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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

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Make Your Acquaintance III (Jake Lockley x Reader)

Part 1. Part 2.

Content Warning: Language, dark themes, kinda manipulative Reader, nothing too unsafe/triggering hopefully

Summary: It’s been nearly a week since Budapest. Desperate to see more of Jake, you resort to some pretty nefarious methods to get to see him again. (Ft. Marc Spector)

Word Count: 4.5k

Make Your Acquaintance Masterlist

You finally got around to explaining yourself to Marc. Well, kind of explaining. At least enough to put his mind at ease.

“Don’t bullshit me.” He had gotten pretty frustrated with you. That was fair; you had flat out lied to him about pretty much everything that happened that night. He had a right to be angry. “I talked to Steven. He doesn’t remember getting on the plane. In fact, he has a pretty interesting story about the last thing he does remember.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” You tried to plead with him. Your excuses were paltry and weak, but you couldn’t help but try to make him less upset with you. You couldn’t stand it when you made Marc upset. “It all happened so fast! And it’s not like I had any control over it. I just didn’t know what to say. How am I supposed to explain something like that to you?”

“You didn’t know what to say?” His voice was rigid as he scoffed out the words. “You could have told me the truth! It’s not just something you omit because it’s hard for you to say.”

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to curb his anger at you. He didn’t like to be the one to start fights; he certainly didn’t like yelling.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, what does Steven remember?” You didn’t know how much you wanted to reveal to him. As a matter of fact, you yourself didn’t fully understand everything about that night.

“He says that someone broke into the hotel room. That there were two guys that shot through your window not an hour after you got checked in.”

“And he doesn’t remember anything after that?”

“He just says he summoned the suit. That he tried to knock the guns from their hands…” He trailed off with an expression you couldn’t quite make out. It looked a bit like anger, a bit like guilt, and a bit like worry. It looked a bit like surprise.

“And that’s it. And I woke up on the plane.”

You stared at him. He looked back at you with a hitch in his breath. His eyes were wide.

“Oh my God.”

“Marc—”

“It was Jake? That psychotic son of a bitch had the body the whole time? For the whole goddamn night?”

You couldn’t get enough air in your chest. Your face was hot and your ears burned as he placed his hands on either side of your shoulders with a feverish worry.

“What did he do? Did he hurt you? Is that why you didn’t want to tell me? I swear to God, if he laid a finger on you—”

“No! It’s nothing like that.” You cupped his face in your hands, trying to coax him down from his panic. You should have just told him from the start. “He just had to help Steven out. He was… outgunned. Outnumbered, I guess.”

“So then what did he do?” Marc’s mind was racing so fast you could see it making him physically dizzy. He always assumed the worst of Jake. He wasn’t too far off in those assumptions, but you felt the need to come to his defense nonetheless.

“He…um…” You searched for a way to sugarcoat it. There wasn’t one.

“What the fuck did he do?”

“He killed the men. He… cut their throats. We left them in the hotel room. We didn’t have a choice.”

Marc’s eyes dropped like he was about to be sick. He shuddered away from you, avoiding your grasp and your gaze as he ran his fingers up through his hair. You hated making him upset. Seeing him upset. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve it.

“Why didn’t Steven come back? After that. Why doesn’t he remember anything else?”

“I don’t know, because Jake was still there? He was there… the whole time. Up until he fell asleep on the plane.”

Marc breathed a sigh of disbelief, dropping his hands. He shook his head, obviously desperate to make sense of the situation. This was so different from everything that he’d known about himself. About the system. Jake never fronted for so long at a time. At least, not to Marc’s knowledge.

“And he didn’t hurt you?”

“No, baby. He never laid a hand on me. He actually… checked my wounds. He took us somewhere safe till morning.”

You omitted the part where he had stolen an SUV. The part where he had offered to sleep on the ground in an abandoned barn. And definitely you omitted the part where he wrapped himself around you in his sleep, humming softly in your ears.

You also failed to mention that he had come back the very next night. To check on you. To admit that he knew you. To admit that he wanted you. You failed to mention that you wanted to see him again, too.

Marc spent the next few hours alone, presumably thinking everything over and probably searching the headspace for any sign of Jake Lockley. Steven hadn’t fronted all week, and it became increasingly clear that the entire system knew much less about one another than originally thought. It was nearly nightfall when he finally spoke to you again.

“Did we cover our tracks well in Budapest? They can’t pin anything on us, can they?” He seemed unwilling to be having the conversation, resigned to the oddity and betrayal that the situation unearthed.

“No, I don’t think so. The hotel doesn’t have any cameras or anything. There was no spilt blood from me or Steven. I think we’re in the clear.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was no anger in his voice, just disappointment. That’s much worse. “I could’ve handled it. It would have been nice to know the truth.”

“Honestly? I didn’t know how to process it myself. It was… a lot of new experiences at once. It was a lot to take in.”

“And Jake?”

“He was a lot to take in.”

Marc wasn’t one to pry. He found himself at a crossroads when wondering if he should probe you further about your first experience with Jake Lockley. Your only experience, as far as he knew. He wasn’t sure what to expect or if he even really wanted to know. He didn’t like the idea of Jake spending hours with you. He could barely stand the idea of Jake in general.

So he didn’t pry. He just faked a smile and thanked God that you were home safe and out of the woods, legally speaking at least. He let the conversation die as the sun began to set, orange light seeping in through the kitchen window. You left him on the couch to watch the game as you moved to cook dinner. Maybe a nice meal could do something to heal the hurt that you’d caused him.

It was such an odd situation. You’d never felt this way before, especially not since you moved in with the fabled Moon Knight. You felt a strong sense of longing that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You wanted to see more of Jake Lockley. But it was more than that. It wasn’t something you could admit to yourself, but it was there.

You really, really wanted Jake Lockley. The longing for him was something visceral inside you, eating away at every other waking thought you had. This mysterious man shared the same body as your partners, but he was wildly different from either of them in just about every way. He was… unhinged. Dangerous. Curious. He was like a puzzle that you absolutely needed to solve. You had to see him. Soon.

So you didn’t even feel that guilty when a devilish thought entered your brain. You were chopping vegetables to go into your dish, barely even started with the cooking. What if you… encouraged Jake to come out and see you again? What if you forced him to the front? Surely there was something to trigger him besides eminent death. Something that would be safe, subtle even.

You knew it was wrong of you. To toy with your partner’s mind like that. Marc didn’t deserve this. But you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to see him. You needed it so badly.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and placed it squarely on the countertop in front of you. This would work, you thought to yourself. It has to work. You opened Spotify, not knowing exactly what to search for. Something in Spanish. Something that Marc would never willingly put on. Something that would call to a different part of his brain.

You settled on a playlist called Latin Hit Mix. It could have been absolute shit music, as few words as you knew en Español. But it would have to work. It just had to.

The song started on a low volume as you tested the sound echoing on the kitchen walls. It seemed good enough to you, unlike anything the other boys would listen to. Maybe if you turned up the sound slow enough, Marc wouldn’t even think to question why it wasn’t in English. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice the words. You slid the volume bar at an excruciatingly slow pace, trying to make it as unnoticeable as possible.

This was wrong. It was manipulative. If it worked, you would be stealing Marc’s night from him. You’d be forcing him out of his own head, out of the driver’s seat where he so comfortably sat.

But you didn’t stop.

When the volume bar was as far as it would go to the right, you set your phone across from you at the end of the counter, resuming where you left off chopping vegetables for what was supposed to be a make-up dinner. The song continued to play and there was no sign of change from where Marc sat over on the couch. You snuck small glances and only saw your partner, intently focused on the telly in front of him. He seemed to not even notice the sound coming from the kitchen. Maybe that was for the best.

The first song on the playlist finally came to an end, fading out with words you still couldn’t understand. You held your breath as the second song started. Dinner was never going to get done at this rate.

Then something happened. You heard the click of the television shutting off behind you. The tap of the remote making contact with the coffee table. Then you heard the subtle rustling squeak that was unmistakably someone standing up off of the couch. You still hadn’t let out your breath.

“What are you doing?” The voice came from across the room. Your face immediately flooded red at the uneven sound. The unnatural timbre met your ears with ironic grace.

“Cooking.” Playing dumb wasn’t going to get you far. That didn’t matter, though. Your plan had worked.

“And what’s that you’re listening to, sweetheart?” You could hear Jake’s sly smile as he murmured the words, though you didn’t turn around to face him. “No sabía que podías hablar español.”

“I just wanted to listen to something different tonight.” You shrugged as you put down your knife, turning around to meet his eye. He was barely two feet away from you, causing you to jump slightly when you saw.

“Why are you doing this?” He reached behind you to turn down the volume, effectively trapping you up against the counter as his arm extended out. This was the closest he’d been to you. On purpose, at least. He didn’t break eye contact with you. “You know your boyfriend is going to be upset. What do you want with me?”

“I just needed to see you again.” You blurted. You could feel his warm breath on your skin. His eyes drilled into you like nothing else in the room mattered to him. You managed to blush even harder. “I can’t just go on like nothing happened. I need to know more about you.”

He backed away, taking your words at face value. He’d learned so much about you, most of it without your knowledge that he was there. It made sense that you would want to even the playing field. To have more information about the sinister man that hid behind your precious boyfriends’ eyes.

He let out a long, resigned sigh.

“What is it you want to know?”

Oddly enough, you hadn’t thought that far ahead. You were just so focused on… seeing him. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. What did you want to know about him? There was so much to ask. So many questions that you probably couldn’t even think of. What was it that you really wanted from him?

“Well… did you talk to Marc? I know he was, erm, looking for you.” You brain was scrambled now that you’d gotten this far. You couldn’t really comprehend how Jake made you feel. What was it that attracted you to him?

“If you could call it talking. He did a lot of rambling. And swearing. I told him I just did what needed to be done. He didn’t like it too much, but he understood.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief. At least the boys could work something out amongst themselves. You certainly didn’t want to be the source of any bad blood between them. Even if you were still hiding things, at least you weren’t hurting anyone.

“Did you tell him about the next night? Does he know that you were here again, with me? I never told him about that.”

“Eh, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’m sure he wasn’t missing the pizza. Like I said, I’m around more often than he thinks I am.”

“About that…”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you hide it from him? I mean, that you front more often than he thinks you do. Isn’t that kind of unfair to him? Doesn’t he have a right to know that you’re using his body?” Steven and Marc seemed to switch off so well. They’d almost boiled it down to a science, even to a schedule if nothing too important came up. You wondered if Jake’s antics made things harder on the two of them. If he was the reason that they still had trouble trusting each other with the body.

“I don’t think those two would approve of what I’m doing when I’m in control. It’s better off that they don’t know. And, by the way, it’s not just his body. I have a right to it, too. I don’t have to ask him for permission.”

“So then… what would they not approve of?” You had abandoned your cutting board at this point, sitting down at the table. You made a mental note to order something for delivery. Dinner wouldn’t serve its purpose as an apology now anyway.

“I don’t think you really want to know that, fosfora. You wouldn’t like it.”

“But I do want to know.” Jake looked at you like he was desperate to tell you everything about himself, but something was holding him back. Maybe he wanted to maintain his jaded facade, or maybe he didn’t want you to think less of him. But as he stared into your eyes, his erratic gaze softened for the first time since you’d met him. He appeared the way someone might look if they had just forfeited a big game. It was like he gave up on the walls he had built; like you could see them crumbling down behind his dark chocolate eyes.

He sat down across from you.

“Marc Spector isn’t the only one with a… strong sense of justice. He just pursues it differently than I do. He has a different idea about what his job is. His purpose.”

“Okay, so what? You do vigilante stuff just like the other two do? What’s wrong with that? Would Marc be upset that you used the suit without his knowledge or something?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with the suit, queriña. I think it’s something else entirely.”

“I don’t understand.” Your voice was split between impatience and pleading. All you wanted was to make him open up to you, no matter what it was that came out of his mouth. You couldn’t imagine he had secrets worse than the manslaughter you had witnessed. Surely there couldn’t be anything worse. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

“Well, for one, I’m not sure your boyfriend would approve of the endless illegal activities. He tries to do things good and proper unless the mission absolutely requires it. I have a… different philosophy. The law is secondary to me.”

Okay, you could deal with that. You certainly weren’t a stickler for the rules yourself; the government is hardly a fair authority to people like you, like Marc and Steven. Jake had a disregard for the law. So what? That certainly didn’t seem that bad in the grand scheme of things. It certainly didn’t upend your newfound obsession with him. In fact, the danger was starting to grow on you.

“You said ‘for one,’ does that mean there’s something else he wouldn’t like? And what about Steven? Where does he fit into to all this?”

“I don’t think Steven could handle this sort of thing. He had enough of a problem when he first found Marc. He’d probably go insane if he knew what I was up to.”

“Yeah, well, insane’s a relative term around here anyway. Isn’t it?”

He laughed. Oh my god, he actually laughed.

“I guess it is.”

You felt dizzy at the sight of his elated smile. At the way his eyes crinkled in the corners and his lips pulled back to reveal his pearly teeth. Jake had never laughed before in your presence. It awakened a whole new side of him inside your brain. A softer, deeper, more vulnerable side. A side that made you feel warm and giddy.

The room was quiet for a moment. The two of you sat there, staring at each other, not sure how to move forward from here. Finally, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the table below him. He ran his fingernails along the knuckles of his opposite hand.

“I gotta ask you something.” He said it in almost a whisper, like he was scared. What could make Jake Lockley scared?

“Okay, shoot. Or uhh… bad choice of words. Go ahead.” He scoffed at the way you stuttered, hung up on the word shoot. It was a little funny, your apprehension as a result of his record of violence. It was also far from humorous. It made his heart ache. He never wanted to be a source of fear for you.

“I know we didn’t talk about—” He fumbled over the words, unsure of himself. “Spending the night in that barn. I know that you noticed… me. When we slept in the car. How I…”

“How you held me?” You just had to help him through his flustered rambling. It physically hurt to see this ruthless man stutter at you. At the thought of cuddling you, of holding you close. Of breaking every boundary that made sense in the context of that night.

“Yeah. That.” He fucking blushed at you again. This time, you could pinpoint exactly how it made you feel. The butterflies in your stomach were unmistakable. They were rampant, unhindered this time by fear or anger or anything else. You felt the urge to move closer to him.

“I noticed. What about it?” Your heart was inside your goddamn throat at this point. He looked like a deer in headlights and it was driving you fucking insane. How on earth did you hold so much power over this man. This man, who you’d only spoken to on two occasions in your life? This man who, until five days ago, you were convinced was incapable of any emotion close to adoration. How could he be so flustered now? This man could go to war for you, but he couldn’t bear the thought of holding you in his arms?

“Can you forgive me for that?” You almost laughed at his words, but you saw the pitiful look in his eyes. Forgive him? If you were just a fraction more unhinged, you would be begging him to do it again, right here and now. He thought that you were upset with him over… what exactly? Of wrapping his arms around you with so much care that you felt you could stay there forever, despite having met this man only hours before? Of being so gentle even in his sleep as to not put any pressure on your wounds? Of humming sweet lullabies in your ears during his peaceful slumber?

“Why would I need to forgive you?” You couldn’t fathom anything that was wrong with that picture.

“Are you joking? It was way out of line. I had no right to touch you at all. I’m a complete stranger to you.”

“I didn’t mind it so much.”

“You—what? You mean I didn’t upset you? I thought that you were terrified of me.” There was no doubt in your mind that this man was a danger to himself and others. He was erratic, unpredictable, and ruthless just to start. He had probably killed more people than you could count on both hands. Hell, there were probably dozens that you didn’t even know about. You had every right to be terrified. But you weren’t. Not anymore. Not even one little bit.

“I was scared of you… at first. That feeling went away pretty quickly.”

“It did?”

“Of fucking course it did, Jake! You’re the only reason I’m alive right now. And you cared about me, despite having no good reason to. You tended to my wounds, you practically carried me out of that hotel. Hell, you offered to sleep on the ground just so I wouldn’t have to be uncomfortable for one night.”

The room was eerily silent as he drank in your words. He almost looked like he was choking on them, not able to breathe at a consistent rate, eyes blown and brows furrowed in thought. It felt like hours, though you sat there for only a few seconds. He balled his hands into fists, completely at a loss for how to respond to you now.

“I’m not scared of you anymore. I’m not. Hell, maybe I should be terrified. That would be rational in this case. But I couldn’t really care less. You saved my life. You saved Steven’s life. And Marc’s. I wouldn’t even know where to start at having a problem with you right now, Jake Lockley. Why do you think I keep asking to see you? That doesn’t sound like fear to me.”

Jake seemed a little behind on taking everything in. He ran his hands through his hair as he returned his gaze back to you. To the face he’d stolen glances at so many times behind Steven’s eyes. To the face he’d fight tooth and nail to see front and center, as selfish as that may be.

“So you’re not mad? About the car?”

“No, I’m not mad. Far from it.”

Immediately, the unhinged look returned to his eyes. It almost startled you, the way the worry melted from his face. The wired, insatiable expression Jake usually wore came back just as quickly as it had gone. He stood up from his chair, and you instinctively stood with him, matching his energy with a curiosity that outweighed every other thought in your brain.

What happened after that was never up for debate. He swept you into his grasp with a ravenous heat that separated him from the other inhabitants of his toned, frenzied body. Pressing his lips into yours, he kissed you with surprising gentleness that clashed with the energy coursing throughout the rest of your body. You never hesitated in returning the kiss, snaking your hands up through the curls on either side of his head.

He held you like he’d been pining for your touch all his life. It wasn’t that far from the truth. Every glance he stole behind Steven’s unwitting gaze, his thirst for you had grown with unrelenting intensity. Every conversation he overheard through Marc’s ears, he savored your voice ringing in his mind. He had no choice but to hide his thoughts from the others. They would hate to know the truth behind his quietness, his reservation. He couldn’t let them see how much he longed for you. How much he wished for what was decidedly theirs. How much he wished for your touch. For your kiss.

You only pulled away when the lack of air threatened to knock your weight out from under you. You didn’t dare open your eyes, afraid that what was happening was just a vivid dream and that you’d wake up to find none of it was true. It wasn’t until Jake finally spoke that you realized everything before you was real.

“He querido hacer eso durante tanto tiempo. Fue mejor de lo que podría haber imaginado.” His voice was like velvet, a quiet hum against your ear. He couldn’t seem to let you go, holding onto you with just as much gentleness as with desperation. You smiled into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent, though his touch was far from familiar to you.

“I’m sorry, baby, I really don’t speak Spanish. You’re gonna have to run that by me again.” He chuckled softly, pulling back to look into your eyes. He was overjoyed, his face light with contentment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. It was even better than I imagined it’d be.”

You led him over to the couch, savoring the look of childlike wonder on his face. You were still in slight disbelief. What were the odds of this happening?

You said nothing as you coaxed him to sit down, positioning yourself in his lap as he wrapped his arms around you. His heart was beating out of his chest, not that yours was any calmer right now. If his grasp on you wasn’t so firm, you were sure that you could have floated away. You just felt so light.

It was nearly an hour before either of you moved again. He held you close, this time deliberate in his strength as his arms pressed you into his chest. You didn’t shy away from him, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting his steady breathing soothe you.

This was new. And it felt so damn good.

“So what does this mean? What now?” Jake muttered the words with a satisfied sigh. By this time the daylight was gone and the only light in the room was bleeding in from the kitchen overhead bulb.

“I guess the boys are going to have to learn to share.”

What an endeavor that would be. But you were determined to make it happen. This feeling? You never wanted to go without it again.

Update: part 4

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#steven grant #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #masterlist #make your acquaintance

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lovezbrownies · 4 months

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Thank you, cruel savior.

Based on this ask!

A/N: this was so much fun to write >.< I loved this idea so much I had to squeeze out a fully fledged fic! Enjoy!

Word count: 746 words.

TW: mentions of Physical and psychological torture, mentions of murder, one sided hatred, barely mentioned Gen oopsie daisy! bit of angst, bit of fluff

Reina’s job wasn’t easy, tend to a psychotic temper mental murderer who’s overly obsessed with her ‘’lover’’, a person whom she kidnapped, imprisoned, and killed people for. It wasn’t ideal, but Reina had to pull through, her parents need treatment for illnesses, and younger siblings to care for. Even if she’s stuck in a lonely quite mansion with a mentally broken person, she will make sure her family are happy, safe, and healthy. Even if it’s assisting the imprisonment and subsequent mental and physical torture of this poor innocent darling.

Speaking of, the first few weeks with Gen’s toy were painful. Staying quite while someone begs at your feet, sobbing hysterically, asking to be let go, asking to be killed, anything to ease the atrocities they have to deal with. Reina is human, of course she would feel bad for you, who wouldn’t? But dare she do a thing, what will happen to her family? What will Gen do to her in general? The last time someone tried to save you it ended with Reina having to clean up so much blood, having to somehow get rid of the stench of infected wounds, blood, and dead carcass.

It wasn’t worth it, Reina would tell herself in a mantra. They have everything in the world, so what if they’re completely isolated, only being able to talk with a deranged woman for barely 2 hours before they’re dragged off to the master bedroom? So what if I can hear the bloodied screams and cries of agony even all the way across the mansion as that poor creature gets tortured endlessly? I don’t care if they’re locked up in the basement after I had told my mistress of them attempting another escape. I don’t care. No, I don’t.

I don’t care so much so that I sneak them food when they’re being starved intentionally, taking them out for walks in the morning in a nearby park whilst my mistress is at work. I don’t care at all, no, in fact I don’t care what happens to them that I intentionally have sharp cutlery lying around. I actually hate them, but why do I hate them? Best to find out by talking with them about anything that comes to mind. I should get closer to Gen’s sweet darling so they don’t get any ideas on trying to escape obviously! I only do what my mistress tells me to! Which is to ensure her darling’s safety and to stop any escape.

So why am I running? Running so fast and hard, with you tripping trying to catch up to me, me holding your soft hands whom I fell in love with after months of caressing and comforting you. Ah, right. I’m running towards my house, with a bag full of cash that will keep me afloat for up to a year. I’m running so I can save you, my dear, take my family with me, and escape past the borders of Xelera, your home country, but not mine, never mine. We will go to my country and arrive safely by god’s mercy, my country and yours never got along, which is even more beneficial.

