for all his protests yesterday about not being obsessed, Eddie always did have a sort of fascination with Steve Harrington in high school. More of a passing fancy, really. He thought Steve was attractive, sure, but in the way a celebrity is attractive - unobtainable and unreal - so it was always more like Steve was just his favorite reality TV show rather than an actual crush. But now Steve is real, and worst of all, he’s kind. King Steve Intangible Hot Asshole Jock Harrington is now Sweet Lovely Gorgeous Goofy Perfect Steve who holds Eddie’s hand when he’s scared and tells stupid jokes to make him laugh and always seems to know exactly what he needs, so of course Eddie never stood a single goddamn chance. Of course Eddie only had to spend one fucking day with this man for his old teenage fascination to trip and start falling for him, for Eddie to start having stupid, sappy dreams about him.

Because Eddie’s sure that’s all it was. No way was that dream a memory; his brain was just taking bits and pieces of what Steve had said yesterday and filling in the blanks with fantasy. Dumb, sweet, soft, romantic fantasy. Complete with fucking yearning and shit.

Eddie groans again. Why couldn’t it have just been a sex dream? He knows how to handle sex dreams. Sex dreams don’t come with actual feelings.

Steve begins to rouse then, probably stirred awake by all Eddie’s grumbling.

“Morning, sunshine,” Eddie says as Steve lifts his head and wipes the crusted drool from his mouth.

“Eddie?” Steve rubs his eyes with one hand, then blinks and squeezes Eddie’s hand with his other as his face breaks into a smile. “Hey, you slept through the night!”

Eddie snorts. “You don’t have to make it sound like I’m your infant child reaching a milestone.” He puts on a slight character voice, pitching up his inflection, “‘Baby Eddie slept through the night for the very first time! Mommy Steve was finally able to get some rest!’”

“Ew.” Steve wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, even as he scoffs out a laugh. “Do not call me mommy.”

“Oh, sorry, would you prefer daddy?” Eddie asks with a smirk and raised eyebrows. Because he’s stupid and has no fucking filter.

“Uh-” That startles a nervous chuckle out of Steve, pretty pink blush blooming in his cheeks. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, shakes his head again, and takes a breath to regain his composure. “Yeah, no, that’s not my thing either.”

“Noted,” Eddie says, and then physically bites his own tongue to stop himself from asking something even more stupid like so what is your thing then?

“Anyways-” Steve seems a little desperate to change the subject. “No nightmares last night?”

“Nah.” Eddie taps his fingers against Steve’s hand. “You’ve got some sort of magic touch, man. I never have nightmares when I fall asleep with your hands on me.”

Steve smiles at that, a small thing. “Told you I’d fight them off.”

“Man of your word,” Eddie mutters. His heart gives a little lurch as he echoes his dream, a reaction which is consequently made clear and apparent for anyone to see by the immediate uptick of beeping from his heart monitor. So that’s going to be a problem.

“Yeah-” Steve glances at the monitor, then back at Eddie, a concerned pinch between his brows (Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it away; his heart only beats faster). “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Eddie glares accusingly at the heart monitor, like it’s betrayed him on purpose. “I don’t know why it’s doing that.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I can go get someone to check on you-” He starts to stand like he means to leave, but Eddie tightens his grip on his hand so he can’t get too far.

“I said I’m fine, Steve,” Eddie insists, a little sharper than he meant to. He takes a breath, smooths the edge off his voice. “A slightly increased heart rate is not gonna kill me, alright? You don’t have to worry about me so much.”

“I always worry about you,” Steve mutters. Though he does settle back into his chair, he keeps eyeing the heart monitor and worriedly chewing on his lip - as if that’s going to help Eddie’s racing heart situation.

“Okay, you gotta stop doing that, man.”

“What?”

“Acting all nervous like I’m about to drop dead,” Eddie says. “You’re stressing me out. No wonder my heart’s beating faster.”

“Right, sorry.” Steve looks away from the monitor and releases his lip from between his teeth, bitten red and plump now. Jesus.

Eddie breathes in slowly. He can be calm, he can be cool. He takes another few breaths until his heart rate finally starts to chill the fuck out and the monitor stops beeping so incessantly. “See, I’m totally fine.”

“Yeah.” Steve relaxes visibly. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, gives an apologetic smile. “Of course you are. Sorry I stressed you out.”

“That’s alright.” Eddie smiles back with a shrug, brushing it off. “Means you care, Stevie. I appreciate it.”

Steve’s expression turns warm then, and about 95% of Eddie’s higher brain functioning is now completely focused on trying to keep his heartbeat steady under the glow of Steve’s smile and the warmth of his hand. He doesn’t even hear whatever it is Steve says in response, just lets the timbre of his voice wash over him. It sounds like something soft, something kind, but not something that requires a reply, so Eddie stays quiet and continues to count each beat of his heart in the easy silence that settles over them.

Steve can’t decide if he wants to stay right here forever, holding Eddie’s hand and making sure he’s alright, or if he still wants to run so far from the ache it leaves in his chest.

Hanging out with Eddie yesterday had been overwhelmingly bittersweet. It felt so good to laugh with him again, to talk with him the way they used to, to see his face all lit up and happy. It felt so good to know that Eddie wanted him there, that he enjoyed spending time with him. There were moments that set Steve’s heart aglow, moments so effortless, so simple, so them, that he could forget, just for a second, all that was still missing between them. But each good feeling came with a stinging aftertaste of grief as Steve would remember and he felt the difference in the depth of their affection like a great gaping chasm, vast and black and bleak.

His emotions are frayed, all stretched and pulled in so many different directions at the same time. He wants and he worries and he aches and he loves; desire and despair.

Time makes his decision for him, though, as he catches sight of the clock on the wall and suddenly remembers, “Shit- I have to go, sorry. I promised Robin I’d finally come back to work today so she’d stop having to be stuck on shifts with Keith,” Steve says, starting to stand.

“Oh.” Eddie blinks like he’s been startled out of a trance. A brief disappointment flashes across his face. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back tonight, though,” Steve promises with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Soon as I can.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug up into a small smile then. “Yeah, I know you will.” He lifts Steve’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it before letting go. “You’re my good luck charm.”

It’s such a small, innocent thing, but it wrenches Steve’s heart. The feeling of Eddie’s lips lingers on his skin like it’s haunting him, taunting him; the barest trace of something that once was, a ghost of what he’s lost. It’s almost cruel. Steve hates it, and he aches for it.

He’s quick to leave the room before Eddie can see the tears in his eyes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t like to see him sad.

(part six) taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)

#fun and interesting new developments #i am dragging this shit out sorry lmao. not too much longer tho #i'm thinking this'll probably have maybe 3 more parts to it? we'll see.#steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic

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skelliko · 3 months

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Baji Keisuke |°- he broke up with you, but it was a mistake -- small, tiny bits of angst.

he didn't know what he was doing at all, he thought he understood but turns out he didn't. he thought he could go on with his day without having that giddy, warm feeling whenever you're mentioned or when Baji gets a vibration from his phone and without even looking to see who it's from he just knows it's you which causes a smile to creep up.

now, whenever he gets a text notification he jumps right into it thinking its you wanting him back but no, it's not you. it's some spam message or a text from one of his buds sending him homework answers that he forgot about. day instantly ruined.

he knows he's the one that ended it but why didn't you chase after him? it's a shit way to think and it doesn't make any sense at all because then what's the point in breaking up if he secretly wanted you to convince him to stay?

he regrets his decision, but also doesn't have the courage to face you again with this humiliation that only Baji, himself, has gained and caused. he didn't see the tears fall over your cheeks but he saw how you brought your hand up to your face when your back was turned. he knows you mourn in silence but looking back in that moment, he wished you to of slapped him for making that stupid statement and told him to take you back.

is that selfish of him? yes. because the only reason he broke up with you is because he was confused on what the feeling of love is supposed to feel like. in the beginning it seemed like a regular teenage romance, but as months went by he started to feel stronger emotions for you and that scared the hell out of him.

Keisuke being scared of love. he's not afraid of 50 men charging at him for a fight and it's him alone, he's not afraid of 100 either. he's not afraid of a knife battle, he's not afraid to speak up what's on his mind nor lead a large group within a gang, he's also not afraid to die for his friends. but he's afraid of love.

what is he supposed to say to get you back? 'hey I change my mind, can we get back together and cuddle? I miss your warmth' fuck no, you deserve an explanation and he's been pondering over it so much to the point where hes started to question if his heart can even beat anymore due to the distance between you both.

but is saving himself from humiliation better than losing you? no of course not. if it means to tell you how scared he was of a sappy emotion and you laugh at him then so be it if it means that he gets to see your smile, and if you don't laugh then he sure hopes you understand and don't stay consistent on being apart. cause this loneliness is becoming unbearable.

he ended up mentioning the situation to draken, why him out of everyone? cause draken has more experience with the feeling of love than anyone else. aside from takemichi but there's no way that hed be of help for Baji. and chifuyu gets all his relationship advice from his shows and books which all showcase high standards. and pah-chin is still in the middle of discovering his own feels for a certain someone.

"what the fuck Baji" are the first words that came out of Draken's mouth. it wasn't disappointed nor anger but rather a small push to get Baji actually thinking things over and becomes aware of not only his own emotions but yours as well. If Baji truly loved you then he wouldn't have waited this long, if he did then he wouldn't have even considered splitting up in the first place even if he was afraid. he could have talked his feelings out with you first but noooo he chose to go the hard way.

what the fuck indeed. he ended up being too focused on the humiliation on his side rather than the hurt on your side. now he feels like a complete douche.

sooner or later Keisuke finally managed to collect his mental strength In contacting you, he may have physical strength but his mentality is constantly going from one place to another, though with a bit of encouragement from draken he finally got over the fear. he was relieved that you hadn't blocked his number otherwise he would have to go up to you in person first and if so then he would have pondered longer.

it was a simple message but half the time simple and straightforward is enough to get the message across "hey, can we meet up? i want to explain a few things" "please" he double texted making sure that you get his notification, also wishing behind the screen that you reply soon.

he was starting to worry that you didn't want to talk things out and you were purposely ignoring him. he paced around his room, tried to listen to music to relax but then songs that you both would listen to came up and that just made him feel a lot worse, so he scraped that and started to tidy up his room. the nervous anticipation for your message kept increasing and decreasing with every little activity that he'd do to distract himself from you, it'd either make him calm for a few moments or make him remember.

but once you finally replied he couldn't have been more relaxed once you agreed, it was like a bubble popping. sure it took a few hours but baji convinced himself that you were just busy or maybe you were thinking though certain scenarios, which is what he'd do if roles were reversed. thought him thinking about it now makes him realise that he'd probably be pissed off if he was you, and the both of you were together for a reason meaning he was gonna have to face you while you're irritated.

he brought this all on himself, but he can handle you in that state, or in any state to be precise. he just wants to finally see you again and hopefully make things right.

a large mix of anxiety and excitement filled him up knowing that you both were gonna see each other face to face and talk without any more lies, he said he lost interest in you but that was far from the truth considering that he's actually gained more, and baji is almost dying to apologise to you and hopefully make things right. who knew he'd go this mad over someone.

even his mom realised the difference in Baji when you came into his life, and to now when you're out of it. she knows what happened and what Baji did since he ended up telling her after he told draken but that was mainly cause he asked about you, though that mainly just caused more confirmation of how much of a big mistake he did and sure enough after his mother's words it clicked that he needs you back more than anything. even his mom misses having you around and that's when you know it's serious.

when the time and day came he chose to walk to the meet up spot so that he can collect himself carefully and prepare his words. however on his way there he realised that he can't come empty handed with no tools to fix your heart. it'd almost make it seem like his job would be done half-assed if he went to fix something but only brought one tool. and his only tool in this scenario would be words that could be either taken lightly or with weight.

he wanted to bring you something, anything to physically show how sincere he is but he couldn't turn back to go to a flower shop and be late, that could just cause you to overthink that he doesn't actually care, plus baji wanted to be a little early to prove to you that he really does mean in wanting to explain everything.

so instead he quickly crossed the road to the opposite pathway and reached over someone's fenced, front garden that had some rose bushes and carefully snapped off the prettiest one he could find, one that he could be sure that you'd be obsessed over by how perfect the petals are. for the rest of the walk his finger tips had small, bleeding punctures from snapping off the thorns to make it safe for you to hold... that's if you accept it.

one is an odd number of roses but it's cutely appreciated either way holding one flower in your hand, two is an odd-even number of roses to have and holding just two flowers next to each other in one hand feels off, three and four are an okay amount to have but baji already spent a few dedicated minutes in trying to eye out the perfect rose. the people that own that bush should really try and take care of the roses more.

and there you are, walking right towards him, he could tell that you seem a little stiff and he doesn't blame you considering how you both last seen each other. though despite the whole reason for being here it feels almost nostalgic, because this spot is the place where you both first met where you apologised for mistaking him as someone else and here he is apologising to you in the same place for mistaking his feelings.

♡----

#think you'd accept his apology?#I'm actually really happy about this one #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #baji keisuke #baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke angst #keisuke #keisuke baji #baji keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers angst

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tealfling · 11 days

Text

Imagine Rolan in love with Tav. Utterly smitten. Secretly pining.

Imagine Rolan watching from the tower in horror as the brain, that he knows Tav is-was- on, plummeting from the sky.

#rolan fanfic #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan nation #rolan x tav #baldurs gate 3 rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan x tav #rolan baldur's gate 3 #rolan brainrot #rolan romance #rolan/tav #rolanites #tav x rolan #rolan #just things I'm putting in my fic #the angst #just another thing he thinks he's lost

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demigods-posts · 7 months

Text

friendly reminder that in the rooftop scene in tlo when her and percy watch the sunset, annabeth reveals that luke visited her before kronos overtook him. meaning every luke-based reaction from annabeth in tbotl was annabeth truly believing she could do something before that point of no return. meaning when her and the gang eventually speak to the titan lord through luke as a vessel, annabeth running and sobbing heavily is her thinking of the moment she could have changed the tide of the war but didn't.

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo text post #annabeth chase #luke castellan #annabeth chase angst #at least i think this is right #correct me if i'm wrong

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perpetuallyconfused10 · 9 months

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Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do.

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in.

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough.

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you.

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm.

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day.

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair.

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done.

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee.

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it.

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says.

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand.

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it.

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine.

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes.

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face.

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room.

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway.

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain.

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails.

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?”

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be.

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions.

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh.

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it.

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm.

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable.

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down.

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair.

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone).

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway.

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?”

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”.

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle.

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows.

“I just came to drop these off.”

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer.

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin.

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away. It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.”

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch hotchner #this is pure disgustingly sappy fluff I'm sorry guys #I think I'm too down bad right now to write any angst whatsoever #But maybe I'll start crying one day soon and decide to write one #who knows

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