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valmare · 9 months

Note

For your 300 party I was wondering if I could request reader lovin on Ice. I've read a lot of Ice taking care or protecting reader, but at this point in my life I need some soft, clingy Tom. Maybe he's sore from an ejection, or he caught some sickness (or maybe he get tension headaches from clenching that gorgeous jaw of his.....)

Idk, you do you boo

Okay, so, this is a little angsty but I think it accomplishes the mission at hand. Somehow it ended up 14 Google Docs pages, but, I'm not complaining. Enjoy the Iceman, love.

Keep Me Alive

“God, it’s good to be home.”

If the little edge of impatience weren’t so evident in Slider’s tone, the way he shifts a little on his feet and cards fingers through his hair would be evidence enough. For the better part of an hour, they’d been standing on deck as the carrier slides home to quay, dwarfing any and all the bodies that have gathered to welcome some six-thousand men home.

For the first time Tom is conscious of, the beast beneath his feet isn’t moving, cutting through dark waters. Bobs on the surface of glassy waters, like God’s bath toy, but isn’t in motion. Knocks against the wharf every so often. A sure sign he is home.

Mentions of home have kicked anticipation down the length of his spine like a mule for nearly a week. He hadn’t slept soundly since they’d pointed the rig in the direction of the golden coast. There’d been no better way to spend time on this thing than counting the days he’d be docked, feet planted on solid ground. Even on his hops, he’d been half distracted thinking about home—his bed, his car, all the meals gone cold from being too busy holding you. Eight weeks on the water was enough–two of them in Medical had driven him just short of insanity.

Medical had taken a concussion and a jacked collarbone all-too seriously, but that was the Navy for you. Making a big deal out of injuries when in reality, it came with the gig. Maintenance issues happened, cropped up out of nowhere all the time—facts of life, all that. Traveling at mach speed, pulling Gs and breaking sound barriers tended to work a bird pretty hard. Loosened some screws. And he didn’t exactly take it easy on his rig, that wasn’t his job. He flew the damn things, went to work, ensured national security, and came home.

But, a hundred and fifty miles out is a helluva distance to bail and watch the ocean consume forty million tax dollars. Man doesn’t really know what insignificance feels like until he’s surrounded by churning waters and open sk.Dwarfed by the cruel joke that is the behemoth of the ocean. Reality had hit him as soon as he’d broken the surface, Ron a few hundred feet to his right—he wasn’t as indestructible as adrenaline would lead him to belief.

He’d almost bought it. Died. In a matter of seconds, everything he’d known about the world hadn’t mattered. He’d only thought of his little slice of home in San Diego, you waiting for him on the front porch. His car parked in the driveway—the life he could have with you. All the things he’d never said but wanted to have bludgeoned him like a sledgehammer. Seconds were all he had, but he lived an entire life in those heartbeats—or, rather, hadn’t lived.

Ice didn’t have any idea how actually freezing the Indian was. Well, more accurately, how freezing open ocean was. Survival training had been forever ago, the body easily discarded information that wasn’t necessary to immediate survival. His feet had hit the water first, its glacial bite cutting straight to his bones as the full weight of miles of endless depth had attempted to pull him under surface. He’d immediately started shaking, heart kicking against his ribs, brain somehow managing to tell his limbs what came next. Lungs immediately burning, Ice realized he was a complete pussy—not built for the cold, couldn’t hold his breath for shit. Realized how actually awful he was at swimming. Cursed the Navy for not enforcing mandatory swim training as he’d cut through the water, grappling for air.

The black veil of unconsciousness pushed inward from the perimeter of his vision. Hadn’t even been aware he was still wearing his helmet, it did nothing to cut the roar of a spinning ocean. Bile splashed in the back of his throat he’d taken one breath of air, panicked, and dropped back down. Might as well have weighed a thousand pounds. Seconds from kicking off his boots, his vest engaged to float him up, and a firm kick of his legs sent him popping back above the water.

Treading water became second nature. He hadn’t even registered the pain of his arm until the glass ceiling of reality had shattered—Ice went through the motions, almost like routine. Popped ink. Sucked frigid, biting air into his lungs. Watched his chute roll away on the water, tipped his head back to see the still-there trail of smoke he’d left behind. Remembering Slider, he was prepared to meet Kerner halfway. Angled to attempt a crawl. Instead, white-hot, shooting pain rocked him to his back, twisted his freezing facial muscles into a grimace. Arm rendered all but usable, it was already throbbing despite the freezing water trying to suck him in.

You passed through his mind on a continuous loop, unstoppable. Beautiful. Every few seconds he was smacked with the truth of his current state of affairs, that he could still die. Die without telling you again how much he loved you. How you were the sun, he but a revolving moon chasing after you. You put him back together, took him apart. Fixed the places the world dared to break. He allowed you to, because nobody touched him like you could—nobody saw him like you did. They saw the Iceman, the master of the skies, the man without mistakes. The saw who they wanted to see.

You saw him for who he was—imperfect. Broken. You saw the reflections he hides for the world. Demons he fights. And, you loved him. You still worshiped him, sought him. Ran into his embrace when he came home—because. Just because. His reward; witnessing parts of you that locked out the world, that rattled the cages of those who looked inside. Imperfections that only resurrected in the valleys, when the time was equal parts right and wrong. You didn’t ask him to fix you, to do it the right way. Expectations were a discussion, not a right.

Ice didn’t have to be the Iceman when you held him. You allowed him to be Tom, to pursue his own mistakes—to make them. And when he did, you helped him fix them. He could be just Tom. Like nobody else had allowed him to be. Since he’d been able to walk he’d run in the shadow of his family name. The Academy had created Iceman. Buried any form of the little boy who had raced across Hawaiian sands and drank in the ocean, who had become a man. And you? Well.

You saw the Iceman. You remembered the boy. You embraced both sides of him and understood they reflected off the other. Chose to see both sides of him when the world only would witness one.

And dying—God, dying apart from that feeling? Hell reincarnated.

Aware that you already knew all these things was poor man’s poison. He could tell you a hundred times he loved you, could hang it in the sky and write it in blood and everlasting starlight but he’d starve over it again and again. It could never echo loud enough. He was going to die sometime, probably in situations not unlike the one he’d been in. He would die like this, knowing that even telling you endlessly would never be enough. That was hell.

Small eternities had passed, tossed around in frigid whitecaps and swelling waves, before Slider had cut through the bleeding ink to him. Ron was fine, thank Christ for him. But he’d known nearly immediately that Ice was not. Shaking hands managed to tether them together, and a flyby exam had Kerner suspecting that he’d wracked up something in the top shelf. Together they’d just bobbed there. Waiting for SAR, maybe dying. It was anybody’s guess.

SAR had sent him straight to Medical, where he’d been in and out for two weeks nursing a concussion and a cracked collarbone. He’d lasted three days in a brace and had tossed it across quarters. Hadn’t worn it sense, but had been restricted to light duty. Grounded. His plane buried miles beneath the dark water. He’d almost anticipated them flying him off, but the O-6 had thought he’d be useful running comms and flight sims. Fuck Captains and the crazy stick up their asses. He could’ve been home, with you, sleeping in a bed more his than any of the ones he’d even been assigned—eating hot squares, watching you make his assignment a home.

It doesn’t matter, not in hindsight. He’s docked and home. Somewhere in the press of bodies at the wharf, you’re there waiting for him and will welcome him with open arms and that gorgeous smile that’s ravaged him from the first time he saw you, at that stupid volleyball game where he’d lost to Maverick. Fucking Maverick. His ego would probably never recover from that one.

Thank God for that loss, though. Maverick. If Mitchell hadn’t been trying to smile at you, pick you up, he’d never have barged over and smiled back. While there was a lot about Mitchell that pissed him off, his timing wasn't always terrible. And he had good fuckin’ taste in women—he’d wanted you. But miracles did exist — you hadn’t bought his cowboy attitude, abs and smile and all.

“It’ll take a lot more than a pretty smile and skin, cowboy,” you’d shrugged a shoulder, swung a leg over the bleacher you’d been parked on, and effortlessly your eyes had skated over to him from the other man. Maverick dared to comment that you were unreasonable. “Oh I’m not unreasonable. You’re just more trouble than you’re worth. Anyone ever tell you you’re dangerous, honey?”

Signed, sealed, delivered. He was sold. Shoving Slider’s proposition for another game off, he’d thrown on a shirt and eyeballed you as you’d cut back to your car—the ‘72 Chevy C/K with a four-barrel V8 and fat, gorgeous tires that still killed him. Powder blue with a strip of cream, it had all the right curves. Like you. All sure signs you were worth the effort of jogging over and making his case. You’d agreed to a drink, just one– he’d offered to pick you up. You’d laughed and he’d been boneless.

You did not take rides in cars with boys. Even if they wore wings and looked pretty in their U.S. Navy best. And his favorite thing about it? You had boundaries. Standards. Boundaries that preserved whatever sweet thing the two of you had. He’d never met a pretty little thing that hadn’t folded under the right smile. Whites always impressed the tits anywhere he’d ever gone—and while he’d caught you more than appreciating him, it wasn’t enough.

Never since his time even in the Academy had Ice imagined there being anything that could parallel the rush of cutting through the air. Racing by at mach speeds, the sting of adrenaline in the blood. For so long that had been it for him, nothing boots on the ground could compare. But then you’d come into his life, and everything and nothing started making sense. He’d kissed you and his heart had been avalanched wide open, in ways he hadn’t known existed. You’d asked him to stay. Tethered him like a kite to the earth, beckoning him back to somewhere that had meaning. Even if that somewhere had never before been home.

“Ice. Kazansky—you okay, chief?” His gaze snaps up, all too quickly. “Fucking hell, Ice—you’ve got it bad. Dick really that hard over her already?” He’s not serious, but the glint in the other man’s eye is enough to send Ice’s own eyes rolling. Exasperated, he shakes his head a little.

“Shut up, Slider,” he manages the growl as quietly as possible, while slipping aviators into place, “don’t act like I don’t know you haven’t been fucking yourself for eight weeks.” Ice can’t help but rally in his victory of heat rushing to the tips of Kerner’s ears, “You and I both know you’re in whatever pussy so much as bats an eye your direction.”

“That right?” Ron cuts a look over his shoulder, and Tom’s cheshire grin is unmissable, probably from space. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Kazansky?”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Slider,” he shoves at Kerner’s shoulder, sending the man forward, “I’ll wait.”

“Screw you, Ice.”

Commotion on deck signals the ramp’s letdown. Slider’s elbow knocks his, jostling him a bit as he bends for his gear, hauling it up to his shoulder. Ice manages his own, but forgoes his shoulder, favoring the injury that still aches as he falls in behind Ron. Kerner’s height towers above most and cuts a path through the gaggle of bodies lingering on deck, waiting for them disembark. It’s a perk of being an aviator.

Last to load, first to leave.

He can’t help but laugh at the man’s sour expression, but he’s beat and Slider knows it. It isn’t a serious offense, but the heat hasn’t dropped out of Slider’s ears yet, which sends a bolt of pride down to his face. It sounds off in a sure smile.

Slider might hate it, but he knows his RIO pretty well. Cold beer, some laughs and a good fuck constitute a successful date is really all it takes to impress his backseater. And Ice can’t really fault him for it. To each their own. Slider hasn’t met the perfect girl yet—he doesn’t get it. He may never. But that isn’t exactly Ice’s problem.

He knows he’s right, though, as the ramp drops to the quay, rattling the chains between scuppers. It’s all the release the atmosphere on deck needs—nearly instantly, the weight of six thousand men press around the small crop of aviators stepping off, all bristled with the anticipation of finding family and going home. But they don’t get to leave, not for a few days. Families waiting at the base of the ramp are for aviators, him. It’s a powerful, alarming feeling. He can’t imagine the torture of being so close but so far away.

But he doesn’t care—immediately he begins looking for you, eyes scanning over a few dozen nameless faces in between heartbeats. He can’t see over Slider’s goliath height as they meld into the press of nearly-silent people, and for a second, Ice wonders if anyone can feel his heart throbbing like a jackhammer against his ribs, or if that’s a privilege reserved just for him and blood in his ears.

Someone clips his injured arm and he grimaces, releasing a low huff at the bolt of pain that zings to his fingertips and down his spinal column. It bleeds into the familiar, dull ache again as Slider continues cutting between bodies. Guiding him to the perimeter of the crowd, neither of them spotting you. For a second fear sinks deep fangs into the back of his head—you could’ve forgotten he’s home today. There could’ve been an accident, you could be a thousand miles from here.

But you aren’t in the press of bodies waiting at the dock. Mingling with the other families and making small talk, reeling in the nervous energy of waiting wasn’t all that appealing for so early in the morning as you’d parked your pickup in the lot, well beyond the dock. You’d gotten here earlier than the other families—you always did. Watching the carrier rumble into port without the white noise of milling families was its own kind of magic. Especially in a quiet cab with hot coffee, a journal, and Sunday’s notes skittered across the dash.

It’s the worst possible Saturday your boyfriend could dock, when you’re preaching Sunday. Scheduled to stand before nothing short of a couple hundred people at your family’s church, you’d been nervous about this for weeks. When you’d been approached for the opportunity, almost immediately you’d remembered the date circled on your calendar. The papers Tom had talked to you about nearly eight weeks ago—he was due home. Today. Hours before you were giving your first sermon as a graduating minister, the sermon that would lock in your credentials and guarantee you a diploma. Trembling from excitement and nerves, you’d accepted the opportunity and scheduled a date to meet with the church’s board of elders.

And between cleaning the house, sermon preparations, your thesis, and missing Tom you’d been scrambling well into the early hours of dark morning. Hadn’t collapsed into bed until well after two in the morning, you’d gotten up at six to be out the door. The dock wasn’t far from assignment housing, but family’s have had vehicles parked here for a few days. Not wanting to grapple for parking, you’d just decided to camp here, when the carrier had been little more than a speck on the gray horizon.

Sipping at your coffee, your eyes dart up from the material you’ve been pouring over for the better part of a week. Paul and the church of Corinth, the subject of your thesis. You can’t wait to preach it. It sends zips of nervous energy to your fingertips, thinking about it, but it blows away like a late summer breeze when you spot Slider’s height through the crop of people. Your heart slams to an all-stop as he cuts out of the crowd, a head of blonde hair not a breath behind him.

Your smile broadens when you see him casing for you. Fingers effortlessly pop the latch of your door and you slip out onto the step bar, balanced against the door. Slipping fingers in your mouth you release a sharp whistle, then reach down to punch the horn a couple of times. You break out in giggles and see the minute he spots you, waving at them with a bright, goofy smile. Even from here, his pearly smile is captivating and unmissable.

Immediately they both start making their way from the dock and you drop back into the cab, hurriedly closing your materials and tucking them up on the dash against the windshield. Flipping the visor, you check what little makeup time had allotted for you to apply, and with a shrug you smack it closed. Acceptable, your fingers brush the keys in the ignition when you pop out of the truck, batting the door closed behind you.

Darting around the pickup, you step from the concrete to the steps sloping from the lot, heart rate nearly at odds with your quick feet. Taking them nearly two at a time, you forgo the last step with a little hop. And when he’s close enough, his bag drops to the ground and his arms open. Scooping you up, you don’t miss Ice’s grunt of pain upon impact. He slides his glasses into his hair, doesn't make a big deal of his injury. You don’t either, and within seconds his hands are cradling your face for a hard, desperate kiss.

You’re happy to stay here and drink him in, to never stop and let the world bleed away, until Slider makes a gagging sound over Ice’s shoulder.

“God, this is embarrassing—alright, okay, we get it, you’re made for each other. Now if you’re done eating each other’s face, let’s get the hell out of here.” He sounds irritated but you know better—Slider’s a jealous creature, but it's all in good fun.

You snort out a laugh against Ice’s mouth and break back with a wet pop to look over at Slider. A crooked smile twists up his mouth as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Offering him a lazy smile, you rest your head against Ice’s chest as his arms snug up a little tighter around you, which wrinkles your nose affectionately.

“Hey, Kerner.” He’s smiling at you when you slip out from Ice’s arms to wrap the RIO in a welcoming embrace. He bear-hugs you, thick arms arm as he exaggerates his hug with a little growl, nose tucking into your neck for a breath of your perfume. “Good to see you, Sli.”