I am sorry, I am so sorry, I had hated you in the beginning, blinded by the witch’s beauty, I had risked your life numerous times, and you got hurt because of me, but now I will right my wrongs. I will make sure you, me, and my family are all safe in my childhood home, be warned though fair darling, it’s a bit cramped. But that’s okay, I love it when you’re squeezed against me. I know as soon as we enter the border’s of my gloomy country, the skies will clear and the sun will shine brighter because of you. You light up my life and my heart. I may have saved you, but you saved me as well.

How I adore you, you tortured soul. Here I am, writing this all down as to not forget, we reached our destination. We found our childhood home, and now as I’m writing this, you rest on my small bed, snoring. I am so happy, with you, with my family, with myself. I have never been this happy, you made that possible my dear. You light up my world, I hope to live the rest of my life with you by my side, I love you, dear.

-Reina Adonis, your love and light. Xoxo

November 7th XXXX

#x reader #oc x reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #gnreader #gn reader #soft oc #oc #my oc #Reina Adonis #cute fluff #fluff #tiny angst #ocxreader #original character

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chocominnie · 3 years

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One Last Time 06 — Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

‘‘ I swear I am going to have someone beat your ass Park Jimin!’’

‘‘ It’s not my fucking fault! I broke up with her but you lead her to the apartment knowing she’ll follow!’‘

‘‘ Damn it Jimin im going to kick your ass!’‘

Your eyes pop open just in time to see Jungkook on-top of Jimin hitting him repeatedly on the face while Jimin manages to push him off of him and begin his fist fight against him. He straddles Jungkook to the floor and punches are thrown left and right. Now the sudden headache of seeing the two brothers fight has began in your head and you cannot stand hearing the groaning and yelling between them. Bringing your hand up to signal them to stop, you realize they don’t even know you’ve awakened.

Jungkook on the other hand is not having it so he throws Jimin off of him harshly making Jimin groan. The way he grabs Jimin’s collar with venom fast strength finally gives you the courage to yell out to them.

‘‘ Stop! Damn it, you two are like literal fucking teenagers. Act your age!”

The both of them turn their heads toward you slowly. Jungkook drops his fist, which was going to connect with Jimin’s face. You take a good look at them. Freshly bruised from each-other. Great.

‘‘ You think fighting is going to solve this problem huh? Get over here now.” You say, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Jungkook gives Jimin a death glare before rushing to your side and feeling your forehead. You slap his hand away and pull him down by his shirt only for him to recieve a harsh slap to the forehead.

‘‘ Shit!” He stumbles back and rubs his forehead. He shoots you a glare, wanting to yell at you but doesn’t. You motion for Jimin to come to you too. He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

‘‘ I don’t think it’s necessary for you to do that..” He says, as if your death glare towards him isn’t enough to tell him you aren’t joking whatsoever.

He gets the memo when you disregard his comments before hanging his head low and bending down a little to your height. One slap against the forehead and two across the wrists.

‘‘ That’s for you fighting He was only looking out for me. The last two were for having a psychotic girlfriend who almost killed me. Look at my wrist!’‘

You hold them out to see two I.V’s, one for blood transfusion and the other a regular for nutrients on your right wrist. Both of them bandaged up which does need to be changed because of the old blood.

‘‘ I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would be this upset.’‘ Jimin says, hanging his head low. Jungkook rolls his eyes at him out of annoyance.

‘‘ Whatever. I already called my lawyer for your case. Since Isabel tried to attempt murder to you, you will win this case for sure.’‘ He proudly leans against the wall hoping to atleast crack a smile from you.

You don’t smile though. The last thing you need is another scandal. If this were to make the news and blogs right now then it could be a bad thing. You’ve just started your modeling career again and right now would be the worst time to have something like that.

Jimin leans on the wall with his hands in his pockets, still avoiding locking eyes with you which is something he usually does. Something tells you that he’s hiding something. Something that you just can’t put your finger on.

‘‘ The police will come shortly for witness statements and your statement. Then they’ll call for a court date as soon as possible.’‘ Jimin’s voice low, illuminating with a hint of sadness.

Out of curiosity you want to say something more. To ask him whats going on and why he’s acting rather like this. It’s really not like him. He’s hiding something for sure and you just cannot put your finger on it. You just agree and pull out your phone. A missed call from Ryan. You try texting her and she almost always responds immediately. This time she doesn’t. What’s really going on?

You don’t know but Ryan took it upon herself to pay Isabel a visit. Usually visitors aren’t allowed for people in holding but with a little sweet talk of hers she got to get atleast 10 minutes to talk. That’s all she needs. When it comes to you, her bestfriend, she never messes around. Hearing the news from Jungkook yesterday she almost went luncatic. Throwing things at him, calling his brother every disrespectful name in the book. Oh she hates him now for sure.

Jungkook had to stop her from going over to the hospital to beat his ass into a bloody pulp for causing you pain and getting together with that crazy girl just to break up with her. Ryan was heated.

But now she can take this heat and serve some to Isabel right now. She walks with confidence into the room. Nothing and nobody can stop her and if they even try, she’ll chew them up and spit them out. Catching a glimpise of Isabel sitting at the table with her hands cuffed and security next to her, Ryan shoots her a devious glare.

‘‘ What brings you here? I expected my boyfr-’‘

A harsh slam from her hands hit the table as she bends a little to her seated level, ‘‘ He’ not your fucking boyfriend. You were lucky I wasn’t there to beat your fucking ass.”

The guard tenses up at the sounds and sudden movements. Ryan notices, and decides to take her seat to calm down before she’s the one sitting behind the jail bars too.

‘‘ Ryan.. I thought we were friends?’‘ She frowns, pouting her lips while fake wiping tears away.

Ryan scoffs,shaking her head ever so slowly with a devilish grin on her face. “ We aren’t. Don’t let me catch you un-attended without your manager or body guard.. Isabel.’’

Isabel laughs one of her evil laughs, throwing her head back then coming back up, “ Oh how cute. Is this a threat from little ol’ you? Me and Jimin were doing just fine before your bestfriend had decided to enter his life again. I’m not the only bad guy here. She should know boundaries for taken men. Ex’s aren’t supposed to be firendly and lovey dovey. Spending nights and going everywhere with each other. Especially when one’s a famous idol with another idol girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

“ Maybe you should take that up with your hoe of a boyfriend. He’s the one who can’t leave her alone.” She yells, inches away from Isabel’s face. The two stare at each other long and hard. Isabel is no match for Ryan though.

The guard clears his throat to break the two’s glares. The tension is thick in the air.

“ If you ever touch yn again, I’ll make sure you’re the one in the hospital this time around.”

‘‘ You’ll all see. I’ll win this court case. Trust me… there’s things you do not know.”

Ryan rolls her eyes, strutting her way out the room with the sound of her heels clicking right behind her. Consider the message recieved.

It’s been one week after the situation. In which in between those days you were dismissed from the hospital and have been in at Jimin’s house ever since. You didn’t want to be here. You want to be at home with your cat, Clara. Jungkook’s been going over to feed and play with her. Jimin kept pleading for you not to return home just yet because it could be a danger to you. It makes sense. You never know what Isabel has up her sleeve.

So you’ve been sitting here doing the same old thing everyday. Eat, watch movies and netflix tv shows, sleep, and repeat.

Jimin would come in and out of his home studio to check in on you. He still has to work on producing and singing his songs. He’d bring the food and your medicine he prepared per usual, kiss your forehead, and go right back out to producing his highly anticipated album.

It all seems fake to you. Something is off. Something is not being told to you. You can feel it in your gut but can’t put a finger on it.

‘‘ This is so cliche.’‘ You murmur to yourself, switching the flat-screen T.V off.

And as if on cue Jimin comes inside your- well his room with a glass of water and prescribed pain killers for you. The slight smile on his face makes you want to smile but you don’t.

‘‘ Smile for ocne yn. Do you not like staying here?’‘ He says, sitting next to you on the side of the bed and places the glass in your hands.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, taking the two pills out of his palm. “ No.. but be honest with me Jimin okay?”

His face turns a quick shade of pink then pale as if you had said the wrong choice of words at the wrong time. As if he had seen a ghost at this very moment. That’s not a good sign at all.

‘‘ Are you.. hiding something from me?’‘

The atmosphere is thick and silence fills the room. You don’t say anything and he doesn’t either. Your eyes meet his and for once they don’t pull away first.

Jimin doesn’t know how to break it to you though. It’s now or never.

‘‘ She will never leave me.”

You bite your lip hard, “ What do you mean?”

“ That she said that she’d do everything to ruin our relationship if we continue to persue one. She’d spready rumors about you to Dispatch. Make a scene whenver you’re near me. Anything she can do, she will do it.”

You don’t know how to take this all in. You knew Isabel was possesive but not this possesive. The thought of her doing things on purpose for you to make everyone hate you makes you want to cry. To just bawl your eyes out right here right now. You can’t.. you won’t do it.

You won’t give in because thats what she wants. To make you cry. To ruin your reputation and work. Jimin came back into your life and of course you don’t know what to do or how to deal with it. But this is what you wanted right? You’ve been longing for you and him to get a second chance. It’s you. You’re the one who’s been putting things off and not letting things go with the flow. Maybe he came back to you because he realized how wrong he was for cheating on you. For leaving you behind. For not seeing things for truly how it is.

You knew Isabel was bad luck from the beginning. Now is the time to try and take back what was originally yours. That will hurt her more than ever.

“ She needs to have a reality check. Not everything revolves around her.”

‘‘ I agree. Putting her behind bars might give her a reality check. It should serve her right for harming people.” Jimin sighs.

The silence is thick. You both don’t know what to say and it’s sure as hell awkward more than ever right now. Until that silence breaks.

‘‘ I feel like you aren’t being your true self to me. If we are getting things out now.”

His sudden comment makes you lift your head up from playing with the comforter. “ What do you mean?’’

‘‘ You.. don’t want to take actions on what you feel, say, or want to do with or about me. It’s killing me inside.”

He’s right. You do try to push your feelings aside no matter what the cause is. It’s just you trying to not set yourself up for hearbreak again. You do want him. You do want everything to do with him. Considering the things that happened in the past, it’s no doubt theres a fence guarding your heart from intruders.

You exhale out heavily, “ Im just.. scared.’’

‘‘ Of? “

‘‘ Being hurt again.”

Dead silence again. This time he’s the one trying to come up with words to redirect your view of him. Yes, he broke your heart in the worst way possible. He wants you to see he’s changed.

Jimin bites his lip, voice shaky when he begins talking again. ‘‘ How can I show you that i’m not the same anymore. Im not I promise you. I want you to see I have changed. I know it’s my fault. I destroyed you but let me fix it.”

It’s all come down to this. You’ve wanted this and now is the chance to get it. Now is the chance to have what was once yours. But the feeling of doubt had taken its course on you at the worst time.

‘‘ Jimin.. how do I know that for sure?’‘ You say, unintentionally fluttering your eyes at him. To you it’s to prevent from letting tears fall.

Jimin see’s it as that specific thing you used to do when you wanted him. When you craved him and would drop hints. To be completely honest, you do crave him. You do want him. Make-up sex was something you two used to do often. It was your toxic way of saying im sorry.

Somehow you want to put that toxic thing into action right now. As fucked up as it is, that’s how you two know you’re sorry towards each other. Actions speak louder than words.

He closes his eyes for a quick second before clenching his jaw to contain himself. Your weak spot.

‘‘ Stop doing that. Unless you want to start something you don’t want to finish.”

You smile just a little, hoping he’d get the memo. “ What if I do want to start and finish it..”

As if a car alarm went off, Jimin’s eyes pop back open with a suprised look. That’s the last thing he’d thought he’d be hearing from you. “ Are you sure about that? I mean we don’t have t-”

You lean in closer to where you guys are inches apart, his lips softly rubbing against yours. “ I’m all for it.”

Within seconds, Jimin’s shirt is removed off of you only revealing your blue panties which have became a little soaked with your wetness. He takes in the scent of you before his mouth connects with your thighs, slightly sucking to leave bruises on you.

‘‘ Jimin.. don’t tease me.” You sigh, laying fully down to spread your legs even more. He hums against your skin making you catch chills up and down your spine.

‘‘ That’s my specialty baby. You know that.” He trails a kiss with each word all the way down to your core where he dips a finger inside. You tense up attempting to close your legs. He doesn’t allow it, spreading them open harshly again.

‘’ Jimin-’‘ You barely utter before he begins to move his fingers in and out of you slowly. You let out a whine to try and make him go faster but it doesn’t work.

He comes up to your mouth and plants a wet, sloppy kiss. “ No whining. You’re gonna get what you want. Just relax baby.”

Is all he tells you before he goes back down to your core to tend to your desires.

The first lick between your legs is ever so gentle. Too gentle for you right now considering that you want release badly and Jimin knew exactly that. He opens his mouth and swirls his tongue up and down your slit. A groan leaves his mouth once he gets a taste of you which sends a vibration to your sensitive bud.

Each time his tongue laps against you your body jerked and shook but that only makes his tongue go faster. Sending you into a moaning and groaning mess as you tug on his hair.

“Mmh you even taste the same like always.” He moans with a smirk.

“Jimin please-” you cry out, locking your fingers into his hair when a finger is inserted into your dripping wet hole.

‘‘ No whining babygirl.’‘ His voice gentle as ever when he removes the finger inside of you making you pout a little. But that pout soon turned into your eyes becoming wide when he starts to take off his shirt, then grey sweatpants, then his underwear where his thick cock springs up.

Your eyes can’t leave his body. God it’s been a while. He looks pretty damn good. You wan’t to take all of his length in your mouth right now. To hear him praise you about how good your mouth feels against him. God you want it right now.

He gives it a few strokes before walking over to you. Just before hovering over you, he gives you a passionate kiss while lifting up your legs and positioning them to his liking. Missionary.

The tip of him pokes at the entrance of you, teasing in and out. Soon enough he enters you slowly making both of you moan together.

You still wrap and fit around his member smug as ever, and he could not believe it. The feeling of familiarity of being inside you sends him into a moaning mess with each stroke. You can’t contain your moans and screams. He feels way too good.

Jimin begins to deep-stroke you by pulling all the way out and slamming back in. You scream his name out in pleasure as your nails scratch up his toned back. Wet sounds fill the room with him picking up his pace. You take a glimpse of him only to admire his figure right now. Forehead forming sweat beads while he groans and moans biting his plump pink lips.

Your breathing becomes faster when that familiar feeling soon starts to take over. You turn your head to the side and let out a string of moans. Jimin isn’t having that though. His hand grabs your face gently and makes you make eye contact with him. Your legs start shaking as your head tilts back moans getting more faster. You finally let out one last one in sync with him, his hot sperm shoots inside of you.

Jimin pulls out, breathing heavily and collapses ontop of you. You let out a small grunt with the sudden extra body upon you, then giggle at him when he lays his head lays against your chest. This is what you wanted. He’s true. He’s sorry.

‘’ I love you.”

That word surprises you. You weren’t prepared for it. Somehow though, you enjoy the fact that he’s said it to you. Love. Jimin’s love. Your love.

‘’ I love you much more Jimin.’’

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

Text

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares.

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with.

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her.

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge.

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude”

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her.

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath.

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.”

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot.

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.”

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief.

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching.

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool.

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta.

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition.

Cassian laughed, unfazed.

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.”

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs”

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove.

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.”

“funny, neither will cassian.”

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.”

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.”

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?”

“fists or swords?”

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.”

“Surrender or mercy.”

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.”

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.” she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger.

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her.

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew.

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.”

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.”

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him.

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.”

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.”

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element.

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy.

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him.

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes.

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?”

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it.

“I pity them.”

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing.

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness.

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor.

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring.

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully.

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand.

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief.

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet.

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn.

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again.

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats.

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew.

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them.

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

#gwynriel #gwynriel pirate au #feysand #nessian #emerie #gwyn berdara #azriel #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #rhysand #I finally gave it a name #if you find me on the edge we’ll jump together #and btw that’s supposed to be like villain lunatics in love and not suicide #just wanted to make that clear #I love this chapter tho #even if shes a little lengthy

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ahopelessromantic · 4 years

Text

No Grave ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, a gun wound, quite some angst, Spencer and Reader are next level whipped for each other

Is there truly nothing that can get in-between true love? Spencer and you are forced to find out in the most painful way.

(A/N: I kind of let myself get away with this one, it’s dramatic af lmao. But I listened to Hozier’s Work Song while writing it, so can you really blame me?)

Derek Morgan normally prided himself in having fairly quick reflexes. He had played college football, his rifle scores had always been consistently good, he was able to take down an unsub in less than a minute. But none of that had helped him when a psychotic suspect had shot down his best friend. He had to watch it happen as if it was in slow motion, his voice failing him and not even allowing him to yell out a warning. Spencer had sunken to the floor with a surprised look, blood already beginning to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He coughed weakly and immediately all of Morgan’s attention was on him. Full of worry, he barely even noticed Hotch arriving on the scene and taking down the suspect. “(Y/N).” Spencer spluttered out; his voice hoarse. Now, all of a sudden, everything was happening way too quickly. Morgan frowned in confusion at his friend’s words. “Is that the Unsub’s accomplice? Come on, Reid, stay with me.”, he growled, applying pressure to the gun wound. But he could feel Reid’s body growing limp. “Call (Y/N).” Was the last thing Spencer weakly whispered before passing out.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Emily hummed calmly, placing her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. He took a deep, shaky breath and shook his head. “Then why am I here and he isn’t? Why wasn’t he wearing his goddamn vest?!” He made a move to get up in agitation, but Prentiss pressed down on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. “You know Spencer would have taken it off to negotiate with or without your blessing. And blaming yourself isn’t going to help anyone right now. We’ll know more soon, okay?” He nodded, burying his face in his hands. It had been three hours of surgery already, and it wasn’t looking good for Reid. “Has Garcia found anyone with the name (Y/N) in the unsub’s life yet?” JJ shook her head, watching Morgan and Prentiss with a worried look on her face. “Nothing. Are you sure he said that name?” Morgan was about to snap at her, mad that she dared to criticize his memory at that moment, but then a nurse headed their way. They must have made up an odd group, just a bunch of tired-looking agents draped over various chairs and even the floor. “You’re with Doctor Reid?” This time there was no way for Prentiss to stop Morgan, he jumped up from his seat and towered over the unsuspecting nurse. “Finally, we see someone from your staff! Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve gotten any updates?” The nurse flinched, then regained her composure and straightened up to meet Morgan’s glare head-on. “If you’ve been here for so long already, you probably know that we’re not allowed to give you any information on the patient.” Morgan visibly deflated. “Can you at least tell us if he’s alive?” The nurse sighed, a conflicted look on her face. “Listen, his emergency contact is on its way. Maybe they can tell you more.” With that she disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a clueless team. “Reid has an emergency contact?” Rossi asked but only got confused faces as an answer. After that, it was back to waiting. Just when Morgan thought he was going to lose his mind; someone came their way again.

You were sure you looked like an absolute mess. You had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and ten minutes later the hospital had called you. Before the staff member had even begun to speak you had already known that something was wrong. Like a madman, you had bolted through your apartment and carelessly gotten dressed. You were sure you had forgotten about half your purse’s usual contents back in your apartment. With some spare clothes and a hot to-go cup of coffee, you had gotten into your car and driven as fast as never before in your life. At some point, you had either switched on autopilot or gone into shock, or maybe even both. It was only in the hospital’s garage that you tuned back in, wondering how you had even gotten there in one piece. Upon seeing your reflection in the elevator up to the ICU you became painfully aware of the fact that you were wearing Spencer’s sweater. And with that, your emotions overcame you, threatened to pull you under like a deathly avalanche. With tears streaming down your face you made your way to the front desk, stating your name as calmly as possible. Your whole body was shaking and after the first whiff of hospital air you threw up into the nearest trash bin. One of the nurses had been so kind as to lead you to a waiting area and explain that Spencer was still in surgery. The people sitting there matched the descriptions of his team members and you weakly smiled at them. “You’re with Spence, right?” One of them jumped up from his seat and nodded, looking at you expectantly. “He’s- They told me he’s still in surgery.” Was all you were able to bring out before you broke down sobbing. A woman with dark hair pulled you into a much-needed hug, and if had you been less worried about your loved one’s wellbeing you would have felt bad about ruining her shirt with your tears. “I’m sorry if it seems insensitive, but I think we all have to ask.” A serious-looking man spoke up once you had slightly calmed down, now sitting next to the kind woman in one of the hospital’s dingy chairs. “Who… are you?” You were still so deep in thought that you hadn’t even heard the question, absently playing with the ring on your left hand. It was a habit Spencer normally called you out on, taking your hand whenever he spotted you doing it. It was also how the team’s glances landed on your ring, their breaths catching in their throats. “I’m Spencer’s wife.” You said with a heavy voice, swallowing down a sob. The team looked like they were about to bombard you with questions, but then a serious-looking nurse made her way over to you. You felt every single muscle in your body tense up. “Doctor Reid is out of Surgery.” For a moment you felt as if you were floating, ready for more good news, but upon seeing the expression on her face you could swear your heart stopped for a moment. “Would you please come with me?” You nodded and got up, your legs feeling like jelly. The nurse led you to the front of a hospital room. “You can go in and see him now, but I have to warn you. Your husband suffered a gunshot to his heart, and although the surgery has been successful, he’s still in a critical condition. He’ll only be somewhat safe once he makes it through the night.” You nodded, and without stopping to think for a moment you stepped into the room. If your heart hadn’t been broken before by the mere prospect of never looking into Spencer’s beautiful eyes again, it would have surely shattered into pieces now. Seeing his lifeless body on the hospital bed filled you with an indescribable ache like someone was physically trying to claw their way through your chest on the search for your now cold heart. The hot tears on your cheeks were the last reminder of warmth in your body, and you quietly whimpered. You sank into the chair next to his bed and felt yourself completely break, burying your head in the hard mattress. The eerie beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the oxygen tank posed the soundtrack of your demise and for a while, you completely lost all track of time. You had known that his work was dangerous, and you had always been somewhat prepared for something bad to happen one day. You set up as his emergency contact was proof of that, of a partnership whose very essence it was to constantly fear losing each other. But nothing could have ever prepared you for this, sitting next to his pale form and feeling like you had been shot just as bad as him. It didn’t quite want to fit into your head, that this could be it. This could be the last breaths you would ever witness him take and it made you want to scream in pain. If everything had gone according to you, your life with Spencer had been nowhere near to being over. Hell, it had only just started. You gripped his hand, more to anchor yourself than anything. “Spence, baby. Do you remember the day we got married?”, you whispered in a last fit of broken hope. Maybe talking to him would bring him back to the land of the living, bring him back to you. Your wedding had been such a spontaneous decision, and yet, somehow, it had been the best day of your life. You had been speaking about the concept of marriage over breakfast, how commercialised weddings had become over the years, and then suddenly he had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug and asked you if you wanted to get married today. There hadn’t even been any nervousness in his voice, he had been so certain that this was the way for you two to go. You had laughed at first, asked him if he was crazy, to which he had just retorted that he was crazy about you. “Nothing is going to change anyway. I’m yours and you’re mine for the rest of our lives, right? Might as well save some taxes while being together.” His words had been so profound that you hadn’t even had the chance to say no. So, that day, you in your prettiest sundress and Spencer in his best suit, the two of you had gotten rings from the jeweller around the corner and then driven to the courthouse where you had signed your lives away to each other. Now, sitting next to him in the glum hospital room, all of that seemed like a far-off memory. A sunlit moment of joy in a now so dull seeming world. “Your life is mine, and my life is yours, remember?” You whispered with an aching soul. “My life is going to end with yours and I’m not ready for that yet, okay?” Your voice broke. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.” You started sobbing again, and at this point, you were surprised you even still had tears in your body left to cry. All night long you weren’t able to get a minute of sleep, your gaze continuously fixed on the rise of his chest. If he was going to stop breathing, you had to be there. A doctor came by to check on Spencer in the early morning hours, looking somewhat hopeful. “He’s made it through the night, that’s good. Your husband is a fighter, Mrs Reid.” You almost hugged the poor guy, so grateful to finally have received good news again. “He should be waking up slowly, once he’s awake we can transfer him to a regular care room.” You nodded and looked back to Spencer, hooked up on various machines and tubes. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and although you wanted nothing more than to see his face full of life again you wished he would just take his time waking up. Normally you always had to force him to go to sleep. The team had been a huge help in keeping you sane, all of them had been camping out in the waiting area, waiting for any kind of news. Of course, you had wished to meet them under different circumstances, but nothing to bring you together like your husband almost dying, right?

Spencer woke up around noon. At first, you hadn’t even noticed it, but then his hand had twitched next to yours and your brain had immediately switched back into hyper-focus. He scrunched up his face, and then with the faintest morning voice ever he mumbled out a quiet “Ow.”. You started laughing and crying at the same time, pressing kisses all over his hand. “Why does my chest hurt?” He grumbled; his eyes still closed. “You were shot in the heart, honey.”, you reminded him, your voice almost matching his. It was then that he opened his eyes and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were never again going to forget how beautiful they looked. He weakly gripped your hand in his, his expression still more confused than anything else. “Is that why everything hurts?” You laughed and nodded, leaning your forehead against your joined hands. “I’ll go get the doctor in a minute. But do you even know how much you scared me?” Spencer lifted your chin and looked at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “How does that song you like so much go again? No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her? You’re not getting rid of me that easily my love.” You breathed out in relief, leaning into his touch. “I love you so much, Spencer.” For a whole moment you got lost in his eyes, and it was there you knew that you were never going to take another moment with him by your side for granted. You were going to hoard them like a greedy madman and hold onto them until age or death would have to pry them from your hands. But then life picked up its normal speed again, doctors came swarming into the room to check on Spencer and you were filled with nothing but gratefulness to the universe for giving you more time with him, more time to make memories for your collection.

With a smile on your face, you watched the team spill into the room, all of them looking more than happy to see your husband alive. It had been two days since the surgery, and the nurses had only now given Spencer the clear for visitors again. Morgan sat down across from you, punching Spencer in the shoulder as gently as possible. “That’s for almost dying on me, and for not telling us that you’re married! We could have notified her much sooner, man.” Spencer had half a heart to look guilty, distracting himself by playing with your wedding ring. “You guys know how dangerously close Unsubs sometimes get to us. (Y/N) is all I have; I couldn’t risk her ever getting hurt. It’s got nothing to do with you, I promise.” Emily crossed her arms, looking down on Spencer in feigned anger. “Well, that’s good because we really happen to like your wife. She forced us all to sleep while she was waiting for you to make it through the night.” Spencer’s eyes met yours and you basked in the warmth flowing through you. He already had a cheeky grin on his tired face again. “Why does that sound so familiar?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes, gripping his hand even tighter. There was no way in hell you were going to remove yourself from his side during the next few weeks. After a few days he was cleared to return home, and you couldn’t wait to have your home feel like just that again. Home just wasn’t the same without him.

“Sir, you have absolutely no business still looking this good after getting shot in the heart.” Spencer laughed in surprise, shoving his wet hair out of his face. He had taken his first shower by himself today, finally able to fully move his arms again without ripping the stitches open. “Honey, I haven’t worn anything but hoodies and sweatshirts since getting back from the hospital.” You could see the familiar blush on his cheeks he got whenever you complimented him, and it filled your chest with warm honey to see him like that again. “Still. Being alive suits you.” He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, getting into bed and patting the empty spot beside him. “I know it’s early, but come sleep with me?” His painkillers made him constantly tired, but you’d prefer a sleepy cuddly Spencer over a Spencer in pain any day. “Like you even have to ask.” You giggled, turning off the lights and cuddling up next to him. “I know it’s a weird question.” You spoke into the darkness after listening to your husband’s calm breathing for a while. “But when you were on the other side… did you see anything?” You could feel his chest vibrate with a half-hearted chuckle next to you. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” You shook your head and further curled up into his size. “I’m gonna need to hear you breathing for at least thirty minutes more before I’m able to fall asleep.” He took a deep breath and started drawing circles on your skin through the fabric of the ratty old MIT t-shirt of his that you always slept in. “It was just… lonely. And cold. So cold. For some reason, I knew you weren’t there. So I decided not to stay.” You tried to wipe away the tear that had snuck down your cheek as discreetly as possible. You had expected many answers, but nothing quite like this. “God, I love you.” You whispered with a trembling voice. Spencer turned to fully face you and caressed the side of your face. “I love you too. More than you can even imagine. But you should sleep now. I’ll still be here tomorrow, I promise. I’m never letting go of you again.” You nodded and snuggled into your pillow, a hand on Spencer’s chest. “Are you… checking for my heartbeat?” Eyes already closed, you giggled. “Shhh. I’m not letting go of you again, either.” With that, the two of you fell asleep. Spencer hadn’t lied to you. He was still there the next morning, and every morning after that as well for many more years. No matter how dangerous life became, he was always going to crawl back to you and you to him. No graves could hold your bodies down.

#requested #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #mgg #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #BAU #BAU Team #BAU x Reader #derek morgan #criminal minds #criminal minds oneshot #hozier

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unsteadyimagines · 3 years

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What She Doesn’t Know Won’t Kill Her (Spencer Reid x Reader)

SUMMARY: Y/N finds out Spencer has been in an accident and wonders why no one called her as she was understood to be his emergency contact. Turns out... his wife is, which only further exposes shocking revelations after revelations.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: N/A

NOTE:

*** Thank you everyone for being so patient!! :)

——-

“Someone please just TELL me something! I’m looking for Spencer Reid, please!” Y/N shouts, trying to attract the attention of a doctor or nurse. Y/N’s head whips all directions, people flying by her assisting others, taking calls and checking clipboards. Her head feels dizzy, her heart beating erratically against her warm chest. Stumbling into a seat in the waiting room, she doesn’t know what to do. What to think, say, or feel. Time feels incredibly slow yet so fast.

“Excuse me, please! I’m looking for Spencer Reid! Someone help me… FUCK!” Y/N yells, gripping her hair in utter frustration. To the others around her, she must have looked completely psychotic, but she didn’t care. All Y/N wanted was to find out what happened to Spencer.

A nurse rushes to Y/N, concern spread on her face. As soon as Y/N sees that she’s coming for her, the only words she is able to shakily proclaims is Spencer’s name.

“Why wasn’t I notified earlier? I had to find out from his mother’s carer! I don’t understand, I- ”

“I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, but the first person we informed was his emergency contact and due to the nature of his profession, we must notify them immediately so- ”

“Wait… wait. His emergency contact? I-I thought I was his…” Y/N was so confused.

“No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry but we’re unable to disclose Dr Reid’s personal information.”

After trying multiple times to reason with the nurse only to fail every time, Y/N eventually slumps herself in one of the waiting room chairs, emotionally drained. After a long day of work that consisted of a 12-hour shift, she wanted nothing more than to go home, have a hot, relaxing shower and go to bed. But now with Spencer, all she wants is to know if he’s okay or not.

Y/N feels gross, her hair is a mess, her makeup is oily and separated and her work outfit is crinkled and dishevelled.

Only a few minutes later Y/N hears a pair of shoes hitting the ground, the noise getting louder and louder as the person running comes closer. In walks a beautiful auburn-haired woman, dressed in a pencil skirt, white button up shirt and blazer – the heel of her shoes the reason for the sound.

She too looks just as frantic and chaotic as Y/N did when she entered the waiting room, also receiving the same look from everyone else.

“I’m looking for my husband, please! He came in a few minutes ago. Where is he?!” The woman yells, catching the attention of the same nurse that denied Y/N. The nurse walks to the woman, grabbing her clipboard out once again.

“What’s your name?” The nurse asks.

“Isabella Reid?” The woman confirms, causing Y/N’s to whip around. Her eyes are even wider than they were before, her heart starting to beat a little faster. Did she hear this right? No, surely not.

The frantic woman is taken down the hallway by another nurse, whose comforting her during the walk. As soon as the nurse is free, Y/N rushes over to her again.

“I-I’m sorry but who-who did that woman say she was?” Y/N asks, gasping.

The nurse raises her eyebrows, slight concern written on her face.

“I’m sorry but why would that concern you? Do you know her?”

“You don’t understand, please tell me! Who was that woman asking for Dr Reid? W-was that his emergency contact?” Y/N’s words are so rushed she’s not even sure she could comprehend what she just said. The nurse sighs, putting the clipboard down as if she has had enough with Y/N’s behaviour.

“Miss I am not allowed to just disclose information like that, even if it’s just her name. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.” The nurse dismisses, walking back to the reception desk.

Y/N gives up, afraid that if she were to keep trying, they would just eventually call security and get her kicked out. She walks back to sit in her seat once again, even more confused and hurt than when she first walked into the hospital.

She takes a deep breath, praying that Spencer will be ok. Not being able to have any update on his situation was killing Y/N inside. She only just saw him yesterday, so what had happened between then and now?

Y/N only hopes that whatever happened to Spencer was while he was working, that would give her a somewhat small chance of reassurance that he has been taken care of by the best people there is.

Does she leave? Stay? Y/N puts her head in her hands trying to make sense of everything, the pieces not fitting together or making any kind of sense.

Does Spencer have a wife? An actual wife? We’ve been dating for seven months… how? How is this possible?

Pulled out of her trance, she hears numerous shoes firmly hitting the ground and loud voices talking to each other, getting closer every second. A group of men and women rush into the waiting room. They all look stressed yet calm at the same time, almost as if this isn’t the first time they’ve experienced a situation like this. As Y/N’s eyes are planted to the ground beneath her, she feels like she’s being watched. Trying to appear casual, she very slowly looks up and to confirm her suspicions, she makes eye contact with a man who appeared to already be looking at her, his eyes slightly squinting as if trying to figure out where he has seen her before. Y/N quickly diverts her eyes away in hopes that she would be left alone. Her prayers go unanswered as she hears footsteps making their way towards her.

“Excuse me, miss?” A deep voice softly asked, not wanting to alarm her.

Y/N can’t do anything other than to look up again at the familiar man, suddenly remembering why she recognises him.

It was roughly three or four months ago when Y/N had spent the night at Spencer’s apartment, waking up the next morning to find that Spencer had run out to grab them both a coffee. As she had just finished getting ready to leave for work, she flinched suddenly at the intrusion of a man bursting through the apartment door. Before Y/N could even begin to try and defend herself, the man put his hands up in defence.

“Woah, I’m so sorry! I was looking for Spencer, I-I had no idea he wasn’t… alone.” The man explained, trying to normalise the situation.

“I’m Derek Morgan, Spencer’s work colleague, do you know when he’ll be back? He’s not answering his phone and we have to be on a flight in one hour.” Derek explained, still standing by the door.

Y/N, on the other hand, still frazzled, tried to put words together.

“He, uh – went to get us some coffee a-and left his phone here.”

It was no secret that both Derek and Y/N could feel the unbearable tension consuming the room. Derek’s eyes averted to Y/N’s packed bags and then back to her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Did… did you stay the night here?” He asks Y/N, trying to seem casual.

“Yeah, I did?” Y/N answers back as more of a question, confused on why he felt the need to ask.

Once again, Derek’s face shows complete confusion, trying to come up with what to say next.

“Morgan! What are you doing here?” Derek and Y/N hear from the front door, Spencer’s face looking alarmed.

“Reid we’ve gotta go, we have a flight to Houston to catch in an hour, let’s go!”

“I’ll meet you outside.” Spencer tells Derek, giving him an awkward smile.

Derek looks from Spencer to Y/N, lighting scoffing to himself.

“It was nice to meet you…”

“Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” Derek makes an emphasis on her name, looking back at Reid before he begins to make his way out of Spencer’s apartment.

“Unbelievable.” He quietly mutters to himself.

Y/N now realises why Derek was acting slightly cold around her, and rightfully so.

“I know you now… know.” Derek emphasised, giving Y/N a sympathetic smile. She feels extremely awkward and cornered right now. Between worrying about Spencer and possibly finding out that he’s fucking MARRIED, she still pretends to act as if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, hoping that somehow this has been a big misunderstanding.

“I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about…” Y/N tries to play it off as if she’s confused by his statement, but by the look on his face, she remembers that she’s trying to lie to an FBI agent… and failing. Giving up, she sniffles and decides to come clean.

“I-I had no idea he was… m-married, I swear I wouldn’t have d-done anything.” Y/N stumbles, still in obvious shock.

“I know… I know.” Derek sighs.

“Look… I know you’re probably really angry and heartbroken right now and I don’t blame you, but do you have any idea where he could have been going or if he was meeting anyone?”

“N-no I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen him since… since yesterday morning.”

There’s a long, awkward pause. Neither of them knows what to say.

“Is it true?” Y/N asks to break the silence. In her heart she knows the answer she’s about to receive but that doesn’t make her feel any better.

“Is what true?” Derek asks, looking to her with confusion.

Letting out a scoff, Y/N just wants this conversation to be over.

“That Spencer’s married.” She whispers. She can’t look Derek in the eye, in fear that once he gives her any type of facial expression indicating that she’s right, she’d break down all over again. Actually, come to think of it, that will probably happen regardless.

Derek sighs, slowly nodding his head in confirmation.

“Yeah… he is married.”

Frowning her face in order to prevent the tears from spilling, Y/N nods and once again faces the ground and begins letting the tears fall. She’s in such disbelief that she doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed in front of Derek right now.

“I didn’t tell anyone about that time I saw you at his apartment, especially not Isabella… I figured that conversation should come from Spencer and only him.” Derek says, noticing Y/N flinch slightly at hearing Isabella’s name.

“Look… Y/N, right? The rest of my team as well as other law enforcement are going to be asking Spencer who he last saw before his accident happened. We both know it’s you.”

Y/N knows Derek is right. But now, not only is she worried about Spencer but also terrified of the thought of his wife knowing about her. Granted, Y/N didn’t know Spencer was married and would never have dated him if she did know, but his wife won’t care about that. All she will care about is that her husband has been cheating on her for the past seven months with some homewrecker. Oh my god, is she a homewrecker? Has she now broken up a marriage? What if this Isabella woman solely blames Y/N for her hindered marriage and stays with Spencer?!

“Hey, everything’s going to be okay.” Derek tries to comfort Y/N, reaching for her hands to hold in his. She feels a sudden warmth shoot through the entirety of her body, making her feel the slightest bit better.

“I can’t break up a marriage.” She whispers. Gently pulling her in with his arms, Derek holds Y/N as she sniffles, resting his head on top of hers which is leaning on his shoulder. He can feel small tears beginning to dampen the sleeve of his t-shirt, but he doesn’t mind.

“Derek! Come on, he’s awake.” A slim, blonde woman rushes over to Derek, waiting for him to follow. She looks from Derek to Y/N, slight confusion overtaking her face. Y/N’s head moves to the direction of the unknown woman, along with Derek’s.

“Thanks JJ, I’ll be there in a second.”

Y/N so desperately wants to follow them to his room or ask if she can go with them, but she knew that probably wouldn’t be the best of ideas. She’d have to suck it up and either wait here or just go home. But the thought of not knowing what happened to Spencer is killing her, she just wants to see with her own eyes that he’s okay.

“I don’t think they’ll allow you to come in… but if you wait here for a few minutes, I’ll come back and tell you how he’s holding up.” Derek suggests, a sad smile on his face.

Y/N understands, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. She is, however, grateful for Derek and the fact that he even wanted to help her out at all.

Sniffling, Y/N gives Derek a small, toothless smile.

“Sure, thank you.”

As Derek walks away with the woman she now knows as ‘JJ’, she can hear her quietly ask Derek who Y/N was and how he knew her.

Counting down the minutes until Y/N expects Derek’s return, she’s in a world of her own - bobbing her left leg up and down, twiddling her thumbs and biting her lip. Her thoughts quickly begin to consume her mind. Wondering if Spencer had ever accidentally let something slip out about being married but she can’t think of anything that sticks out. She had absolutely no idea or even an inkling that he was being unfaithful. How long would he have let this continue? Was he ever planning to break up with Y/N for Isabella? Or with Isabella for Y/N?!

“Y/N” A deep voice calls, causing Y/N to spin her head around to see Derek standing near the hallway, leading to all the hospital rooms. Hoping her legs don’t fail her, she shakily walks over to Derek with a palpitating heart, eager to hear what he has to say.

“Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt? I-” Y/N doesn’t even give Derek a chance to inform her of what’s happening.

“Shh he’s okay - Spencer’s okay. He’s stable. But Y/N, the officers need to speak with you. I had to tell them you were the last person to see Spencer." Y/N's heart sank, especially at the thought of his wife potentially finding out about her and Spencer.

"D-do they know... we were dating?"

"Well, our team and the officers know. I'm sorry, I know you would have preferred no one to find out but I wouldn't be doing my job if I hadn't informed them." Derek tries to explain. Even though Y/N knows he's right, she still thinks of every possible worst-case scenario that can come from her going with him to talk to the police and now no doubt, the rest of his team too.

Y/N's just about to ask Derek another question, but he beats her to it. "Spencer doesn't know you're here, and right now it's important he doesn't, especially until after we've spoken with you."

Derek reaches his hand out for Y/N to take, helping her out of her seat to take her down the hallway he had just come from. As she notices they are walking closer to what she assumes is Spencer’s room, she immediately stops walking, causing Derek to pull back a bit.

“I-I can’t go in there with them, please I-”

“Relax it’s okay, you’re not going in there. We have to take you to the room next door, that’s where we’re going to talk to you.” Feeling a little at ease, Y/N continues to walk with Derek, looking the opposite way while they walk past Spencer’s room, fighting the urge to look through the window to check on him.

The door to the next room opens, inside is a round table with three chairs encircled, one of which is occupied by a man in a suit taking notes, his dark brown hair and eyes look intimidating making Y/N gulp at the sight. Once he sees Y/N and Derek enter the room, he stands up from his chair and reaches his hand out to shake Y/N’s hand.

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N, I’m Detective Madden.” Y/N’s hands are now shaking, Detective Madden’s hand firmly shakes Y/N’s before signalling for her to sit down, along with Derek.

She feels very out of place and scared. Having two intimidating looking men sitting across from her staring intensely isn’t what she expected to happen when all she wanted was to see Spencer.

“Now, just so you know you are not in any sort of trouble, I’m just wanting to talk to you as I understand you were the last person to see Dr Reid before his accident.” Detective Madden informs. It’s only now that Y/N realises that no one has actually told her what exactly happened to Spencer, just that he is awake and stable.

“Can you tell me what happened to Spencer? Please.” Y/N asks quietly, her face desperately looking between the two men for some answers.

“We will get to that, I promise.” The detective smiles sympathetically, before reaching for his notepad and pen. Y/N looks at Derek, who gives her a reassuring nod.

“Now, you told Agent Morgan here that the last time you saw Dr Reid was yesterday morning… and you were notified of his accident by Mrs Reid’s carer?” He asks, to which Y/N replies with a soft ‘yes’ and nodding her head.

“Where yesterday morning did you last see him?”

“At my uh- at my apartment.” She is mortified at the fact that this detective would definitely know by now that Spencer was both married and dating her at the same time.

“And are you close with Dr Reid’s mother? Would that explain why you were contacted by her carer?”

“I was planning to see his mother this afternoon actually, after work. We’re not that close but I just wanted to check in with her. Her carer, Wendy called me about an hour and a half ago before I showed up here and only told me that the hospital called her to inform Diana about Spencer.”

Detective Madden was scribbling down notes as fast as he could, nodding his head every few seconds as Y/N was explaining her recount.

“And did Dr Reid tell you where he was planning to go after he left your apartment? Anything that you remember?” The detective looks at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

Y/N’s tries to remember everything that had happened yesterday, from the second she woke up, afraid that she may miss something that could be important.

“N-No he just said that h-he’d be going back to his apartment… that’s all he said.” Tears start to run down her hot cheeks, blaming herself for not thinking that something was wrong sooner. But how could she have known?

“Now… this may be hard to hear Miss Y/L/N, but we believe that Spencer was beaten up and held for a few hours by a group known as the ‘Unswerving Faith’, a religious group who target married individuals who commit – uh… infidelity.” Detective Madden awkwardly explains, clearing his throat among the awkward silence.

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. Is she the reason this group took him? Hurt him?

“Oh my god… I- Does his wife know?” Y/N asked, fearing for the worst. Derek lets out a big sigh, leaning his arms on the table they all share.

“As of right now, all she knows is that Spencer was taken by a religious group, she doesn’t know their motive behind it. But Y/N, with all due respect, she’s his wife… we have to inform her of what’s going on, including about you.” Derek’s eyes pierce into Y/N’s, making sure she understands the magnitude of the situation.

Y/N’s knows that Isabella needs to know about this, but she selfishly doesn’t want to be stuck in the middle. Throwing her head back in distress, she nods and sighs.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to cause any stress between anyone, especially with the condition Spencer is in.” Y/N tries to explain.

By now, her face is even warmer than before and she’s exhausted. The two men stand up out of their chairs, Y/N following along. Detective Madden puts his notepad in his pocket and tucks his chair in.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Y/L/N.” Y/N smiles and watches him walk out of the room, closing the door behind him so only she and Derek are left.

“I’m going to talk to Spencer, tell him you’re here and what’s going on. Isabella has gone home to grab a few things for Spencer but if you would like to see him before she gets back you may do so.” Y/N’s relieved and grateful for how sympathetic he has been for her, but she’s also slightly scared for what is to come.

She obviously wants to see Spencer and see how he’s doing, but in a way, she feels like it might be… wrong? Now knowing he’s married – she doesn’t want to ruin a marriage. Well, by the looks of it, it didn’t seem to be going all that well if Y/N is in the picture.

Before she can try and talk herself out of it, she quickly tells Derek yes before making her way out of the room with him walking besides her. Her heart rate starts to increase again, she’s trying to plan out what she’s going to say to Spencer. Does she tell him that she knows he’s married? Does he already know that she knows?

They walk a few feet before Derek halts in his spot, looking at Y/N. He slowly nods to the left, indicating that they had reached Spencer’s room. Y/N gives Derek a small, grateful smile, taking a big deep breath in. She softly knocks on the door, slowly walking in and shutting the door behind her. She’s met with curtains but she’s now somewhat hesitant to draw them. Y/N feels her eyes already begin to water and she hasn’t even seen Spencer yet.

Quickly counting to three, she whips the pale blue plastic curtains back and sees Spencer laying in his hospital bed, reading a book in a language she wouldn’t have the slightest guess in what in. This makes her smile slightly, but when Spencer notices the other presence in the room and meets her eyes, she’s back to feeling helpless and distraught.

Spencer doesn’t look nervous to see Y/N here, which concerns her a little, considering that Isabella would probably be back very soon. If anything, his shoulders relax and his smile melts Y/N’s insides. She forgets about being mad at him, pissed off, hurt. Seeing Spencer in such a vulnerable state with a loving look in his eyes is more than enough for her to forget about the bigger issue she has to face. Spencer opens his arms out, various different coloured cords moving with his arm. Walking quickly into his arms, Y/N is careful not to move him too much, in fear of increasing his pain – how ironic.

“Spence, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She mutters, her face buried deep into his warm neck, calming down at the sounds of his heart beating. In the back of her head, she is constantly trying to remind herself of what he’s done to her and to his wife, suddenly squeezing him a bit tighter at the fact that this may be one of the last times she’s able to be held in his arms ever again.

From his bedside table, Spencer’s text tone goes off, signalling he had a text message. Leaning back, he grabs his phone for a few seconds skim reading the message before placing his phone back on the table and clearing his throat.

“Hey, you know… you don’t have to stay, it’s going to be boring for you here; besides, I’ll probably sleep the day away” Spencer chuckles, his eyes darting around the room.

Y/N’s heart drops and she immediately recognises what’s going on. She assumes that Isabella is not far away – it explains Spencer’s sudden anxious demeanour. She wants Spencer to know that she knows about him being married, but she also figures that right now probably isn’t the right time.

“Oh- um, yeah okay. I-I’ll see you soon then… right?” She asks. There is now a weird tension floating in the air. It’s turned awkward.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll see you later babe… okay.” Spencer chuckles, giving Y/N a faint smile, leaving a light kiss on her cheek that she can barely feel.

“I-I love you.” She tells him, making her way to the door, turning back to him and giving him a small smile. Her chest hurts when she realises that he’s not going to say it back, he’s just waiting for her to leave. Opening the door just enough for her to fit between, she closes it right behind her.

Derek and Detective Madden are nowhere to be seen, which works out better for Y/N, considering she couldn’t possibly be in the mood for conversing with anyone any further. She’s in too much pain. Pain she doesn’t know how it will ever subside.

As Y/N turns a corner around the hallway, she sees Isabella and a man dressed in all black, loudly whispering to each other. They both appear angry. Y/N quickly throws herself back around the corner into the wall, in fear that Isabella may have seen her.

While trying to figure out a way to leave the hospital without her seeing Y/N, although Isabella doesn’t know who Y/N is, that’s besides the point. Loud, angry whispers are coming from the other side of the wall, prompting Y/N to lean closer towards the edge, listening.

“You idiot, I didn’t pay you for this! What have you done!” Isabella yells, her eyes wide, glaring into the eyes of the man. Y/N remains frozen, scared to try and leave but also wanting to hear the rest of what she’s about to say.

“I-I’m sorry, it was a massive understanding… we didn’t mean to-” a voice stumbles yet cut off by Isabella’s raging voice once again.

“I don’t care! I asked you to take her out! Not Spencer you fucking idiots.” Y/N’s eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of her head. Isabella had people hurt Spencer?

Y/N’s breath becomes shallow and she can’t stop her chest from rapidly falling up and down, her hands begin to tremble, and it feels like her legs may give out any minute.

The man stumbling over his words looks like he has seen a ghost, so in fear of Isabella’s wrath. Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She refused to believe that Spencer’s own wife would hire people to hurt him, or by the sounds of it, they weren’t meant to hurt Spencer, but someone else. A woman.

“I-I’m sorry Issy… we will not fail you this time. We’ll get the bitch don’t you worry… we can’t let her continue to poison and destroy this sacred union.” The man declares firmly. Y/N’s body begins to heat increasingly, she has a feeling she knows what they’re talking about… and who they’re talking about. She desperately wants to run to Derek or someone who can help her but there’s no one around anymore, the quietness of the empty hallway was something she didn’t notice before.

Leaning her head against the wall, Y/N tries to form some type of plan – of how to leave, where to go, who to talk to and what she is to do. The uncertainty of the situation has never made her feel so unsafe and vulnerable. Her scattered thoughts are disrupted at the sounds of many footsteps getting louder. Peering over the corner, Y/N sees about five other men make their way to Isabella and the man, dressed in black also. All the men now have their faces covered with a hoodie, whispering to each other before looking at Isabella. Y/N tries her hardest to hear what Isabella is about to say, but as soon as she does – her heart sinks, her body goes into overdrive and she feels like she may collapse.

“Find the slut. Do with the bitch what you will.” She directs firmly. Y/N’s heard enough to realise that Isabella knows about her and has ordered these men to hurt her, presumably the same men who hurt Spencer. Y/N’s eyes are frantic, trying to decide who to turn to for help.

She’s so scared she doesn’t even want to move, fearful of them hearing her shoes against the pale tiled floor. Spotting Derek on the other side of the hallway, a significant number of metres away, Y/N can’t feel her legs move – her head is screaming at her to run and seek help from Derek but her legs physically won’t allow her. It’s as if they have been glued to the floor. The blood inside her body has turned extremely hot and her head is pounding, Y/N is in a total trance that she can’t get herself out of. The room around her is suddenly quiet, her ears are ringing in a shrieking high pitch and Derek only looks further and further away from her reach.

Y/N’s ears are now filled with the shuddering sounds of the all too familiar footsteps of the people who are in charge of her pain, getting closer and closer to the other side of the hallway where she’s hiding, it’s enough motivation for her to pull herself back to reality.

In order to calm herself down and think rationally, she leans her head against the hard wall, working out her plan of action hastily. Her eyes squint hard against their sockets, drowning in a black swirl of nothingness.

Opening her eyes with a somewhat haphazard plan in place, she eyes off Derek, remembering her plan of escape and exactly what she needs to do. Just as Y/N was about to take the first painstaking step running towards Derek, she feels a vigorous pull, a thick hand gripping onto her flimsy shirt. Retracting back into the wall with a thud, her eyes lock with those of a man – one of the men from the group talking with Isabella. The Unswerving Faith. Before she has time to scream or shout for help and thrash, a warm, grimy hand clawed its way to Y/N’s mouth, her cries now muffled and soft. Y/N’s limbs ache as she continues her attempt to thrash and kick at the man gripping her for dear life, but she can slowly start to feel herself give in to his strength.

The physical, emotional and mental exhaustion from today had finally caught up with her, only, it came at what was probably the most unfortunate time, because as Y/N looks over to Spencer’s door, Isabella is just about to open it, looking straight into Y/N’s eyes, her smile growing creepily wider as she sees the distress in Y/N increase. Giving her a spine-chilling wink and small wave, she enters his room and shuts the door.

Y/N is in such a traumatic state that she doesn’t even realise that the thick hands that were once wrapped around her, gripping her skin harshly, had disappeared. With all the strength she could muster inside of her, she screams for Derek, her eyes filling with tears blinds her. Just as Derek runs to Y/N she collapses in his arm, sobbing and muttering incomplete and incoherent words over and over. The initial shock combined with her exhaustion finally takes over her. Her heavy eyes struggle to stay open, her muscles severely weak. She sees the man, eerily staring into her rolling and blurred eyes, making his way to Spencer’s room, shutting the door and closing the blinds.

That’s the last thing she sees in her fragile state of mind before she is snapped back to reality by Derek, painfully left wondering what would happen to her… and what would happen to Spencer in that god awful room.

Tags: @emmalvei-blog

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teddytdr · 3 years

Text

The Stranger

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of abuse.

Word count: 3223

This is my first Elriel fic, so be indulgent with me please!

I would love to write more, let me know if you have any requests! I’m open to ANYTHING and EVERYTHING so feel free to let loose with the suggestions ;)

( However, I draw the line at Gwynriel and Elucien)

“ I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Don’t.” He snapped lowly.

The rain was pounding against the window in his living room, the sound matching the one of my heart nearly beating out of my chest. I knew he would say that. Stupid me for hoping otherwise, even predictability couldn’t help ease the pain that crept over my insides. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. Why couldn’t I keep my fucking mouth shut.

Closing my eyes as I wait for this perfect bubble to burst, the memories surge through me.

I met him two weeks ago, and it felt like I’d known him forever. As cliché as it may sound, it’s the truth. As soon as i’d looked into his hazel eyes, everything seemed to click. Like an answer to a question I never wanted to ask. It felt like something inside me went taut, stretching towards him, trying to reach him. I thought he felt it too, from the look of realization that swept across his beautiful face and the way his lips twitched upward as he retracted his hands from my waist, leaving me so cold.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” He whispered, searching my eyes for the answer.

I stood there frozen, staring at him in confusion. Oh! Because he ran into me and almost sent me crashing to the ground. Right! Shaking the thoughts from my head, “Yes! I’m fine. You should watch where you’re going.” I snapped back, lifting an eyebrow.

Gaping at me, his gaze searing, “I was looking.”, like it was a fact I was too slow to comprehend.

Oh! This man had some fucking nerve. This inhumanly gorgeous man had some fucking nerve.

I scowled at him in response, my fingers twitching on his strong arms.

He glared back, brows creasing as his eyes dropped to my lips and lingered there, “I feel like I know you, have we met before?”, his voice as incredulous as i’m sure he felt.

God his voice sounded like the night itself, so sensuous and velvety. Never in my life has a stranger left such a mark on me.

But that was the thing, since the moment we crashed into each other, it felt like I could finally breath again. Like a piece I didn’t know was missing has finally made it’s way back to me. This stranger that didn’t feel like a stranger at all. I suddenly realized we were still standing close enough that I could actually taste him if only I dared.

Lost in my daydreams, I didn’t realize what was happening until his lips grazed mine ever so softly. His kiss, somewhere between a brush and a breath, tasted like promises long forgotten, like souls awakening upon recognition of their mate. This kiss, his kiss, is nothing like I’ve ever thought a stranger could make me feel. It felt like my insides had been set ablaze and I was falling into him again, wanting to melt into him.

I brought my hands to the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, crashing his chest to mine. He sighed into my mouth and I opened delicately to slide my tongue against his lower lip, asking for entry, asking for more.

Groaning at the invitation, he let me in and our tongues finally met. Bolts of lightning ran down my spine as his silken tongue traced the roof of my mouth. His arms came to wrap around me, lifting me slightly off the ground.

Realization slapped me so hard, making me pull away from this mind-numbing kiss. I’ve never been kissed this way! Also, I’d never kiss a stranger! I must’ve lost my fucking mind. Opening my eyes hesitantly, I find his already on me, blazing hazel on my brown.

“I think you should come home with me.” He purrs, holding me tighter than he was seconds ago.

What? Fuck me. What am I doing? I can’t. I really want to.

My heart is pounding so hard, I think he can hear it. I’m insane, this is insane. I know this, and I still-

“Yes!”, the answer leaved me before I could even form the thought.

Smiling knowingly, he eased me back to the ground, tucked my hair behind my ear, grabbed my hand and brought me to his place.

What happened after that foolish, life-alteringly dangerous decision was the best two weeks of my life. We spent every waking hour together, tangled up in each other, sitting in front of the TV or eating the food we cooked. Basically, we were joined at the hip. Every second I spent with him, talking to him, made me want to drown in him. Even more so than I already was.

We spoke about our lives, our fears, our regrets, our hopes. He told me about his fucked up childhood and how it left him with scars that ran deeper than the ones on his hands, a story I can’t even let myself think about because it brings tears to my eyes and makes my heart break for him. I told him things about myself that I never even told my sisters. I shared the story of my engagement to a psychotic, abusive ex-fiancé and how it left me in pieces. I was completely enraptured in this man. This seemingly perfect man.

But I learned things about him without him having to tell me any of them. For instance, how he often hid his hands from me without even realizing it, how he smiled every time I smiled, or laughed when I laughed -even if we were laughing about two completely different things. How he stared at me like he was scared to find me gone if he looked away for just one second, or how his hands shook when they came in contact with my skin. Even how he always asked for permission before touching me, even just to wipe chocolate from the corners of my mouth, because I always having been a messy eater. These subtleties scream romantic to me, even if telling him so would earn me and incredulous scoff. So I kept it to myself, close to my heart and protected it fiercely.

The fact was, I was falling hard and fast for him. The thrill of it was both paralyzing and intoxicating. A feeling I was afraid to admit i’ve never experienced before, especially with the monster I was supposed to marry.

This beautiful man has both ruined and saved my life, and he still has no inkling.

Coming back to reality, “Well that’s too damn bad!” I say, waving my arms around in despair. I am so fucking scared of returning to my sorry existence, these past weeks have been the best of my life and I can’t even fathom going back to how I was before him. I am so fucking petrified of losing this bubble we lost ourselves in, but it’s better to ruin it myself before I get hurt again.

“This isn’t normal. You think I don’t know that this is just a dream? That we are in a perfect bubble, and that a reality-check is going to burst it soon enough?” I continue, my heart is beating so loud I’m afraid he can hear it from across the room.

“This is a fling. This is a fantasy. It’s not meant to last”, my voice rising higher and shaking in barely concealed terror, “Is it?”

I see the words hit home as his body goes rigid and his nostrils flare. We stand like this, separated by a few feet, breathing heavily, for what feels like eternity. Frozen in time, the scalding ice creeping up my bones is burning every hope and dream I foolishly believed up until this moment. And still, I can’t leave. I don’t want to go, my very being is screaming at me to stay right here.

He takes a step closer, then stops, like a hunter trying to corner an unpredictable beast. From this close, I can see his tightly leashed rage, his fists are clenched at his sides, knuckles paper-white, his eyes so bleak, so emotionless. I’ve never seen him like this, this vision so at odds with the patient and quiet man I’ve come to know.

“You think this isn’t real?” He asks in utter disbelief.

I can only stare at him, my pulse ringing in my ears as I wait for the rejection.

“You think this isn’t real?” He screams, body shaking so much I worry he might be nearing a stroke.

Fuck, I definitely should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Moving closer to him, I search his eyes for any sign of feeling as I lash out, “It’s not real, isn’t that what you’re-“

“Don’t.” He interrupts me viciously, his face is taut, his mouth etched into a deep snarl. He comes to stand directly in front of me, his chest heaving, throat bobbing and eyes searching my face for something.

“Don’t assume you know what I mean. Not about this.” gesturing between us, like there’s something visible, tangible, in the space separating our bodies.

He’s so close, I can practically taste his harsh words before they fall out of his lips, “Don’t you dare assume what I feel.” Seeing the doubt in my eyes, he continues before I can even think of opening my mouth to retort.

“I don’t know what this is. I don’t understand how it’s possible that I’m already so attached to you, I can barely stand the separation when you go to the bathroom. That I can barely breathe when our eyes meet. That you already feel so familiar, like I’ve finally found the missing piece. That I can’t imagine ever being apart from you. That waking up with you is by far what I cherish the most. That seeing you smile takes my breath away. That touching you is like an answer to a question I never thought I so desperately wanted to ask.” His breathless words skitter across my senses like shadows.

I can’t even breathe as I let him continue.

“How is it possible that we know so little about each other, yet you know more about me than even my friends do? How is it possible that looking at you crying right now, makes me want to rip my own heart out? How is is possible that I’m fucking terrified of losing you after knowing you for only two weeks?” He looks at me with such agony and hope, silver lining his exquisite eyes, that the sheer intensity of it makes my insides clench.

I didn’t realize I was crying. Raising a shaking hand to my cheek, I wipe away a tear.

“I don’t know. This hurts so much.“, shuddering as the pain rakes over my soul, I try to look at him but my vision is blurry. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’ll leave.” I whisper weakly, turning to move away from him.

I barely make it a step back before I feel a warm hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to him.

His voice hoarse, “Don’t. Don’t leave.” His hands gripping my wrists tightly.

I look up, seeing how we are, our chests touching on every inhale. “I don’t want you to go. Please.”

The pain in his eyes nearly brings me to my knees, but instead, I cover my face with my hands and let the tears fall freely, my head dropping to his chest as he brings a hand to my hair, stroking it soothingly.

I brought this upon myself the moment I decided to come home with him, and further proved my stupidity when I let the fantasy of him sink itself so deep in me.

Its talons shattering all the walls and defences of my mind, crawling down my spine and breaking a path between my ribs, then making itself comfortable in the shadow of what was once my heart. It’s very essence flowing through my blood and secretly mending every festering wound. It’s ethos plucking every memory of bruising slaps, bone-breaking punches, and terror-inducing threats from my soul and replacing them with warm scarred hands, comforting hazel eyes, sweet smiling lips and hopefully honest words. Replacing them with him, this too perfect stranger that changed everything in so little time.

I drop my hands from my face and fix my stare on his chest, the sound of his voice pulling me from my innermost revelations, “I’m sorry. I was so scared this whole time. I was just scared that our perfect bubble would burst and I didn’t want it to. I don’t ever want it to. I was scared about how quickly I fell in-

My shocked gasp seemed to cut him off, making him realize the enormity of what he was about to admit. Looking at me with surprise and something else I can’t bring myself to decipher but feel in my every bone.

“Say it.” I order him softly, not breaking eye contact, I bring my hand up to trace his full lips with my fingers.

With an understanding smirk gracing his sinful mouth “I’m in love with you.”

The air leaves my lungs as I crash my lips onto his in answer.

Moaning at the touch, he brings a hand to the nape of my neck, titling my head to better taste me. I think I could die from the pleasure his kiss brings me. The way he kisses me makes my heart stop every time he does it. He kisses me like it’s the last time he ever will, and that is the best feeling in the world.

Our tongues dancing together makes me whimper with need for him. I don’t think I could ever tire of kissing him. I don’t ever want to stop kissing him.

Growling in approval at the sound, he lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him, bringing our cores together.

Before I can even make sense of what’s happening, he sits me on the counter and steps into the space between my thighs, pulling me flush against every inch of his hard body.

I want to fuse my everything to his everything. I want our bodies so close, that we cannot tell where we end and where we begin. I want our souls melting and reshaping into an ever-glowing one.

Raw desire riding me, I slip my hands through his soft midnight black hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.

“What are you doing to me?” I whine as his mouth moves to my neck, sucking and nipping lightly. His hands glide across my back before settling on my hips and digging his fingers into my flesh, enough to undoubtedly leave lovely bruises. Something I never thought I’d be able to accept again, but with him, i’m ready. With him, I know I am safe, because he would never hurt me.

We are a tangle of moans and groans, grinding against each other, and I am fucking trembling with need for this man to completely ravish me.

Pulling his head back, I find half-lidded eyes locked on mine, a look of utter adoration and lust swimming in his green-flecked hazels. Biting my lip at the intensity of his gaze, I run a hand along his neck, grazing my nails against his skin as I go down his shoulder, then his chest and all the way down to his erection, cupping him through his sweatpants. This earns me a gentle thrust and-

Startled, I look at him, and ask the question that had not once crossed my mind since I met him, maybe because some part of me felt like I already knew the answer.

“What is your name?”, I whisper, grinning sheepishly at the astounded look on his face.

Realization and need grace his features as his eyes flutter and he breathes, “Azriel.”

And the sound of his name is like a key that finally fits in the lock, unleashing my very soul.

His name is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

Azriel Azriel Azriel, my soul seems to sing.

I smile stupidly at him before taking his face in my hands, “I love you, Azriel.” and it feels like I can finally breathe again. He smiles at me, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so bright, it could light even the darkest corners of my mind. Certainty blossoming in my heart, I’ve no doubt that someday it will.

Mouth parting on a silent moan, “And what is your name?” Azriel purrs against my neck, grinding his hardness into the junction of my thighs. I throw my head back, gasping loudly as the feeling of his cock makes liquid warmth pool from my center.

“Elain, I’m Elain.” I groan as I rub myself against his pulsating arousal, not being able to stop myself from seeking any contact to help ease the need. I’m already on edge, and nothing has even happened yet. The power he has over me drives me insane. Just a look from him and i’m already drenched for him. Just a taste and I want more, so, so much more. And I know I have the same effect on him.

Moaning at my name, Azriel runs his teeth along my jaw and bites on my earlobe before moving on to my neck and breathing me in deeply, like the scent of me is pure ecstasy and he can’t get enough.

I swear I am about to lose it. I am bursting at the seams with want for him. All I can see is him, all I can smell is him. The gloriously arousing essence of him, night-chilled mist and cedar.

Sensing my need, Azriel wraps his arms around me and walks us to his bedroom, running his hands all over my body, like he can’t touch enough of me at once.

“Elain, my Elain.” he mumbles repeatedly to himself, like a prayer to the gods.

The sound of my name from his lips makes me drag my nails down his muscular back and grind harder on his velvet-wrapped steel, eliciting an animalistic growl from him.

Gods, I want him unleashed. I want his cock so deep in my mouth that it brings tears to eyes. I want him to fuck me so thoroughly and passionately that just thinking about it makes me wet.

“I need you so bad, Azriel”, I whimper as he deposits me on the edge of the bed, and kneels on the floor. Something inside me liquefies at the sight of him on his knees for me, making me completely soaked. Reading the need in my eyes, he smirks, trailing his fingers up my calves, to my thighs, gripping them hard.

Never breaking eye contact, he spreads me apart, baring me completely to his ravenous tongue, and moans at the sight of my desire for him.

“I’m going to devour you now.” he growls, before lowering his mouth to my throbbing cunt.

#elriel #elain x azriel #elriel au #elriel smut #elriel ff #elriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #overcoming trauma #smut #angst #elriel owns my soul

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sociallyawkward--fics · 3 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret

Hello I just finished this and I have not edited it and I am never going to reread it lol. It is probably disjointed, OOC, and incomprehensible. Welcome to my super sick and drug-induced It oneshot. Also for the title I was torn between this and ‘truth or dare’

My friends also told me I had to put this joke in the author’s notes: “I’m paying homage to the original It. King was on coke when he wrote it, and I’m on a wild amount of cold medicine and illness”

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Summary: Miraculously, they all lived. They killed that damn clown and they lived. Now, Richie just had one last thing to say.

Word Count: 1877 words

[ao3 link]

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The sounds of his old friends splashing around in the quarry faded around him. Distantly, as though he wasn’t in his own body, Richie could hear them cracking jokes and laughing at each other, as if the seven of them hadn’t almost just lost their lives.

As if Eddie hadn’t almost--

Richie focused on cleaning his glasses. Without them on, it was blurry and hard to tell, but he thought there was still blood embedded into the new spiderwebbing of cracks left on one of the lenses. It wouldn’t come out. Really, it could be anyone’s blood, he’d lost track of their injuries by this point.

But Richie knew who’s it could have been.

Bev had said the Deadlights gave her visions of their deaths, but he hadn’t known just how vivid they could be until he dropped out of them himself. He’d opened his eyes to Eddie being skewered above him, helpless to do anything but scream his name, the Loser’s a chorus of the same. Then, he blinked, and Eddie was above him laughing and cheering his “victory.”

Richie had barely rolled them out of the way in time for one of It’s massive claws to dig deep into the stone where they had been laying. Pennywise made a noise of rage, but Richie hadn’t allowed himself even a moment to think. He’d grabbed Eddie and ran.

And now here they were. They’d killed It, crushed Its heart in their hands, and Derry was safe. They were safe. Eddie was safe. Richie sat on a rock in the dirty quarry water, distantly aware of the splash wars going on while Eddie chopped his hands and told them how unsanitary it was, cleaning themselves in dirty water. Richie knew he was being unusually quiet, and someone was bound to notice soon, but he felt like if he didn’t laugh, he was going to cry.

And for once, Richie was all out of jokes.

Then, the absolute worst thing happened: Richie was dragged into the spotlight.

Apparently, the other six Losers had been recounting the “best moments” of their battle. Richie didn’t remember much, truthfully, aside from running for his life and sniveling like a little kid.

“Hey, Rich,” Beverly called. “What was that whole ‘Truth or Dare’ thing about anyway?”

Richie let out an awkward laugh, plastering a smile onto his face. He’d gotten good at it, over the years, with how much he hated his own act, but now it just felt stiff and misshapen. He waved his hands in the air as he spoke, his glasses flopping around precariously in his grip.

“Oh, you know, just something that damn clown had brought up.”

Bill laughed. “Why would he b-b-bring up Truth or D-Dare?”

Bev swam over and started poking at his sides as she laughed. They were all laughing so much. They were clearly handling the trauma far differently than him.

“Why would It use that?” She teased. “Got something you’re afraid to confess, Trashmouth?”

Richie forced out another laugh, sounding weak to his own ears. More than you know.

Instead, Richie reached for a distraction. “Yeah, how fast it took me to finish with Eddie’s mom--”

“Beep beep, asshole!” Eddie shouted, and Richie’s next laugh felt a little less desperate. Teasing Eddie was familiar and comfortable, and Richie was almost tempted to put his glasses back on to see the adorable way his jaw clenched with annoyance.

“Remember that one time Bill dared Mike to smuggle one of the sheep into his grandfather’s house?” Ben asked, and if Richie wasn’t so gone on Eddie, he could’ve kissed him. Intentionally or not, he’d just saved Richie a whole lot of floundering to keep the attention off where he wanted it least.

The group laughed and Mike shook his head with a grin. “He was so mad,” Mike said. “I thought for sure he’d make me sleep in the barn for that.”

“Or what about the t-t-time Eddie dared Richie to eat that year-old twinkie we f-found in R-R-Richie’s room,” Bill said.

Even Richie had to laugh at that one. “Yeah, where was the concern for my health there, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, though there was no heat behind it. “Plus, those things never fucking expire. They’re garbage, but that wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Oh yeah? It tasted as bad as your mom’s--”

Eddie splashed Richie, sending a wave of nasty quarry water into his mouth and preventing him from finishing his sentence. He sputtered and coughed, laughing as he spit it out, and the weight of everything felt a little less oppressive now that he was laughing with them all.

“Oh!” Bev said, “What about the time Stan dared Bill--”

Richie grinned as he went back to trying to dig the blood out of the cracks in his glasses with his nails. They were short and stubby, so it wasn’t exactly easy, but he managed to make some progress. This time, though, he made sure not to tune his friends out. He listened to each of their stories, letting their laughter wrap around him like a warm, worn, familiar blanket, just like he had always been searching for when they were kids, and slowly felt his shoulders relax. And as they were laughing, the thought occurred to Richie.

What was he so afraid of?

This was Richie’s family. After everything they’d been through, killer alien clowns and all, would his sexuality really be the thing to break them? It’d be a little silly at that point, Richie thought.

A little silly, and a lot unfair. And who knew how they’d react? He’d seen them all in their underwear, shared blankets and chairs and beds with them, held them close (he wished he could do that now, but he wasn’t brave enough to be so touchy as an adult). What if they accused him of taking advantage of them when they hadn’t known? What if they were disgusted by him? What if they forgot him again, but this time by choice?

Richie was forced out of his thoughts when someone shrieked, and he promptly realized he’d allowed himself to tune everyone out again as he catastrophized. His head shot up at the shriek, his heart pounding in panic. Instead of a psychotic clown or a gruesome murder, Richie caught sight of Ben, who had seemingly heaved Beverly out of the water, tossing Bev as far as he could back into the murky water. She came up sputtering and laughing, arguing that whatever she’d said had definitely happened, no matter what he said.

Bill and Mike were leaning on each other from the force of their laughter. Ben had a sly grin on his face, though the corner of his lip was twisted a little in embarrassment as Bev kept hounding at him. Stan wasn’t outright laughing so much as he was grinning, but that was pretty much the same thing when it came to him. Eddie was laughing so hard that his cheeks had gone pink.

Richie promptly realized that if he didn’t do it now, he was never going to get up the courage to do it again.

“I’m gay,” Richie said loudly, the words echoing uncomfortably across the quarry.

The sounds of splashing and play fighting stopped and Richie heard more than saw everyone turn toward him. He kept his glasses off, eyes focused on his hands. If he had to look at them, see them clearly, he wouldn’t get through this. Every cell in his being was telling him to bury this with a joke, to move on and make a funny and forget the whole thing, but he couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to stop hiding.

“I’m gay,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s why It brought up ‘Truth or Dare.’ Because I wouldn’t want anyone to pick truth.”

Richie kept his head down, but he heard the others moving through the water. He startled when he felt Bev’s arms wrap around one of his own. Richie looked up and saw his friends (or, really, saw blobs shaped vaguely like his friends) all coming toward him, wrapping themselves around him where he sat.

Ben curled himself around Richie’s knee, right below Bev. On Richie’s other side, Mike, Bill, and Stan all crushed in trying to wrap around him in some way. Mike ended up wrapped around Richie’s leg, which probably looked ridiculous, if only Richie could see, while Bill and Stan curled up around his arm and side. Then, Eddie came up behind Richie, wrapping his arms carefully around Richie’s shoulders and resting his head on Richie’s own (probably taking advantage of being taller than Richie, for the moment).

“We’re proud of you, Rich,” Stan said quietly.

Tears stung at Richie’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He sat there for a few minutes, soaking in their warmth and care, closing his eyes and letting peace finally overcome him. The secret, his dirty little secret, had finally been aired. He didn’t need to be scared of it anymore, at least not in this small circle (coming out as a public figure was an entirely different story, and Richie sure as fuck wasn’t ready for that yet). Pennywise’s words, echoing in his head since they were said, finally began to quiet.

“Thank you,” Rich said eventually, his shields formed from humor finally coming back up. He could only handle so much emotional vulnerability without making a joke. “I don’t have my glasses on so I don’t know who you people are, but thank you.”

Richie’s friends laughed, and he could feel Eddie’s chin brushing against his head with the force of Eddie’s eyeroll. Richie himself chuckled a little, blinking to clear the lingering tears from his eyes before they could fall. It was then that he noticed his hands: one clasped tightly between Ben and Beverly’s fingers, and the other resting on one of Eddie’s arms, Stan’s hand resting atop his.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled.

He felt more than saw (seeing as he couldn’t see) Beverly and Mike look up at him.

“I legit can’t find my glasses.”

A chorus of “Are you serious?” met Richie’s ears and he almost laughed again, but it was true. Sometime between the six of them latching onto him, Richie’s glasses had completely vanished.

Richie settled in where he sat as the others went off to find his glasses, diving beneath the water and arguing between themselves. The only person who didn’t move away was Eddie, who shifted from standing behind him to sitting next to him. As he heard Bev laugh, followed by a splash (Richie would bet money she just dunked Ben, the two had been attached at the hip and making heart eyes at each other since they escaped Neibolt), he felt Eddie grab his right hand and interlock their fingers.

There was a distinct lack of cold, wet metal as Eddie squeezed his hand, and Richie swore his heart skipped more than a few beats.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a secret, Richie thought as Eddie’s head leaned against his shoulder for a few seconds. And maybe, just maybe, Richie wouldn’t have to go home and face his nightmares alone after this.

#it #it (movie)#it (2017)#it (2019)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #stan uris #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #the losers club #it fanfic #reddie fanfic #My writing

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

happiness is a warm gun | a.h.

summary: American author John Steinbeck wrote, “I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that's why.”

WARNINGS: swearing, stressed hotch, fire, explosions, hospitals, tender ending, general banter, they geek about the beatles a bit, angst, kidnapping situations and implications of past sexual assault pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 9.6k but we knew it’d get long at some point

a/n: hope you enjoy darlings :^)

SERIES MASTERLIST

[7:23 AM]

“And if there’s anything…” Hotch trails off and your father nods. After last night, he had promised to stop by in the morning just in case there were any updates, but there weren’t any.

Listening to the voicemail you left, he couldn’t have imagined anything was ever wrong with you.

But there is, and you’re gone, and Hotch did not sleep for a fucking second last night. Haley had done her best, but even she had paced until she was exhausted and laid beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

“First Darren, now…” She couldn’t bring herself to continue and Hotch merely took her into his arms and held her tight. “Tessa’s going to need us if this doesn’t turn out the way we want it to, Aaron.”

“I know.”

“No,” your father says presently, shaking his head. Tessa’s awake in the kitchen, mixing an already finished pancake batter just to give her something to do while her grandfather talks to Hotch and the latter can hear her singing along to the radio with a painful twinge. She has no idea. “Just… do your best to find her.”

“I will,” he promises before turning to head back to his car.

He wants to throw up with how false his lie sounded, but he doesn’t. JJ has her press conference later in the morning and if he wants to be there, he can’t lose focus.

He drives too fast to Quantico that he almost gets ticketed until he flashes his badge at the officer who flagged him.

[12:22 PM]

Randall Garner. Randall Garner.

You stuff the newspaper clipping underneath your thigh and lick the ink off your lips. The scrap had been hard to pinch with just your teeth and the strange craning of your neck, but you’d managed to drop it into your lap just as the red light of the camera turns on again.

The voice of Randall Garner crackles over the intercom.

“Your knights have broken my sacred rule. Did you know this?”

“Of course not,” you reply calmly, not even bothering to ask what the rule is. “I’ve been with you the whole time, haven’t I? I’ve had no way to contact them.”

“You will. I am sorry, Queen Guinevere, but lunch must be stalled. Prepare yourself. I will have a task for you to complete once I return. Your choice will affect their quest. It will be... a true test for your love for your family.”

With that, the red light flickers off, and so do the ceiling chandeliers.

Darkness shadows you on all sides and you close your eyes, leaning back and taking a deep breath. Your shoulders have begun to ache and the nauseating ball of tension in your gut is about to explode.

But you’re fine.

You take another deep breath.

You’re fine.

[3:43 PM]

Hotch remembers the last time you went missing.

He would’ve killed everyone in his path, if they gave up, just to find you, dead or alive. He didn’t care whether or not you would’ve berated him for committing a crime, told him he was being an idiot. You would’ve understood the gripping fear, the paralyzing toxin in his body, the haunting days in the hospital, the terrible months afterwards. The urge to kill the faceless man who’d wronged and robbed you.

The last time you went missing, parts of you did not come back with you, and all he can think of is you, alone in some desolate place with the psychotic unsub who has already killed two men.

Unrepentant, bad men, but humans nonetheless and the break in the unsub’s one rule could lead to him devolving—

The worst days of his life are defined by that period, that week in the spring of junior year.

For four solid days, you were gone, and for months after you were found, you remained a broken mess and his hands were struggling to keep every piece of you together. But he only had two hands and pieces slipped, things were lost.

God, his whole world had stopped and started with you.

If you had been found in any worse state than the police had found you…

Hotch doesn’t want to think about it until he’s forced to in his nightmares.

This…

This feels like a nightmare.

Elle still in surgery, he sits there before the parcel, looking up at Gideon who sits across from him before nodding to himself. It’s a small thing, neatly wrapped with creased folds and sharp corners, and he frowns, pulling on a pair of evidence gloves.

It reminds him of the way you wrap your gifts.

He carefully tears apart the wrapping. Within is a DVD stack case which he cracks open carefully to reveal stacks of silver discs with sharpie in different writing than the first blood messages and he looks up at Jason. Each one is inscribed with a number or word spelt in bold black.

ONE. SEVEN. TWO. WISCONSIN. PENNSYLVANIA. 18TH. BROADWAY.

And more and more. Hours of footage entrapped in these discs.

“Different hand?”

Hotch nods, tongue thick in his mouth because your hands must’ve folded the parcel, too. “It’s Y/N’s.”

Jason stares, the muscles in his face twitching and although Hotch knows everything is complicated between you and the man before him, he also knows that Jason cares about you, too. It used to be you, Hotch, and him.

Now, it’s a fractured picture.

“You said she was missing?”

“Her father hasn’t seen her since… two days ago now,” he confirms.

“And you’re sure it’s her writing?”

“We can bring up samples, but Gideon… I know her.” Hotch sets down the DVD, feeling sweat press between latex and skin as he rips off the gloves and stands, his mind a chaotic storm. Your writing, your writing. The unsub has you. That’s your writing. The unsub has you. Taken again. Missing—

Without thinking, his hand runs through his hair like it did when he was younger and when his hair was just a bit longer.

“You know I could’ve told you whether or not it was cool to mess up your hair because, if you recall, I am a girl, too.” Your voice nips at the shell of his ear and he turns around, half-expecting to see you there at the door, smiling fully, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

You aren’t. You aren’t and Hotch feels something inside him… crack.

Gideon simply presses his palms together, knowing, perhaps more than Hotch himself, the Unit Chief’s thought process with the newest revelation. “I’ll call the team.”

He does call the team to update them. Morgan and JJ are questioning Rebecca Bryant’s parents, but Garcia and Reid make their way to the waiting room in the hospital, the former bringing one of her computers to hookup to the TV the staff provide them.

The first DVD (ONE) is inserted as Hotch explains the arrival of the package.

“And we didn’t see it delivered?” Reid asks, bewildered. “Should we check the security feed—”

“Odds are it was another person paid off to deliver,” Hotch murmurs, crooked fingers brushing underneath his chin, the other arm crossed over his chest, and it is left at that.

The explanation of the writing being different and the identity of the writer is noticeably left absent, but Hotch knows that Reid’s noticed. The youngest member’s eyes keep darting from the discs to his leader and he finally looks at the brunet, shaking his head. Don’t cause panic until we know.

“Garcia, anything?”

“Working on it, sir.”

The screen is black for a moment and there is doubt that it actually is a video but there is the faint rustling of things moving coming from the speakers, distorted and pitched low.

“Can you speed it up?”

“Already working on it, but there’s hours of footage with every disc. It’s going to take a long time and there might not even be anything on it,” Garcia murmurs. “This could all be scrap footage.”

“There has to be a faster way,” Gideon says and Hotch shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling his notepad jam against his thumb.

“Remember, everything starts at the beginning.”

Beginning. Everything this unsub does is intentional—a hint. There has to be reason he said that—

“I just got a voicemail from her that she’ll be a few more days and she asked me about… Tessa and school.”

School.

“In the Vulgate Moir le roi Artu, the Death of King Arthur, King Arthur’s death is indirectly caused by the infidelity between Queen Guinevere and Lancelot, one of the Knights of the Round Table. The Queen was sentenced to burn at the stake for her crime and Lancelot saved her before it happened. It was… uh, part of my mother’s curriculum for years.”

Lancelot. Lancelot, school, beginning, curriculum. No, something doesn’t make sense—

Hotch’s brain turns itself over and he quickly barks at Garcia to eject the DVD, grabbing the stack and spreading them out quickly as he goes over it again.

Lancelot. School. Beginning. Tessa? Round table, no, that doesn’t make sense. Tessa. Tessa, she’s just a kid— Hotch cuts off that line of thought before he can entertain the idea of the wittiest six-year old goddaughter he knows becoming an orphan in such rapid succession when it’s like the world illuminates. Kid.

Childhood. Beginning.

“Letters,” Reid murmurs under his breath. “Some of them have letters. Words…”

“But it’s not the whole alphabet,” Garcia observes and Aaron spreads out the discs across the coffee table, swiping magazines off and stepping back, trying to make the connection. “And there are repeats of some numbers.”

“It’s a message—it says something. Something only Lancelot knows,” Hotch explains shortly, eyes darting from one silver disc to the next.

Beginning. Beginning, school, beginning.

“Remember, everything starts at the beginning.”

His fingers get jabbed by the sharp edges of the discs as he grabs at them, moving them around and aligning them as he works. He doesn’t care about the eyes on his head as he tries to think, moves things around. A ticking time bomb occupies his chest, a heavy metal weight that bears down on his ribs as he crouches and grabs the numbers, grouping them up.

“What do you think it is?”

With absolute certainty, Hotch looks up at Gideon because he knows your file and if this unsub did read the file then he’ll know that only Hotch knows where your childhood home is—a home that is in your name, now that your mother has passed.

“It’s an address.” He rearranges the discs into the address of your old childhood home. He moves aside the discs not needed and hands the first one to Garcia.

“Is there a specific timestamp, sir?”

Hotch pauses, staring at Garcia and trying to think. His entire body is in limbo, his blood is congealed, and the fire in his chest has spread into an uncontrollable inferno of frustration that he can’t see your file in his head—

Why should he need to? He knows you.

Pulling out his notepad, he flips to a fresh page and starts scribbling down potential dates. 1993, the year you got married. 1971, your birth date. 1999, Tessa’s birth year.

“Remember, everything starts at the beginning.”

He crosses each one out jerkingly. It’s about them. Not you as a singular but you and Aaron Hotchner together, and if he, distantly, recalls correctly, the monthly newsletter was sent home by the school, no doubt now on the school’s database as digital copies, as well as all the old yearbook photos of notable importance.

Including the library club.

“1980,” he announces, pressing on before Reid can correct him that there’s only sixty seconds in a minute, “Try nine minutes.”

Garcia does so, pulling the footage to the ninth minute when there is a distinct shift from the black shifting to silence, and then it’s as if they’re in the same room as the first disc. The same desk, same background. The unsub sits in the chair, shrouded in shadow and his voice is tinted with anger, frustration.

“I had hoped, Lancelot, that you would obey. After all, another hint was to show on your doorstep on your quest for the Holy Grail.” Garcia’s eyes widen. “By now, I assume you have found Agent Greenaway. I repeat again, she did not have to die like that. It was a matter of following what I had laid down for you, but there must be consequences.”

With that, the clip ends.

“Can you cut and paste the clips together?” inquires Hotch, a cold wave replacing blood in his veins. “I don’t care how choppy it is. As long as it’s comprehensible.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good, get on it. We’ll meet up again at the bureau when you’ve got it.” Writing down the address just in case the order of fotage gets lost, Hotch rips off the paper and hands it to Reid as Gideon stacks up the discs.

Garcia and Reid look at one another before the latter moves to bag the DVD case in an evidence bag and Hotch waits for them to go before running his hands over his face.

“All we need is an address,” Gideon mutters, staring at the blank screen emptily. “Hotch. It’s not your fault. No one else could’ve known what the DVDs meant. No one could’ve recognized she was missing sooner.”

Hotch does not tell his old friend that he could’ve.

[5:58 PM]

Garcia calls Hotch to the office once it’s completed and the drive cannot pass by soon enough before he’s walking into the bullpen. His eyes stray to find a few agents still working in the office, but most are out. The team’s desks are empty and, as if pulled by a magnetic force, his eyes land on your desk and that deserted coffee cup.

It’s like something scoops his soul out.

Missing.

“What do you have, Garcia?” he says, entering the conference room. Reid and Garcia turn around at his entrance before resuming their tasks and the latter clicks on her trackpad. JJ and Morgan both nod and Hotch barely registers that another blonde is in there but he can distantly hear Reid say it’s his mom.

“Here’re the clips strung together. It might skip between bits of footage but I tried my best.”

With that, the blonde analyst presses play and the three agents watch as the clip starts in the first room with the unsub at the desk.

“I had hoped, Lancelot, that you would obey. After all, another hint was to show on your doorstep on your quest for the Holy Grail. By now, I assume you have found Agent Greenaway. I repeat again, she did not have to die like that. It was a matter of following what I had laid down for you, but there must be consequences.

“The Queen Guinevere is having difficulty staying awake. It is… such a bore for her here without her king or her knight.”

The footage switches to another point of view. A silhouette of stocky, long legs treading becomes clearer as it reaches light and there’s a quiet groan. The unsub is carrying the camera down a long hallway, the wood creaking beneath his steps.

“As you can see, Lancelot, your Guinevere is in… quite a bit of pain as well.” The camera finally rises to reveal you sitting in a chair. You’re entirely in soft shadow and warm light, in your clothes but barefoot.

Your feet are bound to the legs of the bergère, your head bowed as if asleep. The light just barely catches half of your face. On your cheek is a blossoming bruise and your shoulders are drawn back by your arms tied around the back of the upholstery. Warm orange flickers around you and there is a sheen of sweat along your neck as you raise your head wearily.

“The consequences,” continues the voice-over, “must be severe. But I know you, Lancelot. I understand you. The death of one of your knights would not be enough to deter you from breaking such a simple rule. Death does not scare you. Losing her does.”

You raise your head as the unsub approaches you. It is then he can see the blood, the unfocused glaze in your eyes. You look barely conscious, and Hotch’s fists tighten, his nails digging into his flesh. His jaw clicks but he doesn’t look away, scanning the footage for clues of your location.

Beside you is a stack of books and atop that, a deserted teacup. When your head lolls, he can see the glistening trail of liquid from your lips down your chin.

“Aaron.” His name slips shakily from your lips and Hotch feels every muscle in him tighten. “Aaron, listen to me.” Despite the trembling from weakness, you sound strong and resolute. You don’t show an ounce of fear as you lift your head even though it looks like it weighs a thousand tonnes. “Aaron, he said I can only talk to you specifically—”

“Do not break my rule again, or she will burn like the rest for certain. All you will find is charred remains,” the unsub whispers behind the camera, rasping and harsh, and there is the click of a lighter. There is movement and your eyes widen as you begin to try and rip yourself free. “You have only a few hours. After all, fire catches… whether you like it or not. By this time tomorrow, you will have failed them both.”

“Winston,” you murmur, the camera coming closer but not close enough to truly pick up the audio. Hotch steps closer to the screen as Garcia pumps up the volume. “It’s Winston. Let me talk to him, please.”

“Goodbye.” The camera begins to draw away and your eyes widen.

“No, come back! You said I could talk to him! No!” Your shouts, panicked and whining, are like butcher knives that cleave through his skin. “No! Aaron! No—Aaron, GARNER!” Thrashing against the manacles as the unsub turns the camera away, he hears your voice still, a screech, a terrible song. The camera swings away from you to reveal the feet of the unsub, walking away. Your voice is no less loud, no less tearing. “RANDALL GARNER AND WINSTON! WINSTON DR—”

It cuts off and there is a startling silence when the team has their eyes only on their leader. Hotch stares hollowly at the screen. He hears your voice, screaming, bouncing like an echo chamber.

No one says anything about the final implication that you are Guinevere and he, Lancelot.

Then, Reid, bravely, breaks the silence: “Hotch—”

“Randall Garner is Rebecca Bryant’s biological father,” Garcia says.

“And Winston?” he can hear himself say but he can’t feel his mouth form the words as he turns to look at the team that’s still here. They all look at him with some degree of worry but his demeanour silences them: Work the case.

“Nothing about Winston, sir.”

“I rechecked all the clues,” Reid says, sitting down, “but nothing points to an address.” He looks incredibly muted after the video and Hotch is sure everyone’s mind is on your screams as JJ shifts in her seat.

“The adoption records for Rebecca listed an address of the fire, so I made a call to Nevada, and it's vacant. No one ever rebuilt.”

Crossing his arms, Hotch barely holds back the icy tone in his voice. “Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?”

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property.”

“Excuse me,” Reid’s mother begins and Hotch looks at her. He almost forgot she’s here. All he can hear is your screaming—“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me. It’s a photo of a house with a number and word on the back.”

“1024 Shiloh,” Morgan reads aloud, taking the photo. “An address?”

“Yeah, but without a street, we won’t get too far,” points out Garcia. “I can run addresses that are 1024 Shiloh but it’s probably a city.”

“Shiloh, Illinois?”

“Nothing points to that. Y/N said Winston, didn’t she? What if that’s the street?” Reid proposes. “In Shiloh, Virginia, Winston Drive is a road that runs into the more rural countryside outside the community. There’s—there’s a bunch of old houses because the land is never used for development.”

“It’s our best option. It’s close, ten miles from here, and in the same state as Giles.”

“It makes the most sense,” Reid agrees and the team looks to Hotch. “Garcia could try to pull up—”

“Already on it. 1024 Winston Drive, Shiloh, Virginia, coming up on the screen now.”

The TV screen flickers from the video to the image of the same house on Diana Reid’s photo and Hotch’s jaw sets. You’re either there or the unsub there. Hopefully it’s both, and with any luck…

The team springs into action as Hotch walks out of the conference room. JJ makes the call to request a SWAT team and Garcia calls that she’ll send the address to his GPS ASAP.

Everything leads back to Randall Garner. The kidnapped child, Reid’s mother, you.

Everything.

[6:37 PM]

As the team and SWAT swarm the medieval-like mansion, Hotch can’t help the apprehensive nausea in his stomach. There’s always a chance that you aren’t here and he’ll be too late.

The first floor is so quiet he could’ve heard someone else’s heartbeat if it weren’t for the sounds of their footsteps. Sweeping through, he is confronted with empty room and after empty room.

“Hotch, we found Y/N’s badge.” Morgan’s voice comes clear in his earpiece and Hotch, gun tight in his hands, turns back because this room is empty, too. “Any sight on her?”

“No.”

“There’s someone upstairs,” Reid whispers and Hotch nods to his SWAT partner, meeting up with Morgan at the base of the flight. Morgan ascends first, whispering to Reid before continuing up and Hotch reaffirms his grip on his Glock, waiting at the base.

“Randall Garner? FBI!”

Absolute silence.

Morgan gives the signal to continue up and the SWAT team moves up and the agents reach the landing, sweeping left and right. Hotch murmurs he’ll take the left flank and the team splits up, Hotch taking only two SWAT officers with him to sweep the second landing. There is a short hallway filled with doors. The walls are a pale green, light fixtures providing a yellow-white light, and with the amount of doors, it’s hard to understand how many people could’ve lived in this place.

They progress through slowly, flashlights raking through shadows.

If he finds your dead body in one of these rooms, behind a dark wood door—

The door hinges whine when they open. Hotch thinks that’s why he might’ve missed it but his heart is beating so loudly in his ears that everything seems amplified.

There is a distant thud that harmonizes with a splintering, high-pitched shatter, destroying the haunting silence of the old mansion, and Hotch tilts his head to the first SWAT member towards the door at the end of the hall. Opening the door to a long narrow hallway, the three men round corners, keeping their guns at the ready and checking each room for the source of the sound.

“Do you have eyes on Garner?” Hotch asks, reaching the final door at the end of the corridor.

“Yeah. Reid’s talking to him.”

They stop before the door, shuffle on either side.

The SWAT member reaches for the door and with a silent but somehow heard count of three, twists it open. The other SWAT member that had filed in behind Hotch immediately bursts into the room, but it’s not dark like the others. No, as Hotch enters, he can already see the immediate difference. The chandelier hangings are lit with lightbulbs, the walls are a dark red, and the lamps are on. In the air is the faint, lingering aroma of chicken mixed with dust and the aroma of chamomile tea.

“Aaron?”

And, of course, one thing sets this room apart from the rest.

Before a tumbled stack of hardcover books and shards of what Hotch can only guess was the teacup, sits a figure. SWAT crouches by you, boots having crunched over the broken remains of the teacup and he does the same, squatting down before you. He reaches to take your pulse, his other hand holstering his pistol.

“Heard me, did you?” you rasp as the officers fit the jaws of their miniature bolt cutters into the chains and begin to cut. “Aaron…”

“You’re…” He doesn’t want to say safe, or okay, or anything like that, so he simply lets the sentence fade and examines your injuries. The cheek has turned into a ghastly purple and your eyes are squinting, as if you can’t see him quite clearly enough. The chains fall away and you pull your arms forward with a terrible wince, moving your feet experimentally.

“Morgan,” he says into his wrist, “we got her. Get back to him,” he adds to the officers. “I can handle it from here.” They nod. He stands again, carefully kicking away the shards of glass and books out of the way. The upholstered chair groans when you stand, putting all your weight on the furniture before you take a tentative step towards him.

“I can walk,” you say without a shred of doubt and he nods. He’s so overcome with relief that you’re not hurt or otherwise that for a fraction of a second, for an infinitesimally small amount of time, his guard slips.

In hindsight, this defense lowering and what follows were not related, but it still takes a moment for Hotch to react and in that time, you react faster. The walls just begin to break before you’re barreled into him, tackling him to the ground.

The entire earth shakes.

Ears popped, he lands hard, you beside him and he instinctively rolls over, covering you with his body as dust and plaster spring into the air. The explosion is deafening, rattling in his skull louder and louder as bits of wall rain down on them.

Then you’re shimmying out from under him and on your unsteady feet again, pulling him up. Hotch glances at the wall where it used to be and finds it consumed with fire, spreading hungrily along the floors and red walls and he can’t hear a fucking thing as he gets up. Your face is stone as you grab at him desperately.

“Go!” He thinks your lips form the word as you run out of the room and stumble, your confidence wavering as you try to drag yourself up. There is only a high-pitched ringing as he skids to a stop before you, grabbing you by the waist and stabilizing you enough to claw your way back up to your feet.

He hoists you to your feet. He speaks into your ear, something he hopes is along the lines of “Can you walk?”

You nod swiftly.

The smell of wood burning fills the air, the smoke rising to the ceiling as you take a few shaky steps, regaining your balance despite how much you must be shaking and you find the steps quickly, pulling away from him with a small stumble. Reid and Morgan are at the top of the stairs and you trip on your feet.

You’re barely saved from falling by the railing by Morgan as you look at your teammates.

“Basement,” you yell over the sound of the fire consuming the house. The flames roar, consuming the bomb materials no doubt, and swells as Reid wipes the sweat out of his eyes. Smoke gathers in a soft cloud above their heads and Hotch grabs your waist, urging you to begin the climb down the steps, but you stubbornly stay by Reid. “She’s in the basement!”

“Come on, Reid. Let’s go.” Slipping past the two, Morgan and Reid run down the steps as SWAT escorts you and Hotch out of the building. Your feet drag with the manacles still around your ankles. You do everything short of collapsing once you reach solid ground again.

“This way—” He tugs your elbow in the right direction and tunes into your footsteps, determined not to lose you. With a glance over his shoulder every few seconds, he leads the way out of the house. The air is breathtakingly cool against his skin, chasing away the sweat that’d begun to gather at his brow and he sucks in a lungful of fresh wind. In the distance, he can hear the distant wail of ambulances and fire trucks.

The heavy smell of smoke has caught onto his shirt and he pulls out the earpiece, letting it drop against his neck before turning around to look at the inferno. Morgan and Reid come out seconds later, the former carrying Rebecca Bryant, the latter holding the skeleton key tight in his hand.

Ambulances arrive first and Morgan jogs over to them, calling to their youngest member, “Reid, let’s get your leg checked out.”

“It’s not bad.. Doesn’t even hurt—”

“Reid. C’mon.”

Hotch surveys the scene, watching as the fire trucks arrive next with the police, and he pulls off the side strap of his vest with a heaved sigh, his gaze sliding over the first responders, Morgan and Reid, and SWAT members who’re all beginning their post-op rituals, but he’s not looking for them.

“Agent Hotchner,” the SWAT leader says as he approaches, distracting Hotch from his search. With his helmet underneath his arm, he extends a gloved hand and Hotch, wiping at his brow, accepts the gesture.

“Owens,” he replies and the man nods before returning back to his squad.

Hotch continues his search. He doesn't have to look far, but he doesn’t expect you to be where you are.

Paces away, you stand too close to the burning door for his liking and he moves to tell you so, to order you to get to a rig, but then you dig your hand into your pocket and extract a small white box. Your head is bowed, staring into what you hold and he’s curious so he keeps his mouth shut for a moment.

He stops beside you and peers at the box. Red corners, white box. Your Marlboro cigs. In your other hand, a simple Bic lighter.

Without a word, you throw the box with enough force through the open house, and then the lighter, and turn away, walking on bare feet through the green grass. You look almost normal with your jeans and jacket, but then he can see the flash of where the manacles are, and he stares at you for a moment.

Then, he turns back to the fire beginning to spread throughout the house, watching as smoke streams out of the blasted windows, the orange flames lick at the sky.

That’s enough fire to last a lifetime.

He walks back to you where you’re standing out of sight of the rest of the team. No one notices you just leaning against the SUV, watching the fire grow just as the firefighters begin to do their jobs.

“Hey,” he says for lack of anything else.

“Hey,” you say quietly. Your arms are crossed over your middle, chin lifted. Strangely, your coolness doesn’t seem to sink into his skin and he wants to hold you so tight you won’t ever leave his sight again, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t think he can really move. Everything is cold and stiff, his gut is in knots, his jaw locked.

The explosion rattles his bones still, so he can’t imagine how you feel.

How come he’s so numb?

“I should quit smoking when things get hard,” you finally say. The wind blows and the fires lean into it, following the gusts and the firefighters exclaim their displeasure to each other.

“I think you can do it,” Hotch murmurs absently. He’s more focused on the lush grass, so green even at night despite the destruction just a distance away.

“I don’t think it’s whether I can or not, because I obviously can. I’m not addicted. It just… I don’t know. But… it’s more whether or not I want to, I guess.”

His eyes find your face, illuminated by the moon a bit, and he stares at the bruise on your cheek, the dried blood. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so flooded with relief, but it’s one of the few times he’s allowed himself to recognize how utterly beautiful you are.

Of course, it’s been a fleeting thought, more than a thought when they were younger, and definitely a recurring theme on the day you got married, but now, you stand there before him, looking worse for wear and he can’t even think.

“Do you?” His voice is rough, deeper in his throat than he expected, like he wasn’t really prepared to speak but the question came out anyway. You find his dark eyes, searching them for any trace of mocking, any skepticism, but you won’t find any.

“I don’t know.” You wince when you talk. “Seeing as I threw my full pack of Malboros into that ghastly mess… we’ll see.”

“You could try something other than smoking.” From anyone else, he thinks it might’ve sound patronizing from anyone else who didn’t know him or wasn’t you but you merely offer an empty smile as if to prompt him to continue. He does: “I heard talking to someone really helps.”

“Thank you,” you say softly and Hotch suppresses his own wince at how empty it seems. “I tried widow support groups, therapists. Life is just shit, sometimes.”

“Ma’am,” an EMT interrupts cautiously and Hotch turns around to look at him, “we’ll have to take you to the hospital for a check up, get those”—he gestures at the handcuffs—”off.”

You don’t move at first, and he turns back to you.

“I want you to quit smoking,” he says after a long search. His hand brushes your inflamed cheek and your eyes flutter shut. Then, his thumb pulls away and your gaze finds his.

“I know that.” Your expression is not blank but set with an aching echo of grief. “Darren would’ve wanted that, too.” You push off the SUV and grasp his hand briefly, squeezing as if to say you’ll be okay and heading towards the EMT.

The man drapes you in one of those shock blankets, carefully leading you to the rig but Aaron doesn’t follow. Instead, he walks up to Reid who’s talking about how he’s completely fine. Rebecca Bryant is hoisted into another rig and he makes a mental note to check up on her later.

Your hand had been cold as it slipped in and out of his grasp.

He watches you step into your own ambulance and then tears his gaze away.

Everything is a blur. Your body is exhausted, relatively unscathed, but your mind is a fluttering mess. You’re alone for most of it, surrounded by nameless nurses and doctors who check up on you, wipe the blood and grime away. You’d been drugged and dehydrated so they set you up with an I.V. and you can’t help but feel yourself sink into the bed as they get you into your own room.

The explosion…

All you wanted was to save Aaron, save the girl, get that terribly sad voice out of your head.

“It is your duty. You are the soul that will lead them to the Holy Grail.”

The terrible fear that sent you spiralling into him… you don’t know if it helped, but your racing pulse and the fact that Aaron’s heart still beats in his chest gives you comfort, because you had walked the ashes of that building in Boston, tried to identify what bodies you could, and if you had to do that for your best friend—

It fucking kills you to think about.

“If you’re up for visitors,” a nurse says with a smile before she leaves, “just let me know.”

You tell them you are but that you need just five minutes of peace.

“Of course.”

You’re alone again.

How come you’re so numb?

“Did you know that I’m positively enchanted by you, love?”

“I had no idea, Darren.”

The last real words you spoke to him before he went into that building. You should’ve chosen better, chosen something that meant more than just a stupid quip.

Unbidden, a tear slips down your face and you turn your cheek into the pillow, smother it before it burns through your skin.

Explosions are too sudden, too loud. You feel like your ears are still ringing, but they’re not. You feel like you’re sweating from the heat of the flames, but you’re not.

Smoking, playing with fire—maybe one day you’ll be able to control it.

You don’t think it’s in this lifetime.

There’s a soft knock and you elevate the upper half of your bed so you’re partially sitting up, and you plaster on a smile as your dad walks in carrying Tessa, followed by Morgan, JJ, and a grinning Reid.

“Hey, guys,” you greet, embracing your daughter who snuggles up against you immediately.

“Mommy,” she says frankly, “you smell.” Derek and JJ laugh. Your dad hands over some aloe vera gel to Spencer. You arch a brow in question and barely overhear him say it’s for Reid’s minor burn on his leg and that Aaron had called to tell him.

You’re too occupied with the head on your chest and the way your daughter’s warm heat is nothing like a raging inferno.

“I know, kiddo,” you reply, voice tight as you kiss her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“How did you know it was 1980?” Garcia inquires softly, eyebrows wrinkling together and Hotch looks up at her from where he’d been staring at the floor before his shoe. “Nine is a pretty specific number.”

“We’re childhood friends,” he says. No one on the team really knows just how far the bond between you and him runs. Most account it for so many years together in the BAU and neither of them have ever corrected it, but Hotch doesn’t see the point in not telling Garcia.

“That long?” The surprise is palpable.

“We met when we were eight and it would’ve been the first time we showed up together in the yearbook. 1980. We would have been turning nine.” Hotch’s smile flickers as he turns to look down the hall where your room is. “The unsub was fixated on us. Lancelot and Guinevere.”

Tessa is inside still and you’ve been swarmed by the team since you got in. Haley is outside your door, too, holding onto a sleeping Jack and grinning as she waves through the door farewell, but Hotch stays by the washrooms with Garcia who stares at him, eyes wide.

“Sir—”

“How is she, Garcia?” he cuts off before she can ask the question he knows she wants to ask.

“You should see her. She seems okay but she looks around a lot. I think she’s looking for you,” Garcia inputs softly as Haley comes to her husband.

“She’s tired,” he says just before his wife in hearing range and he pushes off the wall to kiss Haley briefly, hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Hey, sweet boy.”

“Sweet boy is fast asleep, honey,” Haley says, amused. “Hi, Penelope.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hotchner,” the analyst murmurs, excusing herself to head to your room.

Haley’s eyes are wide with sympathy and her mouth is curled into one of those smiles that makes him believe every word she says as she rubs his arm. “She’s okay, Aaron. She’s up and talking, reading a story to Tessa. The doctor says she’s completely fine. I think they’re leaving soon, though.”

“JJ hasn’t left yet.”

“Not yet,” agrees his wife, and she leans over to peck his jaw. “I’m gonna go home and tuck this guy in, okay?”

“Yeah, don’t wait up,” he murmurs and she nods, kissing him once more on the lips before heading for the elevator.

True to Haley’s words, your father leaves your room with a sleepy Tessa holding onto his hand ten minutes later, and they walk his way. Your father has obviously been crying and Tessa’s rubbing at her eyes sleepily but she brightens remarkably upon spotting her godfather.

“Aaron!” She all but runs towards him with some otherworldly burst of energy and he bends over to pick her up as your father lopes after her. Tessa’s arms wind around his neck and he hugs her tightly before pulling back.

“Thank you so much, Aaron,” your dad whispers and, moving Tessa to one hand, he embraces your father, too.

“She helped,” he replies and your dad laughs.

“Of course she did. She always finds a way to.” Looking to his granddaughter, he adds, “We need to be getting home so you can go to school. Your mom wants you to do well on your show-and-tell.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Tessa, who’s heavier than Aaron recalls, reaches for her grandfather with a pout. She clings onto the older man and Aaron smiles warmly at the six-year old. “Bye, Aaron!”

“See you tomorrow, bug,” he promises and she blows a kiss with her pudgy little six-year old hand. His smile softens as she’s carried to the elevator and he waits until they’re gone too before he picks up the bag by his feet and begins the trek to your room.

His heart is heavy in his chest and he can hear voices in your room as he comes closer.

“You know, JJ, there is this teacher at Tessa’s school,” you’re saying. “He’s cute.”

“And how do you know about him?” JJ asks, suspicious. Ah, so he’s intruded on girl talk.

“He’s Tessa’s teacher at school. He asked me out.”

“Someone asked you out?” Garcia gasps and you chuckle, a warm sound that bounces against his ribs. “Oh, my gosh, did you say yes?”

“Well, it was unexpected at first, so there was a lot of staring,” you admit.

“Are you going to say yes?”

Aaron pauses by the doorcase and you seem to think JJ’s question over deeply. A tight feeling winds around his chest when you don’t answer quickly in the negative or the positive. He doesn’t know what answer he wants for you.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I said some other time, so we’ll see.” You sigh loudly and there’s the sound of something moving as you announce that you’re tired. “I think I’ll try to catch some sleep. It’s been a pretty… weird few days.”

“Of course.” That is when Aaron rounds the corner to see JJ standing with Garcia and they both look at each other before grabbing their bags and coats. “Get some sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” Garcia murmurs and the two blondes file out with repeated ‘goodnights’. JJ notices him first when she leaves and she dips her head with a small smile.

“Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, JJ. Good work today.” The agent nods before heading off and Aaron repeats the same sentiments to Garcia before looking into your room. Leaning against the frame, he watches you lower the upper half of your bed with a soft mechanical whirr and simply soaks you in, alive and well. You gaze at him through half-shut eyes and your smile slips off his face as you simply look at him, waiting.

“You weren’t honest with them back there,” he finally says, entering without any invitation. You run your hands over your blanket and wiggle to sit up higher, adjusting the cap on your finger as he takes the seat JJ left. Although you look exhausted, you manage to smile wryly at his words. “About this teacher.”

“That’s the first thing you say to me when I’m in a hospital bed?” you ask. “It’s nothing serious, anyway.” He sets his bag down gently by his feet, shrugging off his jacket, and you lift your hand towards him. He scoots closer and catches it, clasping it between his two large palms and your fingers curl weakly, squeezing as tight as you can. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I think i should be the one asking you that.” He leans forward, and he’s not aware of what he’s even doing. He just can’t stop staring at your face. The past days have been a strange sort of limbo where he’d think you were beside him when you weren’t, telling him it’d be okay. He doesn’t tell you that he’s been hearing your voice in your head but you smile again as if you know. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Your thumb traces over his knuckles as you do so anyway: “All I can think about is Darren. The last moments when he knew he was going to die in that explosion and how he must’ve felt. How he must’ve thought about how he was leaving us behind, like how I thought I was going to leave Tessa an orphan when that bomb went off. How it was so unexpected… How scared he was. How… everything seems so…”

“Final.”

“Yeah.” Your expression softens and he rests his chin on their clasped hands, leaning onto the edge of the bed. “I miss him so much, you know? I miss him so much I don’t know how I’ll survive it. There are some things that Tessa does that makes me think of Darren. Facial expressions, food preferences. She hates asparagus more than he did, I swear.”

He doesn’t say anything more than: “I know.”

“And it occurs to me now…” Your tone changes and he looks at you, eyebrows raised. “I never apologized for everything I said.” It takes a moment for Aaron to think about what you’re talking about but then he frowns.

“No. You don’t. It was a… valid response to me being insensitive.”

“Aaron, I was cruel.”

“Who isn’t, sometimes?” he asks and you mirror his displeased expression. “You were grieving—you still are. I shouldn't have said I understood when I knew you would snap at me. And it was months ago. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

“Still,” you press, “I really… You’re nothing like any of them. I don’t think you’re anything like… whoever that guy was that took me back when we were still kids. I’m so pissed I still don’t know his name, but that’s not relevant right now because right now, I’m—I’m just... I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand gently. “I didn’t mean anything I said. I just wanted you to hurt like I did. As if I could make you understand but that's just me being selfish. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” He smiles against your knuckles. You saying that always makes him think he does okay in that department. “I don’t want you to leave me alone. Not really.”

“Look, I know it’s been hard. I know I can’t understand. If you need to take it out on me, then I’m fine with it. It’s hard to imagine you as selfish,” he says, “and I’ve forgiven you for everything you think you did wrong.” You reaffirm your grip on his hand and your expression eases minutely. “But...”

He opens your hand and flattens it against his chest, where his heart is still beating like gentle thunder.

“Aaron...”

“No. Don’t say you’re sorry. Your husband died. Don’t ever be sorry for how you choose to heal from it.” You tug his shirt and he feels you tug him forward as you sit up, your arms flinging around his chest and he sighs into you, shoulders falling, strength draining away.

“You know what?” you whisper into his ear and he pulls back, smile pulling at his lips as you brush hair back from his eyes. “What?”

“You’re kinda the second best thing that’s ever happened to me.” “Second best?” “Tessa has to take number one,” you whisper and he laughs, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. Helping you lay down again, he makes sure the pillows are supporting your head and sits back down. “So, if you’re staying for a while longer...” You clear your throat and force a smile, and he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Is this Hotch Watch version 3.0?”

“Would you like it to be?” he inquires, not even bothering to let the stupid name get to him. He bends down to grab his bag. He had stopped by home as quickly as he could while Haley and Jack were taking their turn visiting you to pick something up. You shift in bed, controlling the bed into a straighter sitting position.

“Yes, please. I’m so glad you came prepared.”

“I just know you.”

“The first time was…”

“Abbey Road. You requested Here Comes the Sun until the nurses were sick of it.”

“It’s a good song.”

“I was sick of it,” he says, trying to find an outlet. Finding one by your I.V., he pulls a small wooden table in the corner of your room that’s supposed to be for newspapers and magazines for visitors, he guesses, closer to your bedside and the outlet. “You insisted on ‘another go.’” Returning to his bag, he pulls out the wooden turntable case and your eyes visibly light up. “Excited?”

“Very excited. I haven’t been spoiled by a Hotch Watch in years.” Fiddling with the remote, you raise the bed to a half-sitting position and arrange your pillows accordingly as he plugs it in. “Also, Here Comes the Sun just makes me happy.”

He pauses to glance at you but you’re too busy rearranging your blankets to notice. It’d been the only thing that made you smile for the days you spent in the hospital after you were found and his gaze softens. I know.

“The second time was Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club,” reminds Aaron aloud, resuming his task.

“The fact that the first song Tessa heard as a baby outside of the womb was A Day in The Life is very telling of our nature,” you comment. He sets the case down, cracks it open and proceeds to plug the thing in.

You had given him this particular turntable as a wedding gift. Waxed cherry wood and gorgeous, it’s one of his most prized possessions. You’d given him the next thing he pulls out of his bag, too. The record cover slides out easily from the folds of his bag and he carefully opens the gatefold of his newly acquired White Album.

“Which one?”

“First one.”

“Side A or Side B?”

“Side B.”

“Alright. Here we go.” Flipping the disc over so it’s the right side up, he sets the needle to the LP and turns the volume down until it’s barely above the loudness of an already loud whisper. He slips the sleeve back into his bag.

The music is soft, warm, and he simply sits there, elbows on his knees as you let your head fall back into your pillow and your eyes close. He watches the record spin absently, listening to the songs he’s heard a thousand times before.

“You know, Gideon came by,” you say after a very long while. Aaron starts. He thought you fell asleep and, to be honest, he almost dozed off himself. He runs a hand over his face and looks up, squinting against the warm lamp light. “Were you asleep?”

“No.”

“Do you need me to call a nurse to get you a bed?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” You grab your remote and ping the nurse and he stifles a groan as an attendant does appear. You explain the situation, about the need for a cot and that you’re sorry to make such a late night request, but the man simply waves it off and promises that they’ll arrange something in a moment.

“I like the ambiance,” the nurse comments before his departure and you grin until the door clicks shut. Then, you look at Aaron and frown.

“Let someone take care of you for once, Hopscotch,” you say fondly as the song switches to the bouncy beat of Don’t Pass Me By. “Oh, I love this song.”

“You love every Beatles song.”

“Not true,” you retort as he stands to stretch his legs. His muscles welcome it and he lets out a muffled groan when his hip clicks.

“Name one Beatles song you dislike.”

Silence.

He smiles in victory as the door opens again and he untucks his dress shirt as they take the chairs. They set up a foldable metal cot with a mattress and a blanket by the turntable, a few pillows, and the older orderly comments on the music.

“It’s very good, isn’t it? I remember when it first came out. I was just a girl. Took the whole world by storm,” the woman says. “But you need to rest.”

“I will,” you promise before they depart and Aaron sits down on the edge of his cot, frowning. It’s at a much lower level than he anticipated. “There is no bad Beatles song,” you finally admit.

“Not even Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da?”

“What?” You’re scandalized. “That song is so cute.”

“Well, everyone except you and Paul hate it apparently.”

“Since when are you on a first name basis with Paul McCartney?” You blink. “And, since when do you hate that song?” Aaron huffs a laugh.

“Fine. Me, you, and Paul McCartney.”

“Better.”

“Now.” He leans forward to untie his shoes, already knowing he’s probably not going to get back home tonight. He’s too exhausted to drive a second more. “About Gideon?” He pulls off one shoe and then works on the other.

“Oh, yeah.” Your mirth dies quickly. “He came to visit. We had a pretty long talk before I had to read Tessa her bedtime story. Not like I could move anywhere, but… It was a long time coming.”

“Yeah?” He pulls off his other shoe and starts to unbuckle his belt.

“I told him about how I keep his apology letter in my purse with me all the time and how I started smoking and just talked to him. You know, about everything like nothing was wrong. Like Darren…”

Aaron reaches to turn the music down as the song switches to Julia but you shake your head and he pulls back. Tugging off his belt, he lies down and adjusts the pillow beneath his head, letting out a long sigh.

“Like Darren is still alive,” he finishes.

“Yeah.” You’re silent for a moment. “He asked me if the apology letter helped. It’s not like it’s going to bring Darren back so I said no, but… it’s the thought that counts and I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m bitter. There’s a difference,” you correct somberly. “Even then, I’m… I don’t want to hold that inside me anymore. I’m just so tired of hating.” He rolls onto his side and you imitate his position, sighing. “I’m so tired, Aaron.”

“I know.” He chews on the inside of his cheek before adding in a quiet tone, “Did… did anyone tell you about Elle?” You nod. “Gideon went to go see her, too.”

“Is she awake?”

“Not that I last heard of, but she’ll make it.” He pauses, jaw locking, and then: “How did you know it was Winston Drive?”

“I didn’t,” you whisper. “Garner would tell me hints, things that would help or hinder, and I had to choose carefully. He said if I knew… knew you, I would know. He made me write on the discs and there was newspaper on the walls—” Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. It’s almost like Aaron can physically see you trying to hold yourself together and he reaches forward. Your hand finds his blindly and he squeezes your palm tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Get some sleep.” The music stops and he straightens up to turn it off but you tug the hand you still hold. He looks up to find you, pitifully small and exhausted, and you try to smile but it doesn’t quite work. He lets go of your hand, you bring it back to your chest.

“Can you…”

“Yeah, of course.” You burrow deeper into your pillows. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When he’s sure you’re actually trying to sleep, he sets the record from the beginning again.

You’re discharged the next morning when it’s still dark out, probably because you get your way with nurses and doctors.

You’re a model patient. It’s a learned talent but nonetheless, it’s too early to be waking up your dad since he has to drive Tessa to school anyway so you call Aaron.

Technically, you shouldn’t be back on duty until next week, but you insist on going with Aaron to wherever he’s going.

“If my two weeks of vacation are ruined by being kidnapped, I’d feel better doing something. Besides, I don’t have anywhere I need to be,” you point out. Getting into his car, you touch your bruised cheek tentatively before looking out the window. You don’t recognize the direction they’re going and you turn to tell Aaron so.

“We’re going to Elle’s house,” he says in a tone that warrants no questions and you nod to yourself. The young woman’s still in the hospital and as they stop before the building, you feel a flicker of dread at the police tape across the door. “Wait there,” he adds and you frown, turning back to Aaron who gets out of the car. He grabs some red buckets and rags before jogging around to the passenger side and opening the door for you.

“I could’ve done that,” you say, sliding out of the seat slowly. Your legs are still a bit funny-feeling and his hands hover but you wave him off, closing the door with a slam behind you. He walks up to the house and you follow, eyes dancing over the darkness. You’re in nothing but the change of clothes your dad brought—loose sweats, an old university tee and a pair of boots—but Aaron returned your gun (strapped to your hip) and your badge (safe in your pocket).

You’re safe here, but yet that lingering paranoia looms over your shoulder.

You jog to catch up to Aaron as he bends down to rip off the tape. You stay silent the whole time. There’s something he needs to do and he hasn’t told you yet, but you have a strange feeling in your stomach.

“I sent her home,” he says at length as he opens the door. Stepping in, it is quiet and you can smell the bleach as soon as you enter. Aaron immediately sheds his jacket and you roll up your sleeves, turning to soak in the place.

RULES

Your eyes widen at the dried blood splattered onto the wall by the door in a crude spelling of the word, and then you remember what Randall Garner had said.

“Your knights have broken my sacred rule. Did you know this?”

“Aaron, what was the rule?” you inquire, turning to the man who picks up one of the buckets and heads for the bathroom. You pick up the other to follow and sit on the toilet seat as he fills up his bucket in the tub.

“No one outside our team was allowed to help. Gideon called a press conference, I sent Elle home. I shouldn’t have—I wasn’t thinking.”

“You were thinking she needed to get some sleep,” you say.

“I should’ve let her sleep at the BAU.”

“Well, there’s a whole lot of guilt going around,” you comment simply. “The only thing you can do now is just do better.”

He fills up your bucket next, and together, they walk back to the wall where the blood of their friend paints the plaster. Aaron rolls up his sleeves and offers you a pair of gloves. Slapping them on, the agents dip their rags into the water and begin to scrub the blood away. You can feel the way Aaron thinks, how pissed he is at himself, the guilt buried beneath his mask, but you don’t say anything.

He won’t verbalize it. Aaron isn’t a verbal person, but the most you can do right now is be there for him while he works through the storm inside his heart and head.

The blood doesn’t lift off the paint completely as you wring out the blood and dip your rag into clean water again.

a/n: thank you for reading! leave a reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack @sercyan @forgottenword

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walkerwords · 3 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 28 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Negan is slowly getting on good terms with the Alpha, the reader is slowly becoming desperate, and Alpha has a plan in motion.

Word Count: 4243

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Little Black Submarines” by The Black Keys

Note: I am trying to finish this before the 28th when TWD returns. Remember, this will not go past the 10B finale. Some of these chapters are getting shorter, but that is mainly because Chapter 30, which is the hilltop battle, will be quite long! ALL OFFICIAL DIALOG IS PROPERTY OF AMC.

-------

"Well, that's...creative,” Negan said as he was looking at the disassembled body that sat at the Southern border. Negan thought the tiki torches were a nice touch even if they were a tad dramatic and that was coming from him.

It was early that morning when Alpha approached him and told him to follow her. Knowing his history with her enemy, she had asked for his counsel on an issue. Considering they hadn’t known each other long, Negan was confused but went along with it anyways. However as soon as he saw what was at the border, he knew what was going on. The other side had finally made their move.

"They are declaring war," Alpha said, tilting her head to the side. Negan noticed that she did that a lot and it made him both uncomfortable and intrigued.

"Isn't that what you did when you put nine of their people on pikes?" Negan asked. Alpha looked at him with a neutral expression. Negan shrugged, the bat on his back shifting on his leather jacket. Alpha had returned his weapon shortly after they had met. She said that if he had even attempted to try to swing it without her permission Beta would gut him within seconds. Negan didn't doubt that. The giant man was even more psychotic than Simon was and that was saying something. Negan was always wishing for a gun whenever Beta was around and he could bet that you were too.

"The archer?" Alpha asked, her voice quiet but still very calm and emotionless. Negan took a few steps towards the dead man and kneeled to look at the body and then up at the decapitated head.

Seeing as there were no penetrating wounds that Daryl’s bow would have caused, Negan didn't think this was his handy work. Also, if it had been Daryl, he probably wouldn’t have taken the head off. Daryl was ruthless when he needed to be, but removing the head like this was too personal and if Negan knew Daryl even a little bit, he would have done something more simple. No, this was someone else.

"No," Negan said, moving the body onto its back. The headless body reminded him too much of Glenn and Abraham, especially with the amount of blood. It was never a good moment when he thought about his victims, especially when he was portraying a persona who was supposed to enjoy the kill rather than shying away from it. Shutting away those memories, Negan examined the other wounds carefully.

Looking at the clean cut at the neck and then the two hits to the chest and eye, Negan realized something. It was a clean kill with a sharp blade. There wasn't any type of torture or prolonging of death. With the depth and width of the strikes, he finally recognized the blade.

Jesus' broadsword. Your sword.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath.

"Do you know who did this?" Alpha asked. Negan shut his eyes for a second before turning to her with his own neutral expression, not letting her see how affected he was by his discovery.

"Couldn't say for sure, most of those assholes handle blades."

"Shame, he was a good soldier," said Alpha. Negan furrowed his brow.

"He was one of your men?"

"Sent him in to...gain information," she said. "Didn't think he'd be this foolish to be caught."

"Can't all be winners," Negan said, turning his attention back to the body. He had seen a lot of dead bodies since the world ended, but there was something about this one that was bothering him. You were not this...cold. At least not since he had gotten to know you. There was something off about the way you had done this. Anyone else, besides maybe Daryl, wouldn’t have noticed, but he did.

Negan had only seen this deadly side of you a few times and it made him do a double-take every time. The first time had been that first night in the clearing. You were nearly out of it, blood trickling down your collar.

He had just threatened Rick and was laying down the rules when his eyes had fallen on you. Dwight had to keep his hands on you in order for you to stay upright, but you were still hanging on. Your arm was reaching out to Daryl next to you, not quite touching him, but enough for the archer to know you were there.

Your eyes, however, were switching from staring at the ground to staring at him. Negan wasn’t sure if you could actually see him at that point. Throughout his speech, his eyes kept flickering back to you as you fought to stay upright and awake.

When he killed Abraham, your eyes never left Lucille and the blood that dripped off her wooded form. It was only after he had Daryl pinned to the ground and Glenn’s blood was splashed against your face that you locked eyes with him and in those irises, he saw pure fury. It wasn’t long after that first look when you fell over from the head trauma.

However, that one look was enough for him to remember you. The second time he saw that look was when he had brought Carl home from the Sanctuary. You didn’t seem to care about Spencer and while you were pissed about Olivia, nothing bothered you as much as seeing him parading Carl around Alexandria. While he didn’t speak to you, seeing your glare from the top of the Gazebo as he walked in had made him remember your face from the clearing.

It was from then on that he found himself always looking for you when his people met yours. Little did he know that your talents with a rifle had you always watching him rather than the other way around. You were always so precise with your shots so he shouldn’t have been surprised to see how clinical you had been with Dante’s body. However, the idea of you removing his head and doing this made him a bit sick. Though, he didn’t let Alpha see a second of that.

“How are you going to retaliate?” Negan asked.

“I have something in motion,” Alpha simply said.

“Can I get a hint?” Negan asked with a sly grin. Alpha just looked at him with her signature look and Negan raised his hand in surrender. “No worries. Gotta win the boss’ respect, I get it.

“You talk too much,” she observed as she turned away from the border.

“So I’ve been told,” he said, catching up to her. “Force of habit, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me more about these people who held you captive,” Alpha said.

“Not much more to say,” Negan said. “Their old leader is dead and their new ones don’t really know what the hell they’re doing. Got some good fighters, but they don’t have a central person. They don’t have an alpha,” he said.

“Then they have weak spots,” Alpha realized.

“More than one, I bet,” Negan said.

“Have you seen my daughter with them?” she asked and Negan forced himself not to hesitate.

“Lydia, right?” he asked and Alpha nodded once. “She’s around, seems to be alright.” Negan tried to get a line on Alpha’s reaction to hearing about her daughter, but like with everything, the woman remained stoic. He also then noticed some discoloration on her arms. It didn’t take long for him to realize they were the same wounds that adorned Lydia’s arms. Negan fought to keep relaxed as he remembered what Alpha had done to her child. You had told him about the abuse, it was one night when he had been able to spend the night with you…

Months earlier…

The cold air from the winter weather outside seemed to be seeping through the walls as if they were made of paper.

Negan lay next to you in your bed, his arms securely around your waist. He had only woken up a few moments ago and couldn’t help but watch as you slept peacefully next to him. These nights when Michonne and Gabriel found that they still had a heart and would let him spend the night indoors rather than freezing in his cell were his favourite.

Whatever the reason was, he was just happy to be there with you. With a deep breath, you turned towards him, slowly waking up. Your eyes opened just a bit to see him and when you did, a tired smile spread across your face. “Why are you awake?” you whispered.

“Why are you?” he countered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Being able to kiss you or hold your hand whenever he could, was the greatest gift anyone could have given him. Negan was desperate for your touch and whenever you gave it to him, he relished in it.

Reaching up, you caressed his face as he leaned into your palm. Even with the cold weather, he had stripped off his shirt, using his own body heat to keep you as warm as possible. Dancing your fingers across the tattoos on his chest, he shivered under your touch. Just as he was about to pull you on top of him, a noise broke the tension.

Confused, you both looked at each other before sitting up in bed. A second later and the noise happened again and Negan finally realized where it was coming from. Nudging you, he pointed over the side of the bed. Crawling to the edge, you looked down to see Lydia fast asleep on your floor, a blanket thrown over her as she softly snored.

You and Negan shared a look then that said everything you both were thinking: the teenager was scared. Lydia must have snuck into your bedroom just as you both had fallen asleep. She had been staying in the guest room downstairs, but you now figured that she wasn’t used to sleeping alone.

“Do we wake her?” you asked him. Negan shook his head, grabbing you again and pulling you back into bed. He slid his arms around you and tucked your head under his chin.

“Let her sleep,” he said in your ear. “The girl has been through enough.”

“And yet she feels safe enough to sleep in here? She barely knows me, knows us,” you argued.

“She trusts you,” he said. “She needs you.”

“She needs someone who can protect her from her mother,” you said. “I won’t let Alpha lay another hand on her. She is never going to be hurt by someone she loves again.”

“Her mother is abusive?” Negan asked and you just nodded.

“Shit,” he swore, pressing his nose into the back of your neck.

“I have to protect her, Negan,” you said as you rolled over and lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“You will,” he promised. “We will.” Looking up at him, he leaned in and kissed you firmly before tugging the blanket up further onto your shoulders.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you, too,” Negan said. “Forever.”

Negan was pulled out of the memory as he and Alpha arrived back at the Whisperer’s main camp. An ache had opened up in his chest as he thought about you, but he kept it suppressed. He had come too far to mess up now. Especially since Alpha had taken an interest in him.

As Alpha went off to do whatever she did during the day, Negan began scouting the camp. He checked out how many people were in her little army and the kind of weaponry they had. There was no way that she would have everything out on display for some newcomer, but he was getting a decent idea of who these Whisperers were and he hated them more by the second.

It was a little while later when he ran into one of Alpha’s scouts. The man looked worried, but angry as well. “What’s got you all freaked out?” he asked the man.

“Enemy near border,” was all the man said.

“Did ya tell the boss?”

“Can’t find the Alpha,” the scout said.

“Big man went that way,” Negan said, pointing towards where he saw Beta disappear earlier. The scout nodded to him and went on his way. While Negan knew he should be doing more to be seen as a “team player”, curiosity got the best of him and he headed towards the border from which the scout was coming from.

It wasn’t far, and he figured it was probably Carol trying to figure out a weakness in Alpha’s defenses. However, it could have been another body drop, which would only light Alpha’s fury even more. Then again, Negan wasn’t sure if she really cared if a few of her men and women were sacrificed for her greater good. Just another thing Negan hated about the woman.

Continuing through the thick trees, it took him a bit longer to reach the ridge that looked over the specific border he was looking for. As soon as he made it to the tree line, he was struck by what he saw. It wasn’t Carol at all or even Daryl.

It was you.

You, and the young woman he knew as Enid, were walking along the invisible line that separated your territory from Alpha’s. Walkers were following you as you and Enid took them out with quick and fast strikes of your sword and her knife.

His heart jumped in his chest at the sight of you. He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but there was something about your body language that made him worried.

There was a hardness to you that he hadn’t seen in a while. There was no doubt in his mind now that you had been the one to put the Whisperer’s head on the pike. Watching as you killed the Walkers, all he wanted to do was reveal himself, to tell you that he was still there, but he couldn’t. Still, he didn’t move as you continued to cut down the undead enemy, whether it was risky or not.

-------

The weather was heating up and you didn’t like it at all.

Kicking out at another Walker, you kept walking, ignoring Enid’s looks that she had been sending you since you had met up with her earlier in the day. “You know, if you want to say something, just say it,” you finally said.

“I’m not sure you want to hear it,” Enid said.

“Try me,” you said. Enid sighed but finally said her piece.

"Antagonizing her wasn’t the best idea, (Y/N)," Enid said as she pulled her blade out of another Walker.

"What else was I supposed to do? I am sick of playing offense," you said, slashing down another Walker who came at you. Flicking away the blood off your sword you continued forward. It had been a long day and a long night. Siddiq was finally resting with Coco not far from him. Rosita was feeling better and everything back home was finally getting back to normal. It was only the external force that threatened your family now.

"You need a strategy," Enid said and even with your back turned to her, you knew that she was giving you one of her "doctor looks".

"I have one," you argued.

"Is that why Lydia is out there by herself?" Enid asked. Looking over your shoulder, you narrowed your eyes.

"I didn't tell you that for you to judge me," you said. After reviewing the maps, Lydia noticed a few landmarks that you had circled in red. She was sure that she knew where she could start looking. According to Lydia if Negan was your family, he was hers as well. Lydia had left early that morning with the promise that she would be back within a day or so.

"I can't believe you let her out there alone," Enid said.

"She knows what she's doing," you argued.

"She's a child!"

"So were you when you fought against the Saviors," you reminded her.

"That was different," Enid said.

"No it wasn't," you said. "Lydia was raised in this world. She knows what needs to be done and so do I."

"You're losing yourself in this vendetta against Beta and this drive to find Negan."

“Weren’t you just telling me that it was okay that I was still doing that?” you asked her.

“I didn’t mean for you to go all slasher film on Dante,” she accused.

“I had to send a message,” you said, ducking under another Walker’s arms and shoving your blade into the back of its skull, sending it to the ground to join the others.

“To Alpha or to Negan?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” you snapped back.

“You still think he’s around, don’t you?” she asked. Pausing, you took a moment to collect yourself. When you had invited Enid out to join you, you hadn’t expected a full-blown interrogation. You figured that she would still be rather reserved from the trauma she had sustained, but clearly, she was doing better than you thought.

“Yes,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t believe that he’s completely gone.”

“What if…” Enid began. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” you said defiantly. “I can feel it. He’s not lost and I will find him.”

“Just prepare yourself, okay?” she offered, landing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You let the weight of her touch soothe you as you got your thoughts together. It hadn’t been that long since you had last seen him, but it had been long enough. Waking up in the middle of the night, you found yourself reaching for him next to you only to find the spot empty. That coldness that echoed in your blankets mimicked itself in your heart and it was only a matter of time before your entire body froze over.

You needed him home and you needed him now.

A chill ran up your spine just then, that feeling of being watched returning. Turning towards the tree line, you narrowed your eyes. You knew it was a risk to be this close to the border, but you were willing to risk it. However, if the Whisperers were watching you this closely, it wasn’t for regular observation.

“What’s wrong?” Enid asked, noticing the change in your behavior.

“We need to go,” you said, gripping your sword tighter. You began to move back towards the main road when your radio lit up.

“(Y/N), come in,” Carol’s voice crackled over the line.

“I’m here,” you responded.

“I need you back home,” she said simply and that was all you needed.

“On my way,” you said before hooking the radio back onto your belt. “Come on, I gotta get back,” you said to Enid who began to follow you to the point where you both would turn off to go home to your respective communities. Just as you were about to leave the clearing, you glanced back over at the tree line and you swore you saw someone watching you.

---------

Negan watched as you disappeared again and was frozen in that spot for a while before deciding to head back.

It was dark when he finally returned to the camp. If anyone asked, Negan would say he got lost. He didn’t want to be around people and he didn’t want to be around Beta especially. He needed a moment to clear his head, though that did turn into several hours.

Arriving back into the fold, Negan was glad to see that he wasn’t met with spears or blades. In fact, it seemed as if nobody noticed that he was actually gone. Negan figured that nobody would really care if he had left. Then again, as he approached the fire, he did happen to see one person who looked up as soon as he was in view. Alpha had returned from wherever she had been.

The woman looked incredibly determined and actually quite smug. It made Negan a bit nervous. Still, he sauntered over to her, leaning into his hips with that sly grin on his face. “Just the Alpha I was looking for,” he said.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk,” he said.

“About?”

“Well, I hear we're supposed to be keeping our eyes peeled for a spy lurkin' in the woods. I have an alternate theory to run by you,” Negan offered. Alpha gestured for him to sit down and he did.

“Go on,” she said.

“The spy you're looking for? Right here in your camp,” Negan said, enacting the next part of his plan. Divide and conquer.

“My people know the enemy have nothing to offer except lies,” Alpha said.

“Maybe they do. Maybe they don't. Believe it or not, I have been where you are right now. And if you don't want to end up where I am right now, I suggest you zig where I zagged,” said Negan. Alpha narrowed her eyes.

“You and I, very different,” Alpha said with a dismissive look, but Negan didn’t back down.

“I had people. I had a system. I thought they believed in it, just like you,” a flash of Simon’s traitorous face echoed in his mind and Negan pushed it down. “See, the thing is, you stay king or queen long enough, with people telling you all day, every day that your shit don't stink, eventually, you start to believe it. The thing is it still stinks.”

“Who?” Alpha asked, getting impatient.

“Well, based on my own personal experience, I'd say look closer to home. And, no, I am not talkin' about Frankenstein's Hemorrhoid. That big dude is clearly a goose stepper. But the little one?” Negan said, referencing Gamma. “You see, she is close enough to you that she knows exactly where that horde is. But she guards the border, which means she's close enough to the enemy that they could've gotten to her.”

Negan had overheard Gamma a day ago telling Alpha about a man with a metal arm. Negan wasn’t surprised to hear that Aaron was trying to be a hero. He was the type. However, this news did offer him an advantage. He didn’t think Alpha would care much about Aaron, which was good because his death was the last thing Negan wanted. He actually quite liked the man. Gamma, however, Negan didn’t care at all what happened to her.

Alpha didn’t like his tone all that much after his suggestion. “I will not have you sowing paranoia,” she said and then drew her knife, levelling it at his groin. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will take these,” she said, pressing the blade to his jeans.

“Fair enough,” Negan breathed as the blade bit into his inner thigh. When Alpha withdrew the blade, she returned to staring into the fire with a proud look on her face. While he didn’t plan on sowing any further paranoia, he had planted that small seed in her brain which was exactly what he wanted to do. After a moment longer, curiosity got the best of him.

“You look rather thrilled,” he said, breaking the silence. “Did I miss something while I was out taking my evening stroll?” he asked. Alpha looked back at him as she cleaned her nails with her knife.

“Our problem won’t be lasting much longer,” she said and a coldness fell over Negan. He had a sudden image of your head on a spike and it made him feel rather sick. Like always, he pushed it down.

“What did you do?” he asked in a teasing tone, leaning closer to her. Alpha looked at him and there was mischief in her eyes. It was the kind that made Gotham villains so special and the kind that Negan really didn’t like.

“Carol wanted the horde,” Alpha said slowly, “and so I gave it to her.” Negan didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it. He knew that Carol was out for blood when it came to Alpha and that she had been quite reckless with her vendetta. He remembered the day he went home and found out that she had taken a shot at the leader of the Whisperers. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had tried again. However, based on how elated Alpha looked at the moment, it seemed that Carol had lost this round.

Looking back at her, Alpha was watching him with a fire in her eyes that wasn’t solely mischief. If the circumstances were different and he wasn’t in love with you, he may have taken her up on the question that was so clearly written in her irises. Yet, he knew he wouldn’t. If there was any chance that he would get back to you, he didn’t need something that big weighing on him. You could forgive a lot, but him taking a tumble with the enemy would not be something you could turn the other cheek with.

Negan distracted himself then, looking around the camp at the masked soldiers. However, one in particular was still missing.

Where was Beta?

--------

In the dark of a cave, survivors struggled to find the light.

Then as night settled on Alexandria, a grave was no longer empty as a large shape, armed with knives, emerged into enemy territory.

TAGS: @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

#walkerwords #the walking dead #twd imagines #negan x reader #negan x gn reader #savior sessions #negan #oc #twd #whisperers #negan x you #negan imagines

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azucanela · 4 years

Text

DIVINE INTERVENTION [PT 3] OIKAWA TOORU

DIVINE INTERVENTION MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Everything is perfectly fine. Aside from the fact that Iwaizumi cannot know by any means at all. Ever. Oikawa isn’t looking to die.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS: unedited, arguing,

A/N: i know exactly where i want this story to go but i have no idea how im going to get there. anywho, enjoy some of this

RULE #1

The rules were simple. And if Y/N was honest, their establishment... made sense. In fact, it had been one of few things Oikawa had done that was actually intelligent— though this excluded volleyball; even if Y/N was annoyed by his antics at times and considered him a fool, his skill in the game was practically unparalleled. And for that, she respected him

Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

The whole purpose was to set boundaries for this little thing they agreed to do— because yes, Y/N had managed to convince Oikawa to go along with her plan. These boundaries would ensure nobody was uncomfortable with the arrangement and hopefully preserve Y/N and Oikawa’s friendship. They’d both seen this trope in an endless number of romantic comedies, and decided that they would be the exception, especially since they were just movies, right? Right.

If Y/N was honest though, she had no idea how she convinced Oikawa to agree to this. But, she’d managed it. However, their little agreement had come with... a few other issues that had to be handled, especially if things were to go as planned. Said plan being to fake the end of their equally fake relationship in one of the coming months and hope nobody ever found out about it. Unless Y/N decided that a little more... divine intervention was called for of course.

After all, that’s how they got into this mess. And she sincerely doubted the break up would keep away his psychotic fans. Y/N was fairly sure there would be a few home wreckers as well; people trying to ruin their (fake, something Y/N reminded herself of once more) relationship. And those who wouldn’t wait even a week before trying to make passes at Oikawa when they did break up.

So, maybe Y/N would search for ways to extend the fake dating, but only for Oikawa’s sake. Until they found... a more permanent solution.

Right.

Regardless, that wasn’t the only issue they had. This very plan of theirs is how they ended up avoiding Iwaizumi Hajime like the plague.

Seeing as he was both their best friends, there were a few problems here. The first being the simple fact that no matter how hard Oikawa tried— Iwaizumi Hajime had always been capable of reading him like an open book. It was funny, really. Someone so talented in manipulations meets someone who can see past all that, the only other person he’d encountered with such abilities happened to be the one he’d been handling this with. Y/N.

Her problem was similar. She and Iwaizumi had always been close, meaning he would know. If they slipped up just once, then it would be abundantly clear that they were in fact, not dating.

It had been one of few rules that they both had agreed on almost instantaneously. Though Y/N found herself curious as to why Oikawa had been so complacent with it, seeing as Iwaizumi was his best friend, she’d been fairly desperate in the moment to maintain her reputation. That and the fact that Iwaizumi likely would’ve bullied her rather relentlessly, and if he did know, he’d chew them both out for being stupid.

Oikawa’s reasoning was similar. Kind of. He had a decent idea of what awaited him if he told Iwaizumi. One thing being a fist to the face, the second was a long conversation that followed said violence.

Which is how their little fake dating operation became a hide-everything-from-Iwaizumi operation.

“What do we do?”

Y/N looked to him incredulously, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly as she struggled for words, “how am I supposed to know?” She exclaims, still seated in his driveway. Soon, Iwaizumi would walk past to find that Y/N had already arrived and then they’d have to start their walk to school.

This would be more difficult than anticipated.

“I don’t know Y/N, maybe because this is your fault!” Comes Oikawa’s response, hand threading through his hair. “You have the story down right?”

Y/N raises a brow at him, they’d discussed a few possible stories as to how they’d begun dating in secret. Most of the ones that Oikawa had pitched ended up rather... cliché. “You are not making me tell Iwaizumi that Hallmark bull—”

“Well you didn’t offer a better story, did you?” He snaps, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “

Y/N offers him a tight lipped smile, “because I happen to excel at improv.”

Okay, maybe the whole fake dating thing had caused a small rift between Y/N and Oikawa as well. Or just, the entire friend group. Seeing as the pair was at odds, and their mediator was out of the loop, things had become rather chaotic. Very, very fast.

“You are horrible a acting Y/N.” Comes Oikawa’s response, bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose as he exhaled deeply. “We’re screwed.”

Y/N scoffed, “with that attitude we definitely are.” Though Y/N almost frowns, Oikawa had become significantly... meaner ever since this had occurred. And though Y/N understood that she’d messed up, his behavior was just... off. In an attempt to shake her mind of these thoughts, she grabs Oikawa’s backpack from off the edge of the sidewalk, opening it to pull out a bag of chips he’d brought, “we just need something consistent and simple. Like, you’ve been in love with me since we met and confessed after a lot of contemplation.”

Now, Oikawa was well aware of his new attitude, though he hoped it could be written off as simple annoyance of the situation. He was just looking for a way to handle the simple fact that he was not prepared for this, at all. The thoughts in the back of his mind, the ones he’d buried—or more accurately, thought he’d buried— were resurfacing. And what better way to combat them then by starting a small rivalry until this was over.

“Yes, that makes perfect sense, thank you.”

Sadly, Y/N had already proved to be one who didn’t really handle such attitudes well. As seen with the girl that she’d punched in the face just a few days earlier. So naturally, any thoughts of avoiding confrontation, went out the window at the sound of Oikawa’s tone. “What is up with you Oikawa, you’ve–”

“Hey guys.”

Leave it to Iwaizumi to mess up a perfectly good confrontation. Though Y/N can’t help but feel simultaneously relieved by this fact, and stressed as Iwaizumi is here.

“Iwa-Chan! Iwaizumi! How are you, buddy!” Oikawa exclaimed, making his way over to his friend to pat him on the back.

It felt as though they’d have to be walking on eggshells. Something that had never really been evident in their friendship until now, seeing as they’d all been fairly open. Of course there were a few things, that Y/N couldn’t help but feel reminded of now, almost wincing at the painful reminder of middle school.

Their group hadn’t been doing so well then. And it had quickly become apparent to Y/N that she was out of the loop, and seeing as she’d been the new addition to the pair... it hadn’t been a nice feeling.

“Let’s go then?” Y/N asked, looking between the two boys with a tight lipped smile on her face as she rose from her spot on the sidewalk. Opening the bag of chips as she pulled her backpack over her shoulder.

Maybe it was wrong, but she also felt nice, knowing that for once— she was on the inside. Even though middle school was years ago, Y/N could tell there was something the pair still hadn’t told her. It’d been bugging her ever since they’d arrived at Aoba Johsai.

Alas, now wasn’t the time for that.

“We should probably discuss some things first.”

There it was.

Oikawa exhaled deeply, opening his mouth in preparation for whatever conversation they were about to have, attempting to decide which explanation was most plausible. But, Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“I’m happy for you guys.”

Y/N blanks for a moment before saying, “what?”

Iwaizumi looks to her incredulously as he responds, “what? Am I not supposed to be happy that you two have finally handled the clearly unresolved tension and that—”

“Alright that’s enough, Iwa-Chan.” Oikawa exclaims, laughing breathily as he brings a hand to cover his friends mouth, only for Iwaizumi to look at him dully before shoving him away.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi adjusts his backpack on his shoulders, “anyways. I just wish you guys had told me sooner but...” He shrugs, turning around to begin their walk down the street and to their school. “It is what it is, now let’s go.”

Y/N and Oikawa exchange looks, eyes wide as they do so. Both their mouthes gaping open as they scramble to follow Iwaizumi, who finally says, “just don’t let this change anything. And I guess you two can act—” He awkwardly gestures between the pair, “couple-y around me. Just don’t do anything pervy, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa brings a hand to his chest, feigning offense as he comes to stand beside Iwaizumi, “why would I do anything pervy? Honestly you would be shocked by my dear girlfriend’s actions—”

“I don’t want to know, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi exclaims, shoving his friend away.

Y/N can’t help the way her cheeks warm as Oikawa is launched her way by Iwaizumi’s attack, he stumbles slightly, ultimately walking between her and Iwaizumi before throwing an arm over her shoulders. Though Oikawa’s eyes meet hers momentarily when he does so, a silent question within them. All it takes is a nod and his arm is resting completely on her shoulders and he’s back to his conversation with Iwaizumi as Y/N contemplated all her life decisions.

Oikawa wouldn’t deny that it had gone better than anticipated but he already knows it’s coming when they arrive at the school and Iwaizumi is practically yanking him backwards as Y/N makes her way inside to speak with her other friends— who’d begun to swarm her almost immediately, questions leaving their mouthes rapidly as they searched for an explanation.

Y/N can’t help but feel overwhelmed as her actual friends; the ones that are both curious and concerned, seeing as Y/N swore she would never date Oikawa Tooru and fall for her best friend. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Oikawa— aside from the fact that he had numerous insecurities and emotions that he refused to discuss even when it was clear everything overwhelmed him—it made sense that so much of the school was practically in love with him when you thought about it.

He had manners, decent grades, was a star athlete, and even Y/N could admit he was attractive. But... he was one of her closest friends and the idea of dating him just seemed...

Wrong.

Aside from the shock from her real friends, there was the nosiness from the fake friends, the ones she’d never spoken to, the ones who had suddenly decided they were the best of friends and yet spoke trash about Y/N in their free time because she stole their precious Oikawa.

Yeah, the school was just a tad toxic. As if the grueling pressure of academics and intense obsession with Oikawa wasn’t enough of a red flag.

Sometimes, Y/N wishes she had gone to Shiratorizawa.

“I feel like you know what I’m going to say, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi mutters with a sigh, leaving Oikawa to panic as he meets his friend’s eyes. The grip on his shoulder unnecessarily tight. “I don’t necessarily know what’s going on with you two— just that it’s weird. But I swear if you hurt Y/N in any shape or form—”

“I would never do that Iwaizumi.” Comes his reply, almost instantly.

Iwaizumi pauses, eyes falling on Y/N who nervously laughs in the distance, her eyes pleading for his help before returning her attention to the group of people surrounding her. “I thought we got past this in middle school.”

“Me too, Iwa-Chan. Me too. But hey, lucky me.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, uncapping his water bottle, “yeah. Lucky you, I’ll forever wonder how you got her to date you.”

“Good question.” Oikawa’s eyes fall onto Y/N, and he turns to Iwaizumi, “now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go save my girlfriend from all of my psychotic fans.” Oikawa would never admit it, ever, but it had only been a week since Y/N pulled her little stunt and it had become evident that a relationship really was what Oikawa needed to get people off his back.

Things had definitely improved for him, and Oikawa could only wish that he could say the same for Y/N.

NOBODY CAN KNOW— NOT EVEN IWA-CHAN.

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