“Hey yourself, pretty,” he claps a hand on your shoulder and you lift on toes to kiss his cheek hello, which sends a sparkling smile to his lips. “Got enough room in daddy’s pickup for the three of us?” He knows you do, but makes a show of flexing his chest to emphasize his size. The running joke, always. You can’t help the smile and little roll of your eyes, shoving him back at the shoulder.

“Of course I do, if you ride in the back, Ron.” you step back, Ice’s arm lifting over and he laughs. Full and loud, rich and genuine it prompts a smile from you as he slips his aviators back into place, your arms sliding home around his middle as Slider rolls his eyes and makes for the stairs, looking miffed.

Slider tosses his and Ice’s bag in the bag of the pickup, and as he does so, Ice crowds you against the driver’s door, arm draped through the open window. His hand moves to play with one of your curls, the lazy smile on his face coquettish as his eyes scan over your face, drinking you in. Your bottom lip rolls in under your teeth and you sink back against the door a little beneath his gaze. Swirl of butterflies in your stomach, the muscle of his jaw ticks with a repressed smile.

“Hey you,” his finger slips your curl behind your ear, then slowly falls down the cut of your jaw to hook your chin in place. You manage back the most pathetic return “Hey,” that’s more of a squeak than anything that could be considered a greeting. You jump when two sharp bangs erupt from the box, Slider’s fist knocking against the side of your pickup with deliberate force.

Brows lifted, the look says everything as he gestures to the truck. “We leavin’ or what?”

Ice’s look is stone cold. “Ron. Shut up.”

Your brows lift as you turn back to Tom, shifting on your feet a little as your eyes sweep down his frame, which is slung forward to pin you against the door. Pleasurable color rises to your cheeks as you feel Ron open the passenger door. “You two always this married?” And you don’t miss the amusement on Tom’s face as you smile at him, eyes purposefully lidded. His lips part to respond but you reach behind your back, pop the door, and nudge it open. “You drive, I’ll ride middle seat.” And you slip through door along the bench seat, in next to Slider.

It’s a tight fit, but comfortable enough when Ron lifts his arm along the back seat, allowing you to rest against him as Ice flicks the keys forward, the 350 rumbling to life with a smooth growl that sends appreciation through your blood. Ice has always looked delicious driving your pickup, but eight weeks of not seeing him hits differently in the pit of your gut. Your tongue skates along your low lip as you devour him navigating the parking lot, the cut of his arm in short-sleeved khaki.

The jaunt to your little rental isn’t long, but Slider’s complaining of the cramped quarters anyway when Ice pulls the pickup against the curb, making room in the driveway. Kerner wastes no time getting out of the cab, retrieving his gear beside Ice as you scoop up your reading material in the crook of your arm. Ice passes you your keys and you hurry up to the door to unlock it, slip inside, and dip into the attached garage to slap at the door controls.

Dropping your stuff in the kitchen, you sling your keys into the tray they’re always parked in. You straighten your college sweatshirt a little, push the sleeves up to your elbows. Nervous habit— you’re more than a little anxious to have that eyesore of a Trans Am out of your garage. It’s been sentinaled beside Ice’s Chevelle since he’d parked it there, in your spot. More than once you’ve thought about rolling it out to the curb so your baby can rest in its rightful spot, but you aren’t that soulless. Even if it’s the ugliest damn thing you’ve ever seen.

Telling yourself you’re genuinely glad to see Ron and that you don’t actually want to chase him out, you can’t ignore Ice’s taste still on your tongue, the need you have to be alone with him.

Bouncing down the two steps into the garage, you pass between the Chevelle and Pontiac, finger deliberately tracing the sharp body lines of the Chevy at a slow, swaying pace that’s enough to notice Ice’s attention side-eye over to you. Leaning against the side of the garage, he’s been discussing something or another with Kerner in one-word answers. The back of your mouth thickens with dry—his sun-kissed arm flexes the material of the khakis as he crosses his arms, his fingers all but magnetic as they slide over his skin.

Electricity at the mere sight him cuts down your spine and you jump a little, moving to dip low through the open window of the Trans Am. Your fingers find the keys along the column. A peek over the steering column and you catch Ice watching you, reveling in the sight of you slung into Ron’s car. His expression isn’t readable as your lips twist into a grin, and you deliberately linger to draw his attention. And you can’t miss how he rubs his hand along his jaw, attempting to stifle the absolutely filthy look glinting in his eyes.

Slipping back through the window, you pop tall and spin Slider’s keys on your finger. “Kerner,” he stops mid-sentence to glance at you, hands still mid-gesture. His expression changes from one of passive indifference to sexual appreciation as your hip falls against the door of the Pontiac with deliberate flirtation. Underhanding his keys to him, you crook a smile. “Get this sorry piece of crap out of my garage before I roll it into the middle of the frickin’ street.”

Ice’s cough is more a laugh as he sets his jaw, impressed with the look that muddles Kerner’s face. The RIO’s brow drops into a frown as he snags the keys from the air in his hands, looking from them back to you. You’re giggling at him, brightening the smile on your face to indicate that you’re only teasing, but not really. And then Ice looks at you, his wolfish gaze dragging over you slowly. Lingers where your hands knead through the front of your sweatshirt, the cut of your hip that’s more than a little cocked. You offer him a greedy look of your own. Exaggerate licking your lips. And it says everything.

He looks good. You look as good as you imagine you can, in jeans and a college sweatshirt and what little makeup you normally wear. But you know it doesn’t matter what you wear, not really. Eight weeks nearly lifetime-guarantees interest, even if you’d been wearing a nunnery. Locked in a wordless conversation, Ice’s brow raises a little and his head cants to the side. You look away, purposefully.

Cat and mouse, forever and always. All the little games that you love, come ashore to play. Heat simmers at the base of your spine, and you absently spin the ring on your finger, rocking up on your toes as your eyes fall back to the Chevelle, which you love. You love this damn car. Probably more than you should.

Passing the keys between his hands, Slider rolls his eyes and audibly groans. Moving to haul his gear to his shoulder, he points first at Ice and then at you, finger cutting between the pair of you as he moves to the Trans Am, you crowding back against the Chevelle to let him by.

“You both behave yourselves,” he chucks his bag through the window to the passenger seat. Popping the door a little, he turns to thrust an accusatory finger in your face, “Don’t do anything I would do, Reverend.” Trying to sound serious, his lips curl up into a barely-contained smile that makes you giggle.

“Ew. No,” you try to look serious. It cracks beneath a hint of a smile.

He points to the side of his mouth, indicating a kiss as he slips sunglasses into place from the pocket of his uniform. Rolling your eyes, you press a soft kiss to the spot, Slider beaming proudly at the accomplishment. He looks to Ice and wags his brows, and Tom rolls his eyes. “See ya later, pretty.” He makes a show of grabbing you aggressively, like he wants more than just a friendly kiss. He doesn’t, but it pushes Tom from his leaning position against the garage all the same.

“Get lost, Slider,” Ice moves in beside you, and you shove at Ron’s shoulder. Impressed with himself, Ron’s grin widens and he kisses your forehead, lowering the shades on his nose enough to wink at you before he claps a hand on Ice’s uninjured shoulder, nodding at him.

“Alright. I’m outta here.” The RIO drops into the Trans Am, fires it up, and tears out of the driveway. You watch him from the vacated spot until the eyesore of a Pontiac is down the block and out of sight, the exaggerated muffler making your eyes roll to the ceiling of the garage as Slider purposefully feeds the thing fuel.

You don’t even have time to think before Ice grabs your arm and pulls you over to him, crowding you up against the back of the Chevelle. The steel is warm beneath your hands from California heat as Ice captures you in another hard kiss, licking into your mouth with a filthy moan that nearly cripples you where you stand. Suddenly unaware of anything but his sun-chapped mouth on yours, you melt into his touch when his hands find your thighs, nudging you back farther against his car.

In one fluid movement he takes your chin and angles it up a little, bracketing you against the car until he urges you to actually sit. You comply, more consumed with pushing and pulling at his lips when his hands move to push your legs apart, allowing him to step into place between them. His fingers are thick and burning even beneath the denim of your jeans, and your fingers curl into the line of buttons on his uniform to beg him closer.

Hands sliding to your hips, he moves to press a thick kiss to the pulse in your neck, your head canting to allow him. The sensation sends a bolt of heat down your spine and to the low of your gut, and your bare toes curl nearly to breaking. Heels dig into the warm chrome of the bumper, sheens of perspiration catching over your skin as Ice’s tongue lathes into the salty taste of your skin. It pulls a filthy mewl from you. Your arm slings around his neck, pulling him in and closer—you miss the bulk of whatever has him wrapped into place. The grunt he hisses into your skin jumps through your chest, making you gasp.

His shoulder. You angle back and away, a hand to his drawing him back to you. Beautiful color dusts over his nose. His eyes simmer with lustful light. And despite his best effort, you can see the lingering pain in his expression, the exhaustion in the shadow around his eyes. He looks tired—looks like a man recovering from crashing a taxpayer jet in the middle of the Indian. But there’s something else, something in his expression that you can’t quite put a finger on—something you’ve never seen before.

Swallowing a shallow breath, your fingers gently skip over his collarbone, your hands moving to undo the first few of his buttons. Pushing aside the collar of his shirt and tugging at the undershirt, sure enough—gauze is wrapped beneath his arm, around his barrel in a light brace.

“Ice,” you breathe a little when his fingers brush at the hair sticking to the sweat on your face, “are you really still this sore? How bad is this?" He’s too busy looking at your mouth to catch the worry mottling your eyes, and you’re thankful for that as your heart picks up within your breast, “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“Because it isn’t,” he bites a bit sharply, tongue parting the seam of his lips a little in a greedy, hungry way, “The concussion from the impact was worse than the collarbone. Kept me in Medical for a few days, but really—I’m fine,”

“A concussion? Ice! Are you telling me you’re concussed? You drove us here!”

The look on your face prompts his shrug and the slight eye roll, but you snag his chin and pull his gaze back to yours. Wrinkled, you attempt your most concerned expression, though all you can feel is the fire of his touch flaming through you like a wildfire. “Kazansky—you have to tell me these things.”

He rolls his eyes, heaving a nearly bored sigh. “I tell you the important things.” It’s all he offers.

But his voice is more assured than his expression, and that little something creeps into the light of his eyes. It robs the mirth, muddies the waters of endless gray depth that usually have you tethered to somewhere far away, that doesn’t resemble the world. And then the muscle in his jaw ticks, in a way that isn’t his normal. The beast bucks the chain, and slips into his expression for all of a few seconds.

The crash. It’s still there—fear. Cold, detached fear. It still has him out in that ocean, somewhere, a thousand miles from you. You’ve never seen Ice off his game, never seen him this vulnerable. Watching his tongue fill the pocket of his cheek as his eyes drop from yours, you’ll never forget the bristle of discomfort the moment brings him. Something akin to shame hangs in his posture, skirts in and out of the shaky breath he releases. Tom has always been a barely-held-together pillar of strength, broken in all the ways men who crave control are. But he’d never been afraid.

“Tom,” your hand moves to cup his cheek, and he leans into the contact, and his eyes close. His exhale is much more confident, but he can’t shake the tremble. Not yet. His cold sweat skims into your palm, he’s never this clammy. “Ice. It’s okay—”

“Don’t.”

Nearly instantly Ice’s hands drop from your hips, his expression hard like a child that has been reprimanded. He attempts to take a step back from you, but you beat him to it—leaning forward, you snag the first few open buttons in your fist, tugging him back against your chest with an exaggerated pout about your face. Fist curling around the material, your brows avalanche into a hard line. He plants his feet, head kicked back a little to stare at you, expressionless. More like a man standing in the face of a drill sergeant than a lover. Passive, tolerant. As cold as ice.

Compassion rattles your chest for a minute before the muscle in your jaw ticks, burning with effort to keep your expression checked. “Cut the shit, Ice. You crashing into the ocean is important. Talk to me.” His eyes snap up to you at your use of language, which is very rare, as a minister’s daughter and student of the church. He holds you there, seated on the back of his Chevelle, with the weight of the world. “Ice. Please. Tell me wha—”

“I thought about you,” he takes your face between his hands softly, thumbs gently skipping over your cheeks as he drinks you in, studying with deep, attentive eyes. Your hands move to slowly slip along his forearms, welcoming the contact, and you gently wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him a little closer. “The entire engagement, all I could think about was getting back—coming home, seeing you, and—” In a very rare show of inarticulance he tumbles, gaze dropping as he attempts to rally. Stumbling about unintelligible attempts for a few moments, his eyes close and his head drops.

The moment of weakness won’t last, he won’t let it. And you don’t want him to. Ice has allowed you to see him so unfurled only a few times in your relationship. Carding your fingers through his hair, his hands move to hold you by the shoulders, firmly. Like he doesn’t want to let go. You're about to slip off the car when his hands firm up on your shoulder, softly jerking you to a halt.

“No, please. Stay.”

He pulls you forward for his head to rest against your chest, you feel him inhale the scent of you deeply. Gently sliding your nails along his scalp, you hum a little, exhaling a toe-curling breath. Tears gloss over your vision but you dismiss them. Relish instead in how he nuzzles into the rhythm of your heart, the warmth of your sweater. You can see him drifting, still at sea. Fighting to come back.

The Iceman. While it fits him to a T, it is such a foreign concept. Vulnerable, melting within your very grasp–everything an Iceman isn’t. It’s a power unlike anything you’ve ever known. And there’s nothing more beautiful. Like the slow bleed of the sun to the earth, giving way to night. Holy, magical. Breathless. This is how it is meant to be, between man and woman. Eve taken from Adam, not to be apart from him, but to complete him.

And you will complete him. God will you complete him.

“I love you, Tom Kazansky,” if he’s forgotten who he is, it’s your job to remind him. And it will be, as long as he allows you the privilege. The idea of him thinking about you during engagement sends a thrill through you, and you take one of his hands to draw his palm to your lips, softly. “I love you.” You say it again and again, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

When he lifts his head, a Tom Kazansky you don’t remember stares back at you. His eyes are red and rimmed in shadows. He isn’t guarded in the way you’d expected him to be, but instead, Ice looks as if he’s taken a great breath of fresh air, buoyed. Drunk on your words. For a fraction of a second you see the glint of moisture in his eyes, but it passes when his hand wraps around the back of your neck and forces you into a soft, barely-there kiss.

He sighs against your mouth, tipping his forehead against yours. “I love you.” It’s a statement, not a phrase. Nothing follows, nothing proceeds. Vibrations of it rip through you like a shockwave, his lips brushing over yours lightly as he bips at your bottom lip, wanting. “You keep me alive, fuck you keep me breathing.”

Arms laced behind his neck, your fingers slide through his hairline. He’s hot. Burning up, really, and sharing his head beads sweat across your forehead, in the ravine of your spine. Swallowing each of his breaths, you lazily kiss the corner of his mouth, until he turns to slant his lips over yours, hand roughing against the back of your neck. The other pulls at the front logo of your sweater, and your little sigh against his mouth pulls him back with a thick, wet pop.

Offering him a small smile, your fingers skip over his injured shoulder and up his neck, to cradle his jaw. “You should crash for a few hours, I have to prepare. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” That makes him splutter out a tired chuckle, nodding as you slip off the car and take his hand to guide him through the garage, into the house. “Wanna stay for dinner, or are they wanting you back?”

He stops you on the stairs, fingers lacing through your belt hoops to draw you back against his chest. Kissing your neck, his arms slide home around your middle as he takes a breath of your hair, a low moan rolling around the depth of his chest that sounds like “Nowhere to be,” but just makes you chuckle. The words rumble against your spine, before you step forward out of his arms and into the cool house.

Without further prompting the Iceman slips back into the rhythm of your home, as if he never even left.

Taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @sakar-rad

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sleepdeprivedqueer · 2 years

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Dancing In The Rain

Chapter 4

Werewolf!Ace x GN!Reader

"I had a feeling that this was a bad idea."

You whined loudly as Shanks laughed his ass off as he followed you to your car. Pyro prancing as if what he did was good, it was almost like he was smirking.

Pyro couldn't stay home alone for the first time in your house without any training. But you also knew that it was going to be easy and that he would probably try to attack the other dogs. So, you had put a muzzle on him before going in, and you were kinda glad for doing it. The first step in the building and there was no problem with him, he just started to sniff around. Nothing to bad, he was weary around other people, but when he saw a dog, it was a mixed response.

As many people that saw your dog. Pyro was a larger dog, sharp eyes, pointy ears, long curly like fur, perfect stance and walk. Not only that, but half wolf and German Shepherd, a rare red able mixed breed. Would be the perfect K9 dog and would be a wonderful guard dog. So, that being that, everyone would expect him to be growling and snarling at the other dog. But instead, he started to wag his tail, it was actually the other dog who lunged at him. Snarling and barking like a savage animal, ready to rip Pyro apart.

The rest of the dogs were like that too, it got to the point where Pyro had to start growling and tried to defend himself. Even while in an empty and unused ken all the dogs were on edge, it was hard to train them. So after finishing all your shifts, you got him out as quickly as possible.

Which is where you were at the moment, the muzzle on him was broken off when he got jumped.

"Man oh man, that poor animal. Seems like you're gonna have to stay home next time," Shanks baby talked to Pyro, making a kissy face. The red sable dog just whined as you opened your car back door.

"C'mon, get in," you in couraged Pyro, patting the seat.

Pyro didn't budge

"Here, let me help," Shanks said, easily picking him up. The dog yelped loudly as Shanks waddled closer to your car, pushing him in.

You couldn't help but laugh at Pyro's wide eyes and his face expression. His over dramatic side making him how and whine, making both of you laugh.

"Thank you Shanks, I'll see you in two days," you said, walking over to the driver's seat and getting in. Shanks saved you a goodbye as the car started and took off.

The car humming softly as you pulled out of the parking lot, turning the air conditioner on, facing the fans back to Pyro. His pants were loud as he walked back and forth, trying to get comfortable. Stopping at a stop light, Pyro quickly laid down in a comfortable position. Pulling a soft snort from you as you looked in your mirror to check on him.

It was a very nice afternoon, mang people were outside doing things. Thinking about it, this could be a nice time to maybe try to train him and get him to trust you. At the next stop light you took a left turn towards a large park. It had a very nice and long trail that you could take him on.

But, your heart dropped when you got into the road that made the trip shorter. Leaning fully back against the seat and letting out a deep sigh, trying not to think about it. About him. It was done and over with, there was no need to still be sad over it. Speeding up the little when his house came into view, gripping the steering wheel, your knuckles turned white.

Pyro's nails scraped against the car door, drawing your attention from your thoughts. Looking in the mirror you could see him looking out the window, watching all the people that you passed. A soft smiled tugged your lips, your eyes traveled down to his injured leg that was healed, it looked healed.

Making another turn to the happily looking empty-ish parking lot, pulling up and parking the car. Pyro's head peaked over your seat, looking out in the front, looking at the large park.

"Yeah I know, this isn't home, but it's a park. It's nice out so why not go for a walk?" You told him, scratching under his chin, "I just need to get some poop bags just in case. Be right back boy."

You let all the windows down some to make sure he doesn't over heat. Getting out of the car and walking over to the pole with the bags, grabbing a good amount of bags. You don't know how many you would truly need, all dogs shit differently.

Turning around, you bumped into someone.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," you said, looking them over to make sure they were alright before continuing to walk to your car.

The person you bumped into let out a large huff and stomped off, probably calling you a bitch. But it was just an accident, there was no need to get all pissy about an accident. Running your fingers through your hair to try and loosen it up, feeling a bit of sweat already forming. Hand was out to grab the door handle to your car, only for a familiar hand to stop you.

A large hand with tattoos on them, the word DEATH on his fingers, each letter had a finger. A light tan on him, along with that scent. It was your ex.

Trafalgar D. Water Law.

"Funny seeing you here," he said standing now completely in front of you.

His stupid ass smirk that he always had on his face greeted you, his same facial hair and goatee. A black dress shirt with the first couple of buttons undone, showing his proud heart tattooed chest. Same stupid spotted hat with the same black messy hair.

Huffing as you tried to walk around him, only for Law to step in front of you. So, you tried to walk around him the other way, he did the same thing.

"You know, it's rude to ignore people," he said in his smug smirking voice.

"I apologize, I'm in a hurry," you huffed, trying to walk around him again, but he stepped in front of you again.

"In a hurry for what? Did your work place use all their shit bags and sent you to get more?" He teased, cold gray eyes piercing your soul.

It was starting to make you irritated and at the same time depressed, you didn't want to speak with him.

"Listen, Law. It's over and done with, I just came here to get some time to myself. Not to come here and see somebody that lied about who they were. It's done and over with, now if you excuse me-"

Law stomped his foot, now very close to you, towering over you.

"Listen here, you have no right to talk like that to me! I don't know why your being so bitchy, are you with someone else!? Is he in the car?" Law growled.

He quickly turned to your car and opening the driver's seat door, your heart dropped when it was wide opened. Nothing came out, Pyro didn't come out.

"Hey, get away from my car Law! It's none of your fucking business!" You hissed, but when you grabbed him to try and pull him away. He forcefully grabbed your wrist, his knuckles turning white.

It all happened very fast, a loud snarling bark came from the car as Law was pushed to the ground. Pulling you along with him, but once his grip loosened you quickly pulled your wrist away. Stepping away from your ex that was now on the ground.

Pyro stood in front of Law, barking wildly, lips pulled back to show his teeth, some drool dropped down his mouth.

Law supported himself on his elbows as he gave his icy glare at the red sable dog. Quickly getting up to try and get away from him, but Pyro kept lunging at him. Law held his hat I'm his hand as he kept on moving backwards, hand out towards the angry dog. But it did nothing, Pyro's ears were flat against his head, he seemed fluffier and bigger.

Never, EVER, in your life have you seen any dog like this, it kind of scared you. Pyro's tail was raised, his fur fluffed up, in fact all of his hair was fluffed up, ears flat against his head, loud snarls and barks left him. The more Law moved back, the more Pyro's stance turned into a pounce stance. Despite how scared and hurt you were, Pyro couldn't attack Law.

Grabbing him by the collar that your work gave him and started to drag away. You felt tears start to form in your eyes as you pulled him away.

Throwing your bedroom door open the then slamming it shut, sliding down it into a sitting position. Huffing your knees to your chest, tears blinded your vision, it's been a full year since the both of you broke up.

Your guys's relationship was happy and full of love, despite the fact that he was busy, he would always find time for you. The relationship starting from junior year in highschool, nothing was wrong until he started to get 'busier'. It was always an excuse of him saying that there were more patients in the hospital and that there were more emergencies. But it was all a lie.

All.

Fucking.

Lie.

Law was cheating on you, you only found out because his girlfriend hunted you down and tried to kill you. In fact, she almost burned your house down, stalked you, threatened you, tried to kidnap and sell you. Law always said that she was a friend, but when she started to dot hide things, doubt started to form. He did nothing to protect you, only said that you were probably just imagining things and tried to say that you're were sick. That you were very sick.

But he was just lying, they had sex on almost every surface of your old home. Many of your clothes and underwear were ripped and ruined. So, you ended it, and regret it. He got very pissed at you.

Law tried to make you stay with him, his eyes were filled with anger. You remembered it very clearly, the way his eyes darkened, the way he stood up, the way he walked to you.

The way he charged at you.

A loud sob left you as you curled up, you did nothing wrong to him, and yet, he still tried to keep you with him. It scared you, it really did.

'Pyro' snuck around the house, sniffing anything and everything. Mostly the windows and the doors to see if he could smell him. The scent was already in the house, faint, but it was there. He didn't bother the food that you had taken out of your fridge and dropped on the floor next to his water. All he cared about, is if that bastard followed you.

Despite the fact that he wanted to show dominance over you, to show that he was stronger, he wasn't about ready to get that creature have you. Your sobs reached his ears, they sounded so painful and were filled with sorrow. 'Pyro' wanted to do nothing but be in there himself just to make sure that bastard wouldn't touch you.

After going through the house a couple more times, he ended up at your door. Sitting down and pawing at it a couple of times, your sobs could still be heard. Huffing he passed at it again, no response. So he started to scratch with his nails, barking a little bit this time. He succeed when the door opened slightly, nudging the crack open with some force. Actually, he basically threw it open. But he got in.

Staring at your sorrowful state, watching as you wiped the tears away as if trying to act tough. Although, his attention was dragged away when the scent of that bastard filled his lungs. Whipping his head towards your dresser, he started to softly growl.

He didn't know why he was feeling like this, he's only known you for two days, but he wanted to protect you. No, not protect you, he owed you. You saved him, so he needed to save you, 'Pyro' was in debt.

Despite his growing anger and desire to ran at your dresser and test it to shreds, he just slowly walked over to you. Still whipping your tears away trying to act tough, trying to act like that big strong person.

Your glossy red eyes stared into his dark brown ones, your small sniffled making your nose scrunch up. He sat down, in front of you, waiting for you to act first. You were cold, he could feel it, you needed something warm, putting one of his paws on your right knee.

"Heh, what is it boy?" You asked, slowly reaching your hand out to him. He didn't care for your scent, he had a debt to repay. Letting out a mix between bark and whine at you, forcing his head between your legs and body. The more he forced, the more he was basically laying in your lap.

You couldn't help but laugh at him, his ears twitching as he stared at you. He couldn't understand it, he couldn't understand how someone as innocent looking as you could date such a creature. A creature like Law, 'Pyro' wasn't any different other than the type of creature he was. At least you fed him and tried didn't give up on him for his wild behavior unlike other people.

As long as you didn't find out, there's going to be no problems.

Chapter 1

#portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace x y/n #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace #ace one piece #one piece #op x reader

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ohmyejun · 2 years

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 | H.HJ

✩... student!hyeongjun x gn!reader ft. jiseok

✩... 1.6k

✩... fluff, angst, crack

✩... traumatic events (car crash), suicidal thoughts + attempt (not really), mentions of drunk driving, cursing

✩... ideas have just been flowing lately and this one is brought to you by.... training wheels by melanie martinez. i started listening to it the other day and was like "yeah... this is the one." don't be fooled by the banner, this isn't the cutest fic... 😋

✩... You travel back in time to meet the love of your life, Han Hyeongjun, because he has passed away in present time. Though, things take a turn for the worse when you realize you're stuck there, no way to get back to the present. Or, the future in your case. Atleast you're with him.

⎯⎯ ୨ "No training wheels left for you..." ୧ ⎯⎯

You sat in your bed with heavy, tear drenched eyes and broken nose + cheekbone. Your eyebags were dark enough to pass as black holes and you could barely lift your body. If you got up, you'd probably throw up. Why were you such a mess? Just a couple of days before, you'd witnessed your boyfriend being mercilessly hit by a car, falling to the ground as his breathing stopped almost instantly. Not only did he get hit by a car, but it wasn't just a stranger driving the car. It was your sister.

You were in the passenger seat. You both had just left a party, and your sister had been drinking a bit though she swore she didn't. Wanting to go home, you ended up in the car with her. It was going smoothly at first, until your sister decided she wanted to start speeding like it was an empty road even though you told her to stop. You watched it happen. That night was the worse night of your life. You lost two of the most important people and as of right now, you had no reason to live, which was what motivated you to get up.

You held back your sickness, putting on a jacket and walking out the door. You walked slowly in the parking lot of your apartment complex, making your way to the main road. As you were about to step into the center of it, you felt a force pull you back, almost dragging you away.

You couldn't see this person due to their hoodie, but you let them drag you away anyway. You just didn't care anymore. Why should you? You allowed them to pull you into their house, finally able to see their face as they turned around and grabbed your shoulders with wide eyes. "What were you thinking? Is that really what you want? Are you okay?" Though, you were paying no attention to his questions since your vision was directed to his choice of hair color, making you raise an eyebrow. Then you realized he was one of Hyeongjun's bandmates.

Which one was it?... "What? You don't like the colors? I think pink and blue go amazing together, I don't even wanna hear your insults." "Hey Jiseok." Your simple response made him roll his eyes and let go of your shoulders. "Just sit."

Unaware of why he had an attitude, you just sat down. You assumed he already knew, considering the dried tears on his cheeks and the way he talked to you. Why didn't he sty home and grieve? Why was he looking for you? Why did he help you out instead of himself?. No wonder he was so moody.

He went to go make you some water, but also some type of weird drink. He was super into witchcraft for some odd reason, and it made everyone around him collectively fear him without showing it. "What the hell is this?" You sighed and eyed the glass of purple liquid, waiting for Jiseok to explain. "Well.... I have an idea." You scoffed. "Of course you do. Now explain." "Alright, alright! This, my sad, very sad friend, is a time trav-" "I'm gonna stop you right there." You said, letting out a harsh laugh. "I don't want any of your witch bullshit, alright? And of course I'm sad, how the fuck are you not?" He just sighed, refusing to look at you. "I am sad, alright? But If I wanna help you, I can't just break down whenever I want." You gave him a confused look before picking up the glass, shaking it a little and watching it fizz up. "And it's reactive, fuck this shit."

You were about to get up and leave until he ran to the door and blocked it. "PLEASE! Just listen." Your eyes widened, feeling a bit of pain in your eye sockets. "You're crazy." Despite not wanting to hear it, you sat back down. "Alright, like I was saying, you can travel back with this." "Yeah, you've truly gone insane." "No, I'm just smart! Now listen. There's no telling how much it will send you back, but if you decide to do it, you might be able to change the outcome. Just don't wait too long or you'll get stuck." You stared at him in disbelief as he continued to speak about what to do to get back to present time and what time to get out before taking the cup and gulping down the liquid, refusing to put it down at all no matter how bitter it tasted. You were so desperate to get him back.

"What? Why are you looking at m- Oh my god." His eyes widened as you started chugging the drink, slamming the glass cup on the table which left a few cracks in it. "MY CUP!" He yelled, running over to it, but once he picked up the cup he looked over at you as you fell over unconscious, dropping the cup and shattering it.

You don't remember anything that just happened, but you opened your eyes to see a... classroom? With a bunch of students? You looked down to see yourself in your uniform and sighed. You'd just woken up from a nap, atleast, that's what you recall. You looked across the room seeing a student who stared at his desk, not talking to anyone. What's his deal? You thought to yourself. Then your memories hit you. That night... what happened that night? The only thing you could see in your memory was Hyeongjun falling, and you couldn't reach him. You shook your head due to the sudden pain it was causing you, physically and mentally.

The rest of the day was weird, you kept seeing the same guy all day, you started to think he was kinda cute, but also thought it was creepy to keep seeing him. You doubted he was stalking you, though. He probably hadn't even seen you yet. You hadn't spoke to anyone all day. Then it hit you. Today was the first day of your freshman year.

You walked out of the entrance, fixing your backpack until you saw Hyeongjun near the bike rack. (is that what it's called? sorry back to the story LMFAOO) He looked stressed as he unlocked it, keeping his hands on the handle bars while looking at the ground. You decided to walk over to him to see if you could spark conversation.

"Hey!" Clearly you disturbed something because he flinched when he turned around to face you, his face not looking to pleased. You were about to turn around and leave until you heard him respond. "I'm sorry.... hello."

Truth was he was just startled. He doesn't have the nicest resting face, but once he said hi back you didn't mind any of that. You offered to walk home with him and he agreed, though he wanted to be the one to ask you that because he found it a little odd that you were walking him home and he wasn't walking you home. He didn't necessarily mind, though. He thought you were adorable, in a friendly way of course. A very uplifting soul.

You guys didn't even end up going home. You guys went to the park on accident because you both clicked instantly, talking the whole way there. Neither of you payed attention to the route you were going clearly. Hyeongjun felt something while talking to you, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Was it adoration? Love? Maybe hope?

You sat down on the swing together and lost yourselves in thought, but while you snapped out of it, he was still stuck in his thoughts. "Jun? Hyeongjun?" His head immediately turned like a cat once you called his name. "Yeah? What's up?" "I noticed your bike..." Hyeongjun looked towards his bike, sighing as he already knew what you were about to say. You noticed this, so you didn't even bother finishing your sentence, but instead asked him about it. "Is there a specific reason as to why you kept them? Do you not know how to ride without them?"

He shook his head and looked down at his lap. You observed the rest of the bike, noticing the plush on his guitar bag which hung on the right handle. You could feel as though you were forgetting something, but unsure of what. "Do you want me to help?"

He just looked at you with eyes of admiration. Nodding, he watched as you got up and detached his training wheels. "Nothing to be ashamed off. I'll lead you every step of the way." You had a genuine smile that made Hyeongjun feel something in his heart, a contagious smile that made him smile too. He trusted you.

After a couple (a lot) of attempts, he could finally make it on his own. It only took falling quite a few times, of course you caught him everytime since you were right beside him like you said you'd be. You guys shared frowns, laughter, smiles, tears, and hugs all in those 5 hours. It wasn't until he began to ride off by himself, leaving you there, that you remembered what you forgot. Not only did you forget how to get out, but you forgot when you were supposed to get out. By now, you'd remembered everything that happened before you came here and had no idea how to forget it. You could feel yourself slowly breaking, dropping to your knees as the tears flowed out of your eyes. Surely if you saw him again tomorrow it would help, right?

Would you guys want a part 2 of this? If I did one, it wouldn't be that long and it definitely wouldn't have a happy ending. I promise to make it up with something fluffy 😭

#ohmyejun #xdinary heroes #imagine #jun han #han hyeongjun #hyeongjun #x reader

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ramblinganthropologist · 2 years

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Writober 22 (6) - third eye

Summary: Mr. C was expecting a long weekend and the chance to relax. Instead... he’s fighting in the parking lot. Man, this one’s gonna be weird to explain to his union rep...

---

You know… everything considered, he should have seen that things were going to end up this way.

It had started out as a normal day for Citrine. He had gone to class, given a pop quiz, and watched over his students as they worked on their quarter project. It was a Friday, and a long weekend was waiting for them. He could have practically tasted it as he sat there at his desk, watching both the clock and his students.

And then the explosion happened.

Now, if he had been a normal teacher, he probably would have freaked out. At best, he probably could have guided his students away from the window and the parking lot that had been going to hell. Instead, his body had reacted before his brain did, centuries of training beaten into his gem causing him to launch out of his desk.

He had corralled his students with the rest of the school as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. Once he was sure they were safe, he handed his clipboard over to the nearest teacher. Without another word, he had sprinted off to get a better view, eventually winding up behind a half-melted car.

That was where he was at the moment, peering over the melted hood with a wary glance. It wasn’t safe to go out yet, judging by the waves of energy that kept radiating out from the center of the parking lot. At least the light had died down, and he could see what lay in the crater made by whatever had crashed there.

It wasn’t a meteor – he was pretty sure it was a spaceship.

“Fuck. Did a Diamond send them?” A quick glance showed him there was indeed a diamond mark on the side of the hull. Had he had blood, it would have run cold at the sight of the yellow symbol burnt into the metal.

Yellow Diamond had sent someone to earth.

“Fuck… fuck… shit… she found us.” His foot was already tingling as he watched, waiting. Nothing had emerged yet, but he knew it was a matter of time. At the very least, he didn’t hear police or fire engines. They would only make things worse.

Whatever came out, he would need to get it away from the school in case a real fight started. Those were too hard to predict on a good day, and this definitely wasn’t one of them. So, time was of the essence.

His train of thought was broken by the hissing of a seal. Light leaked out, and a figure appeared in the recently made door. They stepped out, data pad in hand, glancing around at their surroundings with what he would have called a bored expression. The overhead light of the sun caught the polished surface of the gem stuck in the back of their left hand, smooth and a yellow-green shade he knew – and hated – well.

Of course, they sent a Peridot. He’d be lucky if they hadn’t brought a Quartz with them…

“The data said she would be here…” Their monotone voice carried across the parking lot as the Peridot did a scan. “Odd. I appear to be the only gem in the area.”

Citrine hazarded a glance down towards his feet as the gem spoke. His gem was currently hidden, encased in his heavy shoe and the thick heel that protected it from contact with the ground. After all, he wasn’t a particularly hard gem, and the fact it was on the bottom of his foot didn’t help…

What did help, apparently, was the coating that Emerald had put on his shoes the last time she’d woken up. From the looks of things, it blocked Diamond tech.

He didn’t get long to relax, however. With surprising speed, the Peridot made their way over to him. Had Citrine had a heart, it would’ve gone straight to his throat. Instead, he felt his gem pulse deep within his shoe as he waited.

“Report: human found.” They put down their data pad. “Human, have you seen a gem by the classification of Citrine?”

Oh, just every time he looked in the mirror…

He swallowed hard, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. “I uh… I have no idea what you’re talking about. What even are you? You just… landed in the parking lot. We don’t have what you want here.”

Peridot gave him a blank stare as they glanced down at their data pad. “The data says otherwise. Citrine’s signal has been strongest here for a large period of time. I ask again, have you seen a gem by the name of Citrine? Yellow Diamond desires her to be neutralized along with her Emerald.”

Emerald.

His fake heart dropped to his stomach. In the midst of worrying about his students, he had forgotten all about the gem he lived with. She had been asleep for some time now, tucked away in stone form. It would have been easy for anyone to break into his house and shatter her. Hell, for all he knew she was in pieces on the floor…

Shit. She had always wanted him to take her with him to school. Was he going to regret that?

“You’re not making any sense, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

The gem gave him another blank look. “Your vitals indicate nerves. Strange, I don’t seem to pick up a heartbeat. Last I checked humans had those…”

Yeah… he had never been able to mimic that on command. He could fake it with some forewarning for his yearly exam to make his insurance payment lower, but otherwise he didn’t register. Man, was he going to regret that too?

“I… I’m scared. You showed up out of nowhere and I’m worried you’re going to hurt my students.” He swallowed hard. “Please… we don’t have what you’re looking for. Just… just go away.”

In his mind, he sounded good, definitely afraid. In reality, his mind was going a mile a minute, judging the angles. Something close to rage was pounding in his veins, creating the haze of battle rage that would have made him stronger had he been a proper gem soldier. Right then, it wouldn’t do him any good…

But he got the feeling that was going to end fast.

“Negative.” The scanner passed him over, beeping. “You have a gem. You are the Citrine I am looking for.”

Those dead eyes were on him. “You have two choices: come quietly back to Homeworld to face your trial and certain shattering, or I shatter you here. I have no preference either way.”

Of course they didn’t… Peridots were all about the results. It was why he had never hung out with them much back when he had been a soldier.

Citrine knew that the time for talking was ending. His gem felt hot, and the hum of a good battle rage was flooding his body. He wanted to fight, to destroy – to shatter the Peridot that threatened his students. But he held back, staring blankly.

If he did that… then everything would come out.

“Have you decided? I will certainly make the decision for you if you cannot.”

But he couldn’t risk anyone getting hurt. Both as a teacher and a gem, he just couldn’t stand by and allow that. Instead, he took a deep breath, allowing the anxiety that had washed over him for years to pass over and threw him.

He had known one day people would find out he wasn’t human… but he had never seen it going down quite like this.

“I… say you’re going to have to take me down!” He pushed away from the car, flipping over, and landed back on his feet. At the height of his flip, he summoned his weapon and caught it when he straightened. The heavy head of his double-bladed axe rested effortlessly on his shoulder, the shining orange gem catching the light as he glared down.

It had been quite a while since he had summoned his axe. Honestly, he was surprised he could still do it.

“You have elected to do things the hard way then.” Peridot’s hand morphed, becoming a stunner the diamonds loved to use to put down gems. “Very well. Yellow Diamond has no problem with receiving your gem in pieces.”

Then they swung forward, telegraphing their move in such a way that even an amateur could see it coming a mile away. Rather than blocking, he dodged out of the way, swinging his axe down hard when he was out of range. Had his opponent not moved at the last moment, he would have caught them on the gem and at the very least cracked them. Instead, he just sent chunks of pavement spraying into the air.

Damn, the new gen was fast…

“Your record said you were well trained.” They swung forward, going low no doubt in the hopes to sweep him. “But it also says you were classified as defective due to your gem placement.”

The sudden motion was faster than he expected, and the edge caught him. Pain raced through his body, and his axe poofed as he dropped it. Down below, his gem pulsed and throbbed. His system was screaming, already beginning to shut down and return him to rock form.

He couldn’t let it end this way… what if Emerald was next?

“One more pulse should do it.” Peridot loomed above him, the stunner sparking. “We’ll return to Homeworld once I collect Em- “

And then they went flying.

“You are going to collect who?”

A shadow fell over the prone Citrine, one that made his gem bubble with anticipation. Still in pain, he glanced up, almost unable to believe his eyes. Standing in front of him, glittering in the light, was the gem herself, armored and looking almost indestructible. She turned away from the prone Peridot, extending her hand towards him.

“Can you stand?”

Citrine managed a nod as he allowed Emerald to pull him to his feet. His gem felt off, but he could live with it. More importantly, he was standing. As long as he could stand, he could fight. More importantly, he knew that Emerald was ok. Without that worry, he was free to go almost as hard as he wanted.

Almost, because, you know, still at school.

“Did they try to come for you?” He looked her over – didn’t look like there was any damage. “You were asleep this morning when I left for work.”

Emerald shook her head as she kept her eye on where she had launched the Peridot – they were starting to scramble out of the crater. “Alarm roused me. It’s good we put one here. They’re not alone.”

She didn’t need to say that, of course, because Citrine had eyes. He got to watch as the Peridot appeared, a little dirty but otherwise unharmed. More importantly, they weren’t alone. He counted at least 5 sturdy Quartz soldiers surrounding them, having materialized from only the Diamonds knew where.

Maybe they had been in gem stasis? Who cared… they were there and could hurt his students if they got close to the school.

“You want to take the three on the left?” Citrine held out his foot in order to summon his axe again. Surprisingly, Emerald shook her head to his question. “You want to take on Peridot then? I’m not picky as long as we keep them away from my students.”

The gem shook her head again. “That would take too long. Things would go much faster if we fused.”

With that, she faced him, eyes resolute. Had Citrine had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. Instead, he felt his gem humming as he realized just what was about to happen. He swallowed hard, but he nodded.

“Yeah… alright. So… do you want to start things or- “

He didn’t get to finish. Emerald’s arms were around him, the air humming with energy. Light blocked his vision, and then things started to get… weird. It was hard to focus on anything as the warmth surrounded them both, and then there was no both anymore.

A few seconds later, the light dissipated and a new being stood there, armor and axe gleaming in the light. Serpentine, apart from being much bigger than either Emerald or Citrine, looked fairly normal. There were no extra limbs, no third eye, nothing particularly strange. It was only when they held out a six-fingered hand that the differences became obvious.

But it didn’t matter. They had work to do.

“Best to take a fusion on with a fusion.” Peridot nodded to their Quartz soldiers. “Activate plan 3B-C now. Two of you hold back in case the fusion- “

The two that were supposed to hold back naturally went flying with a swing of the large gem’s double bladed axe. Their gems tinkled to the ground, no doubt cracked in places from either the force or the landing. Serpentine lowered their weapon, mismatched eyes glinting as they surveyed the area.

2 down, 4 to go.

“We doing this your way or mine?” They asked, then paused for a few seconds. “Right… the kids.”

The large gem eyed their remaining opponents. “You’re lucky we’re near school or you’d be aquarium gravel by the end of this.”

Then there was no more talking. The gem rushed forward, axe raised. The Quartz soldiers rushed out to meet them, but even their enhanced strength was nothing compared to the power of a well-matched fusion. Perhaps if they too had fused, there could have been competition. Instead, all it took was a few swings of a well-timed axe to send them flying harmlessly into the distance.

There was definitely some cracks that time. Oh well. 5 down, one to go.

To their credit, Peridot didn’t run away when they watched the fusion approach. Instead, their weapon sparked and sizzled as they tried to aim for the gem at the bottom of Serpentine’s foot. The large gem dodged out of the way, using their axe for leveraged, and avoided being ripped apart by the vibrations.

“That’s only going to work once.” There was an edge to the gem’s voice as they spun around. “I don’t fall for the same shit twice!”

Then there was no more talking. Peridot tried to swing again, but against a fusion they just didn’t have the reach. Instead, they were forced back to their spaceship by a vicious swing of the axe that just barely missed them. With the sudden footing change, they fell hard on the ground, prone, unable to get away.

Then Serpentine’s foot crashed down upon them.

The battle had only lasted a few minutes at best. Apart from some cracks in the blacktop and a ruined spaceship, there wasn’t much to say there had been one at all. It was only the fact a giant figure with a huge axe was standing there, looking rather unimpressed by what had gone on in the last few moments.

“Think I killed them?” They lifted up their foot. The Peridot was there, still whole but definitely dirty. “Nope… they’re still in one piece. Guess they’re making them harder these days.”

Light flashed, and Serpentine was gone. Instead, Emerald and Citrine stood on either side of where the fusion’s legs had been. It was the orange gem that ducked down to pick up their opponent, dusting off the surface with an annoyed expression.

“Not going to lie, kind of want to chuck this thing into an industrial rock tumbler and just let ‘er rip.” He shook his head. “Guess we can chuck it in storage when we get back home.”

He handed it to Emerald as he went off to find the fallen Quartz soldiers they had dispatched. Unlike their squad leader, these had gotten some distance. It allowed him the time to think, and more importantly panic, as he sought them out.

There was no way the school had missed that. Even if they hadn’t seen him fighting, someone would have noticed the giant figure with a massive axe. It was going to get connected back to him, there’d be questions – the kind he’d have to answer.

No doubt about it… his ass was fired. Too bad, he had been close to some good shit in the union… oh well. He’d just start again… elsewhere he supposed.

“I really liked it here too…” He sighed as he knelt down to extract a fallen Quartz from the blacktop. It was cracked, but cracks could be fixed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t skip you in the lake…”

They didn’t answer, but Citrine didn’t expect them to do so. After all, it was probably hell inside the gem as they dealt with the crack. Still, he gave the gem a little shake as he returned to collecting the rest of his opponents.

Emerald joined hm halfway, her armor tucked back into her gem. She was moving a little slower now – no doubt she was going to need to sleep after their adventure in fusion. Still, for the moment she looked ok as she handed him a Quartz.

Well, more than ok actually. If he had to put his finger on it, she was as giddy as one of his students after getting an A on a pop quiz.

“This one was down deep. I believe it was one we hit as fusion.” She dropped it into his palm where the other rested. “Is something bothering you? You usually are happier after a fight, especially a fusion fight.”

Citrine’s shoulders dropped as he sighed. “No, you know I enjoy that… I’m just mad I’m going to get fired over this.”

He looked towards the school. The students and staff were safe now, so at least he could take comfort in that. There’d be less happiness to go around once he got his pink slip and had to pack up his desk… but he was going to take the small victories where he could get them. With any luck, the substitute they got to hire him would be able to follow his lesson plan…

“If The Principle fires you, they are a fool. Without us, casualties would have been immense.” Emerald’s hand found his shoulder – the touch made his face feel hot. “Besides… The Union protects discrimination against protected minorities, yes? You mentioned that after a meeting once.”

…

Did being an alien refugee from a war-torn planet count as a protected status? He was going to have to ask his union rep about that…

“You might be on to something there.” He still winced as he spied a human approaching. “Shit, there’s the principle… guess we’re about to find out.”

Emerald, still feeling the rush of battle, nudged him. “Do not fear The Principle. If they do not listen, I will handle them.”

Yeah… he might just need that. Judging by the shell-shocked look on their face as they looked at the crashed spaceship in the parking lot, he was going to need a miracle. Maybe he should just contact that union rep…

Shit. This was not how he saw his Friday going in the least. There went his plans to hide in the house and watch old cartoons all weekend…

Fuck. Some days it didn’t pay to save an entire school of kids with his magic gem bullshit.

#writober22 #Erin Cit (Citrine)#Steven Universe oc #Emerald the quasi crystal gem #ramblinganthropologist's writing

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80s4life · 3 years

Text

Little Dove*

Word Count: 3,949

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: Had a thought lol

Fandom: Karate Kid 1985

Relationship: John Kreese x Student!Female Reader

Summary: You had stayed around throughout all of his bullshit. Throughout the beginning of a forever-long battle with Daniel LaRusso, throughout losing all of his Cobra Kais, going through crippling debt, and now, more than ever, as he tries to put himself together. You’ve been there, the whole time. So why is it, that when a random man from his past appears, all of his problems are fixed without a glance your way? What does this Terry Silver have that you don’t (besides endless money and a history)? It’s unfair. It’s selfish. It’s Kreese.

Taglist: @intersellars-the-alien-of-human @snapessecretdiary

Warnings: smut, teasing, jealousy, age-gap paring, language, Terry being an overprotective cockblock, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight dubcon, daddy/little girl kink, degrading kink

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

{not my gif, credits belong to @atmostories}

I just love how innocent he looks here lol ^

Staring into the window of his office, you make no attempt in engaging in the conversation your peers were having, the people on the other side of the glass proving to be more interesting at the moment. Besides, it’s the same conversation over and over again, “Terry’s so great,” “The money,” “The brawn,” “The elegance,” you snort. All that Terry was anyway was trouble with enough money to pay off his stupidity.

The other man, however, was different. He did not become as fortunate as his younger companion. He went through many hardships that Terry would simply never understand. The proof: you. You had been there, through thick and thin. You can still remember the fights, injuries, and brokenness of a man like a slideshow constantly playing in your head, haunting your dreams. You should’ve left a long time ago, but you didn’t. There were points in your life that made you consider dropping him and everything he was in contact with at one point. But, yet again, you never did. All you did was forgive and forget, most of the time without apologies.

But no matter how much you’ve tried, there was always one outlier that couldn’t be erased.

Holding onto your brothers shoulder, you congratulate him on how well he’d done. He lost the tournament, but it was his heart that shined through it. Johnny was the one who handed LaRusso his trophy even as they were beating each other senseless moments ago. Pulling him in tightly, you whisper, “You did good, Blondie. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

He smiles broadly at this, returning the favor, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, Tiny. Hell, maybe next year, you’ll be the one to beat his ass for me... That, or you’ll be the same height as him,” he ruffles your hair.

“Shut up!” you swat his hands playfully, shouldering his side, then making your way over to the man of the hour. “Congratulations,” you outstretch your hand, “You were tough to beat! I’ll get ya one day though!” you point to him smiling as Johnny pulls you out of the arena with him.

“Thanks...Oh, and I’ll hold you to it!” he yells back, lifting his trophy high above his head. You leave with a sly smirk and playful roll of the eyes, not bad LaRusso.

Walking outside, you smile at Kreese nervously, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Ignoring you completely, he snatches your brother from your grasp within moments, pinning him the the nearest car in the parking lot. With Johnny under the weight of Kreese, you try to yank him off, no longer in fear of your actions but what could happen if you don’t act fast. Shoving you out of the way with a hard jab of his elbow to your eye, Kreese goes back to harming your brother, switching positions as he goes to tighten his arm around Johnny’s neck.

Tommy, fearing for his life, stands still, on the verge of passing out. Dutch goes to help you up, pulling you away from Kreese’s proximity, but not for long. Full of anger and disappointment, you tear you body away from Dutch’s, giving him a stern look that he acknowledges and respects, stepping back. You run towards Kreese once more, putting more force into your pushes and shoves. He catches your eyes for a moment, anger glazing over his own as he gets a good look at the utter helplessness and determination within your own. He doesn’t loosen up though, tightening his hold even more so as if to test you.

Lunging once more, he blocks you from him and counters with a hard blow to your face. You fall again at Kreese’s feet, Johnny’s purpling face looking down at yours in fear and worry. As you go to make a final attempt, your prayers are answered, a man about your height grabbing Kreese’s fist in a vice grip. In a daze, Johnny is able to slip from his hold to the ground beneath him, falling into your outstretched arms as you lunge, again, to protect his head. Kreese, now turning his fury onto the short man, goes for a punch, missing and smashing the glass beside his target.

As the fight starts to get worse, Dutch gets a hold of Johnny, taking his weight off of yours and dragging him to safety. Jimmy and Bobby, going to help Dutch, leaves Tommy to help you up. Taking his hand gratefully, you are able to see Kreese’s demise clearly, a burning crimson decorating his now busted fists, no doubt shredded and in need of medical care. You turn back just in time for him to look your way, grief washing over your figure as you feel a sense of uncertainty.

The boys get into Johnny’s car quickly, pulling out of the car lot. Tommy, silently turning his calming body to yours, questions you with his eyes. Shaking your head lightly, you signal for him to go with them, your head hazy with the brute force of numerous blows previously clashing with your face. He nods knowingly, smiling weakly, as if questioning your motives or even why you were considering the choice you’d made up. Johnny looks back at you too, but is reassured as the short man, Mr. Miyagi, places a hand on your shoulder. As they peel out of the lot, you sigh and all the strength you’d conjured dropped instantly.

“You need checkup,” the older man states, looking you over.

“Yeah, but I need to take care of him first,” you point at the man.

“Ah. Good heart always forgives. You come by dojo sometime.”

“I’ll think about it,” you answer, kindly excusing yourself as LaRusso runs over to Miyagi, leaving just you and Kreese left in the parking lot.

Slowly, you pace yourself as to not speed too closely, too quickly to the man, walking lightly and quietly. Upon entering a close proximity, he looks up, neutral expression catching you off guard. Blinking once, he looks back down at his continuously bleeding hands, acknowledging your presence but not daring to step the line of communication. He never does.

“Do you...Do you n- ...?” you start, at a loss for words as you try to rephrase the question in a way to still make him feel superior without appearing weak to himself, “Do you want my help?”

He doesn’t say anything as an answer, just simply stares at the reddening hands.

So, following his chosen behavior, you adopt it and act the same. Slowly, you take off your fleece sweater, soft and warm to the touch, and move closer to Kreese. As you move into his personal space, you don’t dare look him in the eyes, and go to rip a piece of the sweater in half. Silently, you carefully take one of his hands in your own, them swallowing yours in turn. Wrapping the now torn cloth around his fists, you slightly tighten the material around the injury to prevent further bleeding, tying off the ends to keep the sweater where you want it. Turning to do the same for the other hand, Kreese never winces, or sucks in a breath, or even grunts in anguish.

As you finish your duty, you step back, parts of your hands and some of your pants now coated in differing amounts of blood from the constant dripping mess he’d left it in for a while. Taking in a deep breath, you look at him directly for the first time of the night, “Get in the car.”

That was the first of many nightmares that litter your mind. You grew into a tough, headstrong, and independent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. You were no longer the child looked down from the tip of Kreese’s nose, and despite your height not making much of a difference, you had filled into your body, soul, and mind. You were a woman nonetheless.

You were understood by Johnny, but to an extent. As you had continued to serve Kreese, it was only right that Johnny distanced himself from him, and with that, came you as well. You accepted this, and knew that you were not at war with him, settling for calls and texts when you missed him most. Johnny still allowed you the time to talk about your problems like you did in high school, and even let you rant about the newest situation with Kreese. Everyday, he worried for you, but he knew that this was what you wanted.

He knew you fell for him before you even had.

After that night, you went through phases with Kreese: sometimes he was happy and nice to you, other times was full of anger, arguments, and nonstop screaming at one another. You were like an old married couple without the ring, matrimony, and age. You didn’t pay any mind to it, the mixture of feelings for him stronger than the will to leave as you’d wanted to in your youth.

But overall was the feeling of betrayal, or at least a form of it. For 4 years, after the night of the failed tournament, you were with Kreese, and finally, when things started to clear themselves out, another problem arose. Although shit out of luck, Kreese was ready to give up the dojo, give it to the owner, and move on in hopes of wiping the slate clean. You were ready to forgive him. And then, Terry Silver, unable to let the past be the past, convinced Kreese to give it a second try.

Now as you sit in a circle with Dennis, Mike, and Snake on the mat of the dojo, doing some stretches before training starts, you couldn’t help but look at the men excluding you from something you had tried to keep alive as long as they had. Longer than Terry at least.

Snapping sounds through your frustrated haze, knocking you back into reality by Snake’s fingers. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you look at him, anger now turned towards him instead. “You keep drooling like that and we’ll all be slipping around and breaking shit. Then how would we be at the tournament?”

“Fuck you, Snake,” you get up, stomping to the office without another word. He just turns a mock-offended expression to the boys who give confused ones in return.

Storming into the small cubicle deemed an office, you turn to the men standing side-by-side. “Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart? The boys not playing fair?” Terry teases, trying to push your buttons.

Face now reddened with anger, you spit, “We don’t pay for you to sit around in your office and play with each other’s dicks. You can do that on your own time.”

“You don’t pay period as far as I’m concerned. And last time I checked, you weren’t of much use here anyways, Shortcake,” Terry rebuttals.

“And last time I checked, you're just here to tie your hair back, paint your nails, torture a kid half your age and an man even older than you.”

“Why you-!”

“Terry!” Kreese warns, a hand placed on his comrades’ chest, “It’s not worth your time, just go get the boys readied up for practice.”

“Sure...sure Johnny, I can do that,” he says eagerly, leaving the room with a side glance your way and elbow to the shoulder as he passes by.

Getting up from the back of the desk, Kreese loops around to close the office door, going back to where he was previously. “Wow, you really have that dog under wraps huh? Ready to bark when you say ‘bark’ or growl when you say ‘growl’?”

“Y/N, not now. You better cut this shit out now or I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“Oh, so now your protecting him?! You’re going to sit here, right now, and threaten me for what? Because he served with you? Because you saved him?! What a load of shit!”

“Watch your mouth! You have no right to raise your voice to me! What I do with this dojo is none of your damn business, and will certainly never concern you. Ever.”

“Oh yeah! For sure! What did he even do, huh? What’s so great about him that is worth protecting his ass for when he’s never had to do anything in return?! I was there John! I was! I dealt with your shit for 4 years! Not 1! Not 2! Not even fucking 3!”

“I never told you to! No one was stopping you from walking out that damn door when everyone else had! I would’ve done perfectly fine without your ‘help’ when all it did was provide extra shit to take care of!”

“Really?! That’s what it was? Nothing? I dealt with your anger issues, your screaming! The god damn punches, kicks, spits, screams, hell anything you wanted to do in order to harm someone else to make you feel better! But that wasn’t me... No... Of course it wasn’t, right?”

“I’ve got no time for this. Stay in this fucking room and don’t move. You even dare come out into that dojo and you’re out. I have a winner to make and not some little girl to argue with.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, tears pooling at the bottom of your eyelids as the door hides you from view.

For hours, you sit in boredom, listening to the repetitive “hut” or “ah” as blow after blow is thrown into the dummies and punching bags. If only they could do that to me, take me out of my misery for fuck’s sake. But, despite the utter pissed state you were in, you did not move from the desk, even deciding to take a nap. It wasn’t until Dennis’ unusually loud laugh is echoed within the whole dojo do you finally wake back up. Looking through the blinds, you see the boys getting packed up. Doing the same, you walk out of the office just in time for Terry to leave with the boys a few moments later.

Speeding across the length of the mats, you take long strides in order to storm as fast as possible out of the cage that holds the biggest chains around your neck. Going for the door, you are unable to catch yourself as Kreese grabs your hand and flips you onto your back, splaying your body on the mats beneath you.

Groaning, you move to sit up, watching as he goes to lock the door to the dojo, throwing the keys somewhere and closing the blinds of the big glass panes adorning the front wall. Getting up, the harbored anger floods your being once more, “I’m done with your bullshit Kreese. Let me the fuck out so I can leave this place once and for all. You seem to be doing ‘perfectly fine’ with your boyfriend, so let me go!”

Without answering, he grabs you by the neck firmly, but not enough to choke you. The memories of Johnny instantly flood your mind, causing you to grab his hand just as tight, eyes peering straight into his. Noticing your change in demeanor, he loosens his hold a little and pushes your back up against the closest wall to your back. As your back collides with the wall, his lips clasp yours.

Whining in surprise, you go to pull back only for him to pull you closer by the neck. Realization dawns on you after a moment, and within seconds, your leaning into his touch absentmindedly. You only break apart once your lungs beg for more air. “There. Is that what you wanted?” he asks you, voice gravelly.

Ignoring his comment, you grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him into you once again, tongue battling his own. Your tongue dances around, observing every crevice and tasting every bit of his mouth, grazing his teeth, biting his lips, and even tangling it with his. Taking control back, he shoves your body back into the wall, separating your mouth from his, a trail of saliva the only thing connecting your bodies.

His hand, long forgotten and hanging loose on your neck, tightens the grip back up firmly once again and moves his other to pin your arms above your head. Now basking in dominance, he kisses you once more, pinning his knee between your legs in the most delicious way. Taking advantage of the placement, you attempt to grind your core against his thigh to relieve some tension.

“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he warns, pulling his knee away and moving to unbuckle his belt instead, “On your knees, Slut.”

Obeying instantly, you do as he says and place yourself on your knees. Finally undoing the tie of his gi, he pulls his pants, alongside his underwear, down just enough to let his dick spring free. Gulping in admiration, you take in the view of his girth and length, precum oozing at the tip.

“Looks like your happy to see me,” you joke, loosening your tension in your shoulders.

Stepping closer, Kreese edges closer to your mouth, and, taking the hint, you wrap one hand around the base of his shaft. Your other hand, deciding teasing is the best get-back, wraps itself closer to the tip, thumb grazing the slit. Earning a shudder of pleasure from the man, he goes to move in closer again. Pulling your head away, you squeeze the tip loosely, staring up at Kreese.

At your locked gaze, his cheeks burn bright pink, enabling you to give the man what he wants now that he’s at a loss for words and flustered for you. Taking him into your mouth little by little, you stop just before the barricade of choking. Eyes locked onto his, you place your hands on either side of his hips for support, then take him in as fully as physically possible. Instantly, you are met by struggling moans of relief.

Swirling your tongue around and lapping at his veiny member, he struggles to control himself, the undying need for more consuming him. Pulling away just enough to keep the tip in your mouth, you nod at him, giving him the okay to do as he pleases. That was all he needed to start going, pulling your mouth around his cock again, and tangling his hands in your hair for a better grip. Thrusting into your mouth now, you try your best to breathe as you feel him start twitching, knowing you will be fine in a few minutes.

The closer he gets to ecstasy, the louder he gets, hips thrusting in any possible direction as his pleasure threatens to bubble over. “Look at me,” he orders, looking you in the eyes. Slightly confused, you do as told, looking at him through your eyelashes as he continuously uses your mouth. “That’s it, Good Girl.”

Without warning, he unleashes his load into your mouth, the hot and sticky cum shooting to the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow. Licking up the remains, you make a show of swallowing the contents as well, getting back onto your feet with a help of his hand. Pulling your body into his, he kisses you deeply, tasting himself.

You whine as you are still left in uncomfortable need for him, having not gotten your share just yet, the feeling of being filled a painful reminder. “Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you.” And that, he does, getting to work on untying your gi and throwing the long-sleeved shirt over you head. Doing the same to him, you match his enthusiasm, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Playing with your clothed breasts, Kreese slips a hand under your bra to pinch your nipples, twisting them between his middle and fore fingers. Moaning, you pull him into your chest nibbling his ear. Gliding his hands down your sides and to your waist, he slowly edges his fingers slightly underneath your pants, pushing them down with your panties. As he busies himself with your clothes, you move your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, breasts springing free and instantly hardening at the new temperature of the room.

Fingers, teasing your entrance, catches you off-guard, moaning again at the first shocks of pleasure. “Kreese,” you start breathlessly, “Enough is enough. Mgh... Stop teasing me,” you try to order, impatient and horny.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Lifting up one of your legs and wrapping it around his hipbone, he lines himself up with your entrance, entering slowly. Together, you sigh in ease simultaneously. Nodding once, you lean your forehead underneath his chin, starting to thrust slowly. Knowing this isn’t the pace he prefers, and body adjusting to his shape, you pull him in closer, whispering in his ear, “Faster, Daddy.”

Jolting at the name, he fastens the pace, grinding in rougher strokes, rubbing every part of you body in the best way possible. No one’s ever filled you the way he is now, and it leaves you stunned in a trance of utter euphoria. Tapping your other leg, you hop up to warp both legs around Kreese. At the new angle, he thrusts upwards, the overstimulation causing you to shake in a new sensation.

Squeezing his dick tightly, you try to hold your orgasm off for as long as possible, but the building want of release causes you to topple over the edge quickly, spilling all over the body still within your own. Without faltering, Kreese continues his assault on your body, causing you to scream out in the fury of pleasure being all too much for you. Shaking harder, you struggle to keep yourself around his body for long.

Seeing this, Kreese keeps himself sheathed in your cunt, laying you on your back against the mats of the flooring. Grabbing your legs, Kreese bends them until your thighs meet your chest. Then, thrusting at the same pace as before, Kreese is able to fuck you senseless without further issues. Moaning screams of ecstasy echo throughout the dojo, the combination of yourself and the slapping of skin being the only noises in the room.

As quickly as you’d built up the previous time, your orgasm and need of release forms again, your pussy throbbing in anticipation. “Kreese..” is all you manage, the older man quickly teetering towards the edge with you. Thrusting the hardest he had the whole night, he manages only a few more before you both come at the same time, screaming as you pull him down by the neck and into your chest, your name falling from his tongue in multiples.

Sucking in as much air as possible, Kreese and you stay in the same position panting before he unsheathes himself and collapses next to you. Catching your breath, you cuddle into his side in a naked heap of sweat and satisfaction. “Are you still jealous of Terry now?”

“It depends, am I still as useless as before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Kreese giggles, “but if you pull another crazy stunt like that, I will really have to give you a good beating. Huh, Babydoll?”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, going to straddle his hips as he lays on his back, “How about round two and I’ll consider not ripping his throat out?”

“Deal.”

#john kreese x reader #john kreese imagine #john kreese #martin kove #martin kove x reader #martin kove imagine #terry silver #tig #thomas ian griffith #mike barnes #sean kanan #kk3 #kk1 #kk #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid 1 #karate kid 3

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notlycheesden · 3 years

Text

Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

#endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki #Endeavor #Enji todoroki x reader

1K notes · View notes

yourmcu · 3 years

Text

Forgotten (CONTINUED VERSION)

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader, Peter Parker x Stark!reader (platonic)

Request:

Hello i love your story could you do angsty tony x daughter reader. Wherein the reader has a twin brother and Tony and the avengers prefer the twin brother and becaus of that, the reader became rebel and badass. She always getting trouble and almost drop out student. The avengers and her father were seem disappointed and dont know what to do. Not until the reader involve into car accident and she's critical injured. The reader also slipped to coma. Everyone is devastated about the reader conditione. And they realized that the reader only rebel because she wants to get attention from them. It depends to you what the end come, I just want a full angst this week and I hope you dont mind my English. Anyway I hope your alright.

A/n: y’all wanted it, I finished it :)

Word count: 3,984

(more notes at the end!)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort? bad writing of an anxiety attack, accident, knife, hospitals

read it on ao3!

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

Being a genius/billionaire/superhero’s kid doesn’t always sound nice like it usually does.

You were one of the Stark twins, the other half being your brother, Ethan.

The both of you showed signs that you inherited the commonly known Stark trait (intelligence) at a young age. But Tony mostly focused on his son, showing him all his inventions and gadgets, teaching him everything he knew while you on the other hand, were being babysat by Happy or Pepper, sometimes Rhodey.

You tried so hard to get your father’s attention but he always had his excuses:

“I don’t have time for that.”

“I’m busy with Ethan right now.”

“Maybe later.”

At first you didn’t mind if your brother got all the praise and attention. It wasn’t until your mid-teens that you really started to feel left out and ignored.

You were left to frown when the other Avengers never found anything interesting about you, just like Tony did. They all liked Ethan better. The topic of him being the next Iron Man when Tony retires is getting exhausting.

There was this one time when Tony announced that they were all going out to dinner since Ethan got, yet again, a full set of A’s on his report card.

“Did you get my card?” You tapped on Tony’s shoulder lightly.

He gave you a side glance, “ah shoot, I forgot. I’ll go get it tomorrow.” Then returned his attention to your brother.

But he ended up forgetting again the next day and you had to convince your teacher to give it to you instead. Your marks had A’s, but littered with B’s as well, of course that was no match for your brother’s perfect marks.

And that sort of scenario wasn’t just a one time thing, Tony forgets to pick up your report card every. single. time. The messed up part was you and Ethan literally attended the same school, he was just in a more advanced class than you.

As time passed, Tony went from ignoring you to getting annoyed and pissed at you for everything you did. In his eyes, you were always in the wrong. And the reason? You didn’t know.

“Dad? Can I borrow Bruce for a minute?” You knocked on the glass door of his lab to get him to look up.

He didn’t, but responded, “kinda busy with him right now.”

You looked at your fractured arm, regretting your decisions. “W-well, Ethan was training with Nat, and... and he wanted to try the new moves he learned on me. He went a little hard and - I think my arm’s broken, I just wanted Bruce to check it out-”

“Goddammit!” He shouted after you heard a glass shatter. Bruce covered his face with palms, muttering an ‘oh no’.

Tony glared at you, striding to where you were standing. All that was left for you to do was to brace yourself for what was about to come. “See, this is why we never let you do anything with the team,” he spat. “That right there?”-he pointed to your arm-“that’s on you. Things go wrong because you’re in the way!”

“I’m... I’m sorry-”

“Just get out of here.”

Your arm remained untreated after that.

Then Peter Parker came into the picture. Friendly guy, he was actually nice to you. Him and Ethan got along right away when Tony first recruited him. The fact that he treated Peter better than you made you even more miserable. It made you think he never wanted a daughter in the first place.

You first met Peter when he accidentally entered your room without warning, thinking it was the bathroom. Cliche, but that’s what happened.

“It’s on the first door to your other left,” you stated.

“Yeah, yeah okay, thanks,” he turned around to leave but stopped to look at you again. “I’m Peter Parker, by the way.”

“Y/N Stark.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at your last name. “I... I didn’t know Mr. Stark had a daughter - no offense! It’s just-”

You sighed and waved him off. He didn’t even notice the similarities you had with your twin. “It’s fine. I get that a lot.”

After many events of being, to be blunt, treated like shit, you finally had enough. You neglected your studies, only went to school when you felt like it (which was rare). No one cared your grades anyway, so what’s the point? You became a whole new person, you surrounded yourself with the wrong sort of people, causing you to dabble into smoking and alcohol.

Since you were always in trouble, you could recite Cap’s detention speech at school by heart now.

The principal of your school wanted to see Tony to talk about your behavior. Normally he’d make an excuse not to go if it wasn’t that important but he got flooded with messages from the school, so he couldn’t say no.

You had your legs crossed, sitting across from Tony who had his eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the principal. For some reason you didn’t feel nervous. “Y/N barely attends her classes. I’ve seen every attendance. Are you aware of this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony only maintained his usual relaxed posture and avoided your gaze.

“Some students have also seen her smoke in school grounds. We gave her a few weeks suspension for it, but it doesn’t look like she’s learned her lesson.” They pulled out a couple boxes of cigarettes from the desk drawer. “We found these in her locker.”

“You went into my locker?” You shot up from your seat. “You can’t just do that!”

Tony cleared his throat and got up, gripping your wrist. “I’ll take it from here - will that be all?”

On the way out he doesn’t say a word to you, only that his grip on your wrist got tight as you near the car.

“So,” he started the car. His voice was calm, but it screamed that you were in deep trouble. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You sighed and slouched in the passenger’s seat, crossing your arms. “I’m... sorry you had to know...?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna be honest with you here,” Tony still doesn’t look at you. “When I found out I had two kids, I got worried about Ethan.”

You let out a snort. Of course he would.

“I didn’t want him ending up like me. But surprise surprise, my daughter did instead.”

“I’m not ‘ending up’ like you, Dad-”

“Then what do you call - this,” he referred to you. “What, you’re just gonna waste your life, drop out of school? You’re a fucking mess, Y/N, and here I thought I raised you right. Sometimes I think: why can’t you just be like your brother?” He had a hard grip on the steering wheel as he drove, the way he spoke affected the speed of the car greatly.

You opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t fine the exact words you wanted to say. “I... well, I’m sorry I’m not a goody two shoes like him!”

“That’s not what I-”

“Please, that’s exactly what you meant.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m grounding you until you pull yourself together, understand?” And he did. He gave new orders to Friday when the both of you got home. You weren’t allowed to leave the compound without Tony’s permission.

Were you giving up that easily? Of course not.

You were on your laptop for the rest of the day, hacking into Friday’s system, the security to the elevator and the entrance. That night, your executed your plan and everything went smoothly.

“This is why you never underestimate me,” you sighed, deactivating the hack once you were out of the building.

Your friend who was picking you up was already waiting a few blocks away from the compound. “I hope you’re cool with me staying over for a couple days.”

“If a bunch of Avengers come and destroy my place to look for you, I’m not going to be friends with you anymore.”

You laughed at out, “oh trust me, they don’t care.”

----

The next day no one noticed your absence, nobody did for another two days. Tony just assumed you were mad about your punishment, so he didn’t think of it much.

Not until Peter came to the compound on the third day, wanting to hang out with you.

“Whatcha got there, Pete?” Ethan asked.

“Star Wars movies. I wanna watch them with Y/N - she could use some company, don’t you think?”

The older Stark twin shrugged, “yeah, I guess she could.”

Peter then headed to the elevator and stopped at the floor where your room was. He knocked on your door and waited a bit, after a few minutes of silence he knocked again, still nothing.

“Y/N? Is it okay if I come in?” He called out. No response. He hesitated a bit, for all he knew you were probably changing or something, or you could be in danger. He went to open the door anyway. “I’m coming in, I’ll close my eyes just to be-”

To Peter’s surprise, your room was empty.

----

You were at a 711 parking lot, waiting for your friends who were buying supplies for a house party. You gave them your wallet, not really caring about anything anymore. Your phone was starting to pile up with messages and missed calls from Tony, Edward and Peter, occasionally from the others as you scrolled pass more.

Without thinking you threw your phone to the ground, cracking the screen, breaking it completely. They’d be able to track you through it now that they know you ran away. You really had no intention of coming back. You weren’t wanted, what’s the point of going back?It’s early but you’ve had a few drinks already. You weren’t sure if breaking your phone was a good idea but there’s one thing you’re sure: you didn’t care anymore.

You didn’t have to turn your head to see who just arrived and ambushed your friends inside the store. They ran out and left you behind. The sound of webs coming out of his shooters was enough for you to tell.

“You shouldn’t be here, Peter,” you sighed defeatedly.

Peter gently took a seat next to you, not removing his mask since you were in public and handed your wallet back. “I don’t understand why you left.”

He took in your awful state. His suit scanned how intoxicated you were, estimated how many cigarette packets you’ve had. His frown deepened at the information.

“I care about you. We all do. Mr. Stark’s not going to stop the search party until you come home.”

You rolled your eyes at the term. “Stupid search party – pathetic – I’m not coming home anymore, Pete-” you slurred and tried to get up but stumbled back, almost twisting your ankle but fell to Peter’s side. “Ow.”

He sighed, struggling to get ahold of you since you always pulled away.

“Stop being so stubborn, okay?”

“If you don’t like my stubborn fucking ass then maybe you should just leave,” you stated. “I’m not wanted there. I got the message. I didn’t run away just to be fucking found.”

Peter stared at you for a moment. He didn’t know why you got grounded in the first place, how you got here and why you didn’t want to go back home. There was something off in the father-daughter relationship, he knew that, but it was news to him that it was that bad. That bad for you to waste your life, to run away. He always thought Mr. Stark was an awesome parent, the way he was treating Ethan, and him…

“It’s unfair,” you ranted. “God, if you only knew how pathetic I feel whenever he tells me off. I’m always annoying to him - not just to him, to the whole team, I’m always wrong in everything I do and it’s honestly tiring? What the fuck do I have to do just to feel loved and wanted?”

You went on rambling while Peter tried to comfort and deny every negative thing that came out of your mouth. He didn’t believe any of it, but the way everyone’s been treating you. He hated that he didn’t notice sooner. He could’ve defended you.

“I have nothing against you, I really don’t,” you sighed. “But you should be grateful they’re treating you perfectly.” You got up and strode to the opposite direction, mentally cursing because your friends ditched you and you has nowhere to go, phone destroyed and everything.

But you were staying true to your word: you didn’t have any plans to go back to the compound. You were going to figure your life out on your own.

“Y/N, I… I’m not leaving you alone out here!”

You were so fed up of the spider-ling. How good he was, how perfect, how Tony clearly wanted him more than you, how he always wanted to do the right thing, because none of you expected what happened next when he went to grab your shoulder. The action was so sudden that it Peter didn’t have time to avoid it.

Knife, shoulder, really deep.

Maybe it was just how wasted you were, because he knew you would never do anything like that.

“You’re really annoying, Parker,” you muttered, not wasting any more time watching him stumble out of shock and pain, sprinting across the streets.

With his uninjured arm, he shot webs while trying to pull the knife (the blade wasn’t even visible anymore on how deep it was) out of his shoulder. There was a loud bang, and Peter never sprinted so fast in his life, not caring less about the pain and blood, because what mattered most was your safety. When he got there, you were far from safe.

-----

A week went by. And during those seven days Tony was on edge, I mean, how can be calm at a time like that?

Peter managed to show up at the compound the same night, breathless and shaky. His state made everyone worried but he wasted no time telling Tony what happened. He got you to the hospital, making sure you were being sorted out right before leaving to break the news.

Tony didn’t think twice and went to the hospital where you were admitted, not listening to Peter’s apologies and leaving Steve to sort everyone out on what they should do.

They didn’t expect you to show signs of waking up after only a week since the accident got you mangled up, it was mostly a blow to the head and as expected, you slipped into a coma.

Right, what happened: an awful timing really, not sure if Peter’s the one to blame but he accidentally stuck you to the ground with his webs, and it just so happened a car was driving at a fast speed – there you go.

Tony made sure you got the best treatment possible. He even went and asked Strange if he could do all the surgeries needed, but he declined, claiming he couldn’t anymore despite the sympathy he felt inside. Instead he asked the best doctors he knew, but still helped out sometimes in any way he could.

You took a breath, trying to open your eyes but the blinding lights of your room and them almost feeling as if they were glued shut from not being open for so long prevented you. You also tried moving your hands, only to feel a warm one rest on top of it, you finally opened your eyes.

“You’re awake,” Tony mumbled, rubbing a thumb on the back of your palm soothingly. “You’re awake and you’re okay.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called out, spotting his mentor sitting outside the room where they were doing the final surgery on you. It was his first time visiting, seeing as the knife wound was worse than he thought. “I’m so sorry, I-“

“What happened?” Was the only thing Tony said, not looking up to look at the kid. Peter stood there for a moment but told him everything that happened.

After that and after he made sure you were okay, resting in your room and everything, he let Natasha look after you for the night and headed back to the compound.

The kid would never lie to him but he had to see it all for himself. The Spider-Man suit caught everything through the baby monitor protocol. From when he arrived to the convenient store, when you told him countless of times that you weren’t coming back, and when your drunk self ranted about what you felt.

“What the fuck do I have to do just to feel loved and wanted?”

“He seemed to like both of us equally when we were younger,” you sniffled. “Of course he would, but… my brother just turned out to be special and talented and,” you frowned, “he’s all Tony ever wanted for a kid. Maybe I reminded him of the chick he fucked, I don’t know – must be it, right?”

“Y/N, you’re just as special as-” Peter tried to reason but you threw him a glare. Tony could see the pain and heartbreak in your bloodshot, tired eyes. One that said you didn’t want to hear anything like it anymore. You didn’t want to believe it.

“The thing is, they only want you when you’re gone. Missing. Dead,” you shrugged. “I can take a hint, you know? My only family hates me. My only family doesn’t want me. Now you – all of them – are looking for me… why?” Peter flinched at the loudness of your voice. You truly were broken.

Tony fast forwarded, it didn’t clearly show how you got hit, but he had enough anyway. He wanted to make things right with you. He could only hope that you make pass this, hoping that you’ll let him make it up to you.

“It’s not too late, you know,” Steve said from the entrance to his lab. “Y/N is strong. She’ll make it.”

“Why am I not dead?” You croaked, looking at your father with an anxious expression. You letting out another shaky breath as you struggled to move and look around. “I should be dead. Why am I here-”

“Take it easy-”

“Don’t you understand?” You felt your throat aching, breath quickening. “I don’t want to be here!”

“No, you’re okay. Y/N you’re okay,” Tony tried to calm you down when he saw the lines in your heart monitor go up and down in rapid pace.

“I’m not - no I’m not - not okay,” you struggled to let out. It felt like you were choking on your own breath, getting harder and harder to breathe by the minute, soon tears started to prick your eyes. “I don’t want to be here!”

“Tony, what's going on?” Steve bursted into the room with an alarmed but calm expression.

“Call Strange. Anyone.” He told the captain but his eyes never left you. He rubbed a part of your arm that wasn’t injured soothingly in attempt to calm you down. “Just breathe for me, okay? I’m here and you’re okay.”

Something about the softness and encouraging look in his eyes made you nod eventually and follow his breathing patterns. He held a glass of water for you to drink, holding your struggling hand softly to get it out of the way.

He’s never looked at you like that before.

Most of the time he ignored you, most of the time he looked at you at anger or annoyance when you’ve fucked something up.

“There we go, we okay now?” You looked away and nodded lightly. That was enough for him. Tony wanted to let you know how sorry he was so bad, but thought against it, at least for now. He was scared you might start freaking out again.

Stephen entered the room with the doctor, the other Avengers following closely behind. The amount of people in the room overwhelmed you a bit, but you were strangely calm because of how your father’s acting. Soft and caring, it made you feel safe.

Both doctors concluded that you had some sort of amnesia. In English, your past memories were blotchy, all of them even from your childhood. Again because of the blow to the head it was already expected. But you remembered the recent ones clearly, which was the reason why you avoided looking at Peter and his patched up arm.

Which also meant it was possible you didn’t remember all of the pain you felt concerning your family. It was unfair on your part.

Strange insisted that you stay a few more days, or one more week, just to run tests and make sure you get enough medicine and stuff.

They decided to see how bad your memory loss was.

“I did that to you,” you still refused to look at Peter completely. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Peter gave you a smile.

You moved to the next person. Red hair, seemed to give off a friendly but civil nature. “Natasha? You’re Natasha.”

The Russian merely smiled and crossed her arms.

“Steve,” you stated, moving to the next person. “You always read old books in the kitchen.”

Steve chuckled, nodding to confirm.

“Ethan,” you smiled as you looked at your twin. He gave you a small wave even if he felt as guilty as Tony about everything even if he wasn’t the one to blame.

You stared longer at the next person, almost shoulder length dark brown hair, he’s wearing a jacket to cover his metal arm but you knew it was still there.

“Ducky?”

Peter let out a giggle, so did you brother.

“It’s Bucky, doll,” Bucky smiled, covering his face with his hand to suppress a chuckle as the rest laughed.

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” you let out a weak giggle yourself.

You meet Tony’s eyes again, the softness still there.

“Dad,” you stated. “You’re my dad. Tony.”

No, you didn’t completely forget how he treated you. You knew he was annoyed with you, which lead you to think that you did something that made him act that way. “Am I bad?”

Tony’s hopeful expression dimmed. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

You shrugged. “You’re mad at me, I just… I guess it’s just not clear on why.”

Steve thought it would be best for everyone to head out for a bit so he ushered everyone out of the room except for your brother who took a seat at the corner.

“About that, it’s about time we talked, yeah?” Tony sat on a chair backwards beside your bed. It made you nervous, but you were reassured. “You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.”

He exhaled, resting an arm on the top rail. “You deserve so much better. I should’ve treated you better,” you opened your mouth to ask but he continued. “Look, I haven’t been fair with you and it’s a problem. You’re smart, talented and beautiful. I figured you needed to hear it more often because it’s true. What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. I really am.”

Your bottom lip involuntarily trembled. “You – you really mean that?”

“From the bottom of my heart.”

You sighed, a genuine smile plastered on your face. “Thank you. And I’m sorry if I was a pain in the ass-“

“You never were,” Tony shook his head. “You always did your best and I really should have acknowledged it more. Give me a second chance?”

“Of course.”

Tony smiled, getting up and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Everything in life was so much better after all that. Tony treated you and Ethan equally, same goes for Peter. The other Avengers were nicer, not the kind of nice that was almost fake, but it was genuine. All of them were. And you were thankful.

----

TAGLIST: @contanto-que-voce-me-queira @angeldreineedshelp @legendarymcnuggies @zoeyserpentluck @vienmiaprendere @alainabooks143 @hessogxlden

DID ANYONE MISS ME? BC I MISSED THIS PLACE

I highly doubt anyone’s still waiting for this, it was an unplanned hiatus I’M SO SORRY but I decided to post anyway :))

also I hope this wasn’t underwhelming, that’s one of the reasons why I was hesitant to do this but I hope its good heh (I’ve included the parts from my first post as well, just so it feels like a full fic)

WAIT I ALSO HIT 300 FOLLOWERS? INSANE. THANK YOU. I MEAN IT.

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jujutsu-headcanons · 3 years

Text

Gojo Satoru general headcanons

Let's get one thing clear: this man is absolutely chaotic. He is always full of energy. His energy levels never reach below 50%. He is loud and proud, always running, and never takes a minute to relax.

Do not give him Monster. Shoko did that once and it took her forever to get him off the ceiling. Also, avoid caffeine. Shoko replaces his normal coffee with decaf and he still hasn't noticed the difference. Keep it that way.

He was the class clown when he was younger. He wasn't exactly a trouble maker, but he may as well be. I cannot word that sentence and I am sorry. Next.

All of his teachers assumed he never listened in class, so they always called in him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. It still shocked them every time he rattled off the correct answer.

Not only did he answer the question correctly, but he could also explain his reasoning behind the answer, and if it was multiple choice, explain why the other answers were wrong.

This tall man child would march up to the board and absolutely fill it to the brim with work, turn around, drop the chalk-like a mic drop and walk back to his desk with the smuggest look on his face.

That doesn't mean he did the work tho

Idk how schools in japan work but we all know schools in America only care about the amount of work you do and not what you actually know so we'll use that for the sake of the headcanon: he had straight D's bc he never turned in his work

Despite not doing the work snd goofing off, teachers actually really liked him

A lot of people liked him and he was super popular, but he still felt alone

Fake friends, you know how that works, he didn't meet any real friends until he became a shaman

Clean freak. This dude actually makes his bed. He scrubs his bathroom twice a week. His desk can get cluttered but he straightens up once a week. He's not exactly a germaphobe because

He cannot respect your personal space and that's actually canon but let me take it a step further

He's a slapper. Especially when he laughs. It doesn't hurt, it's playful dw. He hugs you from behind especially when he's cold. He picks you up and carries you around. He will grab your wrist, arm, or hand and lead you around even if you're following him. He lays his legs across you or lays across your lap. Puts his head on your shoulder. Platonic cuddling between friends is mandatory. He's just so hands-on it's ridiculous.

Unless you explicitly tell him you're uncomfortable he won't stop

Don't worry, if you aren't in that type of relationship, your no-no square is safe. Except, if you seem chill, he will slap your ass regardless of friendship status. His ass is also slappable. You can't tell me Geto and Gojo didn't run around slapping each other asses, okay

He was weird and scrawny as a child. He didn't start beefing out until he started training to be a shaman and he's still kinda smaller than most beefy boys

He can pick you up and throw you around easily. He carried around a 170 pound Yuji like a sack of potatoes and can easily carry around three times that weight

It's amazing he's so tiny because you remember 2014 Shane Dawson making all of those wack ass desserts that was just s pile of chaos wrapped in chocolate?

He can eat every last bite of one of those monstrosities without getting a stomach ache, gaining weight, or dying basically

He knows bc Yuji dared him to do it

He has really cold hands and feet

He sounds old. Let me elaborate. He's constantly cracking his joints. They also creak when he moves. He complains about body pains like he's 80 y/o

He also shares wisdom with the kids as if he's actually 80 y/o

It's irrelevant advice that doesn't make sense but is also useful. Megumi can't count the number of times he's asked Gojo for feedback on his technique but had been told to remember to chew 40 times or never go to bed angry

Starts off sentences with "now son" and "when I was your age"

He uses his blindfold as a headband when he wants his hair out of his face. He also uses headbands as... Headbands... When he wants to wear sunglasses but get his hair out of his face

He owns so many pairs of sunglasses but he always wears the same pair

He's only bought a handful of them himself, most of them are gifts

No one knows what to get him for Christmas or his birthday bc he has everything, so they resort to sunglasses

His favorite pair is a pair that Shoko and Geto bought him as a gag. He thought they were dead serious, though, so he wore them around for a month

They were heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses

Can you believe this man doesn't use any gel or anything to keep his hair spiky with the blindfold on? It just naturally defies gravity when the blindfold is on

Tell this man he's pretty because he already knows. He's narcissistic but not the cringy kind

Photogenic as hell. Takes great pictures from any angle.

He gives everyone a different story as to why he covers his eyes. Sometimes he says it's because his eyes are too pretty and are a distraction. Sometimes he says it's because the sunglasses/bandages/blindfold look cooler than his eyes. Sometimes he says it's to protect the six eyes from seeing things he doesn't want to see. The world may never know

He's tried covering his whole face before, but he thinks he's too pretty for that. He at least wants one of his many amazing features to be shown at all times.

So about his driver's license;

He knows how to drive. He can be a good driver. When he wants to be. He just doesn't have a driver's license.

Now he TELLS people he just never got around to getting one, however, there's a rumor he lost it due to too many parking tickets

It's amazing the only tickets he's ever gotten have been from that and once he got caught without a seatbelt; he would have gotten out of that one if he hadn't been flirting with the police officer so bad

This doesn't stop Gojo from driving places though

He steals Ijichi's car a LOT and Ijichi DOESN'T KNOW HOW like??? The windows are never broken and it doesn't look hotwired-

Gojo has a key

You're not even supposed to be able to duplicate car keys but Gojo did

Also; none of the first-year trio knows he doesn't have a driver's license, though that much should be painfully obvious

He whips around corners, speeds up at yellow lights, goes "watch this" and does a donut, it's just a mess

The poor students have to sit in the backseat too. Just imagine Megumi with all three seatbelts around him like that one meme.

He thrives off of Nobara and Yuji screaming from the backseat, and he can see Megumi being smooshed because he thought the middle seat was the safest through the rearview mirror

Which he doesn't even need because of the six eyes

Despite being such a reckless driver, he knows when danger will happen, so he's never once gotten in a wreck

He blasts the radio, which makes up for the driving.

Has a habit of getting in a car and ending up in the McDonalds drive-thru

Steals other people's fries and keeps the fullest one for himself.

He was rebellious as a kid and teenager, but hey, at least his juvie record is sealed

He's been detained and in the back of a cop car many times, but the reason was never really bad enough for him to be arrested. Mostly he's just being mouthy. And the time he got caught spray painting on the side of a building. And that one time he and Getou hopped the fence to get into the local pool. And that other time-

It got worse after Getou wasn't around to get him out of trouble. Suddenly, breaking the rules wasn't fun anymore and he mellowed out.

Tried alcohol and cigarettes before he was legal. Decided neither was his thing, however, he did start drinking occasionally when he was legal.

He's a fucking chaotic drunk. Oh my god he's absolutely feral

Most bars in the vicinity know him by name and they sigh whenever he walks in

Shoko is his emergency contact. She hates it

Shoko has to drag drunk Gojo home at least twice a month and is not happy about it

Once she left him in an alley. He made it home okay so she guesses it's fine

Once he got so drunk he spilled beer on his sock. The thought the fastest way to dry them was by sticking them in the microwave. Forgot about it until someone asked, "Who the fuck is cooking socks???"

I feel it important he was in the break room of the local grocery store and no one knows how he got there

As he was escorted out he stole a grocery cart and rode away in it while singing Don't Threaten Me (With A Good Time) by Panic! At The Disco

He has no alcohol tolerance at all what so ever

He will literally just stare at you and giggle

It's funny he's really flirty but also doesn't seal the deal. Literally, every woman in that bar is willing to get in his bed but he declines every offer. No one knows why

Its because he respects women

He helps his students break the rules as long as they're within reason. Once night Yuji was really hungry and after having a temper tantrum he couldn't order Uber eats bc the school is supposed to be secret Gojo helped sneak him out to get food. Who needs curfew anyway.

The shirts in his closet range from like twenty bucks to the iconic rich bitch shirt the kids ruined in that one chapter we all know the one

He still wears that by the way, he calls it "art"

When he was younger, Megumi drew a picture of Gojo being eaten by his shadow dogs. Gojo found it and now it's framed in his room.

He keeps up with current trends and memes like no one's business. This is how he bonds with his kids.

Don't call him old, but also, he'll tell you to respect your elders it's a mess

He has a lot of games on his phone. You can usually find him holding his phone sideways playing some RPG game he probably spent too much money on

He did hop on the Pokemon Go hype train but after becoming overpowered he got bored

This happens to a lot of games. He pays way too much money, gets to be the strongest in the server, and gets bored

He likes games where you can kill other people's troops and likes to watch as they lose all their power

I canon him as being borderline sadistic

This is why he's Sakata Gintoki reincarnated

White hair, sweet tooth, black leather clothes, dad vibes, never takes anything seriously bc when he does he's scary as fuck, the works.

He is Sakata Gintoki

He liked Gintama growing up. He watched a lot of iconic shows as they aired. He considers himself an og

He's hella bilingual

Because he's the strongest he goes overseas for missions a lot. Because of this he speaks a lot of languages and knows a lot about international cuisine

He takes pictures of himself eating disgusting foods like snails. He never likes them but he loves the idea of Nobara gagging back in japan

Has paperwork sitting untouched on his desk from three months ago that he will not touch for at least another three months

Does the crossword puzzles in the newspaper every week

Uses humor as a coping mechanism and it honestly just became a personality

Constantly popping his joints. I'm sorry if you find this gross I too find it gross.

Probably brought home every stray animal he ever met ever until he was at least like 22 y/o

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

#jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Stabbed

This was written following an anon request that read as follows:

Hello sweetie, can I please request a dean x reader one shot in which she gets stabbed during a rough hunt and it's a race against time to save her (maybe Sam is the one driving and dean gets in the backseat with her?) And dean is scared of losing her and he has a panic attack after she wakes up but she manages to calm him down?

Obviously everyone’s experiences with panic attacks are different, but I tend to think if Dean had one it might manifest more externally as a violent outburst; I think he would subconsciously feel like it’s a more acceptable way to express ~freaking the fuck out~. This fic is sort of loosely set during early season 3, partly because that contextualization made sense to me with what you were describing and partly because I feel like that tenderhearted, slightly-less-jaded Dean would be more likely to allow himself to be perceived as vulnerable in such a fraught moment.

I’ve also taken a couple liberties with the medical situation described for literary purposes. 😋 Don’t @ me, I know this isn’t exactly how hypovolemic shock plays out.

Title: Stabbed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4206

Summary: Dean’s anxiety gets the best of him when the reader appears fatally injured on a hunt, and is soothed only after the danger is gone.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence, description of panic attack, swearing

Sam slammed the door once Dean had hauled you into the backseat, propping you up like a mannequin next to him on the bench. Your vision was starting to fade in and out, but the sense memory of the muscles in Dean’s side and the leather seat underneath you were comforting anyway. It seemed like the car started flying before Sam had even closed the driver’s side door and you tried hard to focus on Dean’s babbling.

“You’ll be able to give me shit about this one forever, right, kid? Should’ve listened to you, you said they would’ve left the barn by the time we got there. Always so smart, when am I going to learn?” He was trying to chuckle but it came out breathy and wrong, Dean never quite able to actually hit the casual affect he wanted in moments like this. Honestly, it made you more nervous, knowing that for injuries he wasn’t worried about he wanted to look over you with clinical precision, chastise you for being careless. He only did this pretend calm when he was trying to keep it together—you used to think it was only for you or Sam but after a few years and more than a few bad scares you started to understand it for the defense mechanism it truly was. Not that you needed extra evidence that this was bad; you could feel the life leeching out of you like a water balloon with a pinprick leak.

“Hey, come on—open your eyes for me, lemme see those stunners,” he said, guiding your chin up where you had begun to slump onto his shoulder. “Perfect, yeah, just like that. Hey, stay with me—”

You mustered up everything you had to swim to the surface of the sleep-darkness your body so desperately wanted and straightened your spine to take a deep breath. Bad idea, the wounds in your side feeling like they were splitting you clean in half even through the haze. At least it woke you up for a moment to catch Dean’s eyes, fiery with panic even as he tried to smile.

“Dean, I—” you started, feeling like your throat was full of broken glass.

“Babe, don’t try to talk, it’s okay, you can tell me whatever it is when we get to a hospital.”

Sam turned his head away from the rural highway the Impala was absolutely sailing down to look back at his older brother. “We’re hours away from a hospital, we’ve gotta go back to the motel,” he said, low and serious.

“If we’re hours away from a hospital then I guess we’re driving for a couple hours, aren’t we, Sammy?” Dean was getting worse and worse at covering the hard edge of fear-driven anger in his voice as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean, we—she’s—we don’t have a couple hours.”

Dean closed his eyes tight and set his jaw firm. “We’re going to a fucking hospital.”

His brother swerved deftly around a giant pothole, somehow able to turn the wheel so slightly that the car’s path barely changed. “Listen to me. She can’t bleed like that for long enough to get to a hospital. We have to try to handle this one ourselves or there’s no chance—”

The whole conversation felt like it was happening to someone else, your senses starting to detach from your body, and you couldn’t hold onto those trains of thought for long enough to process them. You were forced to expend all the energy you had on what you needed to say, and reached for Dean’s hand with a weak grip.

“Dean, look at me.”

He sounded like a hurt puppy when he said, “please,” and you knew he was asking you not to make him listen but you were worried you were out of options, out of time. That frantic smile looked almost crazed as it started to quiver on his face, eyelashes clumping with moisture.

“Sam, can you hear me too?” you asked, frustrated in an abstract way at how frail your voice sounded.

He gave one tight nod in the rearview mirror with a jaw set firm as iron, and when he said “Yes—yeah,” it was choked.

“I love you idiots so much. These last—ow, Jesus—however many years have been some of the most fun I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t take it back for anything. Sam, I—you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I—fuck,” you winced, something about the breath you took to keep from crying sending an electric jolt of pain through you and doubling you over.

“It’s okay, I know,” Sam said up into the rearview mirror, and you couldn’t tell if the way the headlights were falling on the trees impossibly fast was something about your sight being distorted, because if it wasn’t then you were surprised the Impala hadn’t broken some kind of land speed record. You made a mental note to tell Dean to start drag racing before remembering you might not tell him anything ever again. What you were nearly positive you weren’t imagining were the break in Sam’s voice or the reflection of tears on his cheek as he locked eyes with you in the mirror.

By the grace of whatever higher power the Winchesters were on the good side of at the time, you connected with him in the reflection, were able to absorb some fraction of the bone-crushing, pick-you-up-off-your-feet hug you wanted so badly from Sam in that moment. You tried to be thankful for what you got and drifted back to Dean’s gaze.

“And Dean, baby,” you continued, some bizarre flutter of second wind giving you enough force to clench your hand tightly around his and remember to keep your breaths shallow, keep talking even if your eyes couldn’t quite focus. “This was not your fault, you gotta—promise—me you know it wasn’t.”

“I, ah—” he faltered, throat vibrating as he tried to keep the inevitable tears down.

You gripped his hand tighter, felt your fingers going numb, and tried to smile hoping it didn’t look too grotesque on a face almost certainly drained of lifelike color. “C’mon, gotta obey a last wish, right?” The grief-stricken chuckle of surprise that dark joke punched out of Dean opened the floodgates, and tears burst forward to stream down his face. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

You’d thought of some goofy punchline to try to give, some ‘no sleeping with random girls for at least a year, want you guys to pour one out for me every day’ bullshit but seeing the love and pain in Dean’s eyes as your vision came in and out zapped it away. “I love you baby. I just—thank you for—everything—and—”

It was getting too hard to take even those shallow breaths, your hearing gone fuzzy around the edges, and the last thing you remembered was seeing a streetlight on the edge of town as Dean took your face in his hands, “I know, kid, I know, come on—please,” fading out like he was being zipped away through a long tunnel.

You were completely motionless in Dean’s arms, pulse gone thready enough that Dean was having a hard time finding it through the rumble of the car.

“Fuck, Sam, FUCK!” Dean screamed, one hand wrapped up in the hair at the back of your neck as he fought desperately to keep you upright.

Sam muscled through the lump in his throat and tried to stay focused. “When we get there you need to be ready to go, okay, Dean? HEY, listen to me. Don’t quit on me like this,” he barked, trying to catch his brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror without taking his focus off the road, terrified at the speed of the Impala and the potential of repeating what had happened the last time he’d had someone he loved bleeding out in the backseat.

The car skittered around two corners and Sam prayed as hard as he had ever prayed for anything that there weren’t any Keystone cops looking to meet their month’s ticket quota by hanging around dark parking lots with radar guns, willed Dean to stop punching the window of the car with the hand that wasn’t clutching your head to his chest. He couldn’t decide if he thought it would’ve been better to have Dean drive, if he would’ve been able to hold it together any better than Dean was right now, if Dean could’ve focused if he was driving and not feeling you drift in his arms. There wasn’t time to figure it out and it ultimately didn’t matter, his brother turning into a bomb in the backseat and Sam needed to figure out a way to funnel Dean’s sheer panic back into the denial that would fuel him to keep moving, do anything to keep you alive, regardless of whether there was any hope left.

“It’s not over, you’ve gotta keep it together. She needs you. See, we’re right around—"

But he didn’t get to finish through the flurry of action as he pulled into the motel. He careened the Impala straight up to the door of the room, more than half of the car parked over a strip of grass intended to make the nondescript building feel more homey. By the time he’d torn the keys from the ignition Dean was practically leaping out of the backseat, carrying you into the room a quarter step after Sam half-busted the door open, laying you on a bed and tearing your t-shirt off with his bare hands like a cheap wrestling gimmick.

Sam didn’t bother closing the motel door, moving too fast to care as he ripped a cork out of whiskey bottle with his teeth and poured it all over your now-exposed side, grimacing with nausea at the way it didn’t make you draw back in pain even a little. Dean tried his best to thread a needle with floss and remember whether it was better or worse that the blood was still flowing fast and bright red out of those stab wounds rather than slowing or oxidizing—this is bush league shit Dad pounded in years ago why can’t I remember fucking any of it? His hands shook with too much adrenaline to get the floss through the needle but Sam was already working on patching the biggest wound, tying knots with the rapid precision of a surgeon.

It was only when he started getting in Sam’s way that the younger Winchester said anything more, encouraged that Dean was at least trying to pull himself together. He began talking through the stitches, muttering when he had to pull one tight with his teeth.

“We—Dean, look at me.” Sam drilled into him with those brackish eyes, struggling to maintain the appearance of being in control that his brother needed of him when he could feel you going cold underneath his fingertips. “We’re going to need to give her a lot of fluids when she wakes up; all we have is beer. Go get some stuff for her to drink—electrolytes, she’ll need electrolytes.”

“I’m not going to fucking leave, asshole!” Dean was strung out and not even pretending to hide it anymore, voice taking on that juvenile squeak Sam had only heard a handful of times since Dean was a teenager.

He took a deep breath in an effort to soothe himself before speaking as clearly and firmly to Dean as possible, no room for negotiation. “Dean. This is not helping. The best thing you can do for her is to go get some fluids. Gatorade, OJ, bananas too, if they have them. She’ll need iron but we can deal with other food once she wakes up.”

“What if she doesn’t—” Dean half-moaned, sounding like he’d been struck by something that was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs, looking like he was on the last ten feet of a hundred-mile race.

“She’s going to wake up.”

And Sam’s stubbornness actually did help Dean a bit in that moment, knowing that even if his life was about to change radically, that never would. “Go get some fucking Gatorade.”

By the time Dean came back—arms filled with so many bags of sports drinks that it would be comical in any other context—his brother had stitched up every wound, cleaned off most of the blood, and put all your limbs atop high stacks of pillows in an attempt to get as much blood to your vital organs as possible. Dean was near catatonic with the singular focus of a task, which was Sam’s intention. One thing at a time.

After about five minutes of sitting alongside Sam watching you, thick, viscous panic bubbled back up to the surface.

At first, he was muttering like he was talking to himself. “She told me, she fucking told me they wouldn’t be in the barn anymore, I didn’t listen. I should’ve been right behind her, Sam, what the fuck was I thinking—she was—she—she was alone, they wouldn’t have—” and then the way his voice built to a fever pitch matched his body, Dean perched on the mattress like a sailboat in a tempest, slammed against invisible waves of panic.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean. You couldn’t have known—”

“She was alone against five of them, Sam, do you get that? I left her fucking ALONE!” Dean wailed, springing forward from the bed with eruptive energy and bashing the nightstand lamp hard enough that its base shattered against the opposite wall, coming clean out of the socket as easily as if it hadn’t been plugged in. Sam flinched but didn’t get up, instead taking a quick visual inspection that no shards of ceramic somehow bounced back to cut your still body. By the time he glanced up again he only had a millisecond to react as Dean threw a chair from the kitchenette against the wall, exploding the mirror there into shimmering beads of glass and ricocheting back, forcing Sam block it with a forearm lest it hit him or you.

“DEAN, enough!” he yelled, crossing over to his brother with a few powerful strides and grappling with him, battling to keep Dean still as the older of the Winchester brothers fought to destroy the room to match the chaos in his mind. Sam knew exactly what was going on, the way Dean’s brain converted fear to rage, but hated when his brother got like this, not only because it cut so deep to see him in pain but because the explosiveness was so similar to the knock-down drag-outs they’d grown up with, made it impossible to try to fix the root of the problem.

Sam tackling Dean to the ground was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes.

“Do I pull this shit when you guys are sleeping?” you croaked from the mattress, trying to sit up and immediately abandoning that plan, stilling yourself and holding your breath until the pain settled a fraction.

Sam and Dean scrambled to get to their feet and ran over to you, hovering over the bed looking like their backs had a light dusting of glitter rather than a million tiny shards of glass.

“What’re—are you okay? What do you remember?” Sam blurted out, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade out of a plastic bag and cracking it open for you. He snatched a pillow and helped you sit up slowly, jamming it under your head so you could drink.

“Well, I’ve definitely felt better,” you tried to chuckle, but the tension it caused in your abdominal muscles made you wince. “I’m really sorry, you guys, I shouldn’t have—” you began, immediately stopped by the way Sam and Dean shook their heads, sucked on their teeth.

“I’m—ah,” Sam started, smiling self-deprecatingly through the shake in his voice and looking down at the ground for a beat with his tongue in his cheek. It was like his body knew that the worst of the crisis had passed and refused to let him hide his emotions for one second further. After a second he met your eyes again, faintest hint of tears in his eyes. “I’m really glad you’re up.”

Behind him, Dean collapsed into himself, his expression simultaneously complete relief and like he’d seen a ghost. You peered around Sam to meet his gaze. “Hey, dork,” you breathed, unable to come up with anything to match the weight of the moment.

He opened his mouth a few times and couldn’t find anything either, wincing and biting his lip hard as he rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I’m so sorry,” he finally choked out.

As always, Sam knew what Dean needed and snatched the car keys off the table as his brother tried in vain to keep his restless limbs still. He gazed at you with such naked thankfulness it made you smile involuntarily. “I’m going to see how much red meat I can find you, I’ll be right back, okay? Drink as many of these as you can and don’t stand up alone.” You nodded gratefully to him as he backed out the door.

When Sam left, Dean still shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands until he ultimately jammed them deep into the pockets of his coat with enough force that it shook loose almost all of the glass, sending it floating to the ground around him as if he was a mirage. You could see, even as he stood a few paces away from the bed, that his breathing was quickened from the rapid, shallow movements of his chest and neck. “I’m—ah, I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have—” he stammered against a jaw locked shut tensely enough to make the muscles bulge out of his cheeks, and the lack of the self-assuredness that was normally so Dean to you made him seem unbelievably young, made you want to leap across the room and wrap him up in your arms. As it was, you beckoned him over with a shaky hand.

He walked over to you hesitantly, only sitting down on the side opposite your injuries when you patted the sheets next to you. Awkwardly trying to move your torso as little as possible, you tossed the pillows on that side to the floor and motioned for him to lay down.

“I don’t want to hurt—”

“I’ll be fine. Please?”

Reluctantly taking off his coat and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground, he gingerly tucked himself under your arm and laid his head on your chest. You faintly dragged your fingertips down his back, waiting for his heartbeat and uneven, shallow breathing to slow down. When they didn’t and all you felt was a spreading wetness on the remaining upper half of t-shirt you still had, you twisted laboriously to see Dean’s face.

Tears streamed down onto you, Dean biting his lip so hard to keep quiet you were shocked you couldn’t see blood, the whites of his teeth almost matching the pressure-blanched skin.

“Oh, Dean,” you hummed, pulling him close to you with your one arm. “Babe, I’m here, I’m right here. Everything’s okay; I’m okay, you get to treat me like a princess for a few days and I’ll learn for the hundredth time that I shouldn’t go off by myself.”

“I—I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered between stunted sobs breaking the words off in short staccato, still fighting to speak as though he wasn’t crying even as his tears soaked you.

You craned your neck slowly to kiss the top of his head. “Not gone, right here. Always going to be right here.”

“You were bleeding so mu—just like Sam, it was just like when Sam—” he faltered, speaking slowly to try to grab the reins of his voice as it shook.

“Not just like Sam, baby, I’m still here. Everyone’s okay. And Sam’s okay too, right?” You waited for him to confirm what you knew was true and emphasize your point, drawing back to meet his gaze when he didn’t. “Right?”

Reluctantly, Dean nodded. The redness around his eyes made his irises seem almost unreal in electric green contrast and you couldn’t believe you were so close to never seeing them again. His lashes were even darker than normal, spiky black frames formed with salty tears like cartoonish mascara. You waited a beat then let him settle back into your chest before continuing, feeling the choke-hiccupping of his breath stop even if it stayed rapid. “Everyone’s okay. You’re okay,” you hummed into his hair. “You’re okay, baby.”

The two of you stayed like that until Dean’s breathing finally steadied, waiting past the clearly forced long held breaths and through to the point that he genuinely seemed like he’d hit the smooth rhythm you knew so well. “How are you feeling?” you murmured.

“Like a bitch,” he grumbled softly against your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, thankful beyond anything for the glint of humor back in Dean, that shimmer of normalcy returning.

“Sorry for scaring you.”

“I’m never fucking letting you out of my sight again,” he said, words still sticky with swirling emotion and muffled by his cheek pressed against you. You knew he was only partly joking but also that now was not the time to push back, just kissing his hair in response.

There was no way it took Sam an hour to get you a diner burger but you were thankful for his intuition nonetheless, because by the time he got back Dean was calm enough to get up and had even helped you to put on a new t-shirt—one of his black ones; he said it was because it was looser but you suspected it was some kind of metaphor, covering you with part of himself—and shimmy into a pair of mesh athletic shorts. Standing up for a shower was still too ambitious, but the fresh clothes made you feel a little less gross. He was trying his best to clean up as much broken glass as possible when his brother opened the door and tossed him a paper bag with a bubbly illustrated hamburger on it.

Walking into the room without taking his jacket off, Sam set your food on the nightstand and grabbed a motel binder of local attractions (minimal) as a makeshift tray for you to eat off of before carefully helping you to sit up a little more. “Double cheeseburger—eat it before the fries, you need the iron. Oh, and I almost forgot—couple of these too.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two bottles in one big hand that appeared to be acetaminophen and an iron supplement.

“You’re the best, Sam.” It was nice to hear your voice sound more normal, lubricated with two bottles of Gatorade already, and you tried not to imagine how awkward or painful it was going to be to try to get up and go to the bathroom later.

The Winchesters sat on the other bed, still in their boots because of the rug of broken glass no one wanted to acknowledge, and Sam turned on whatever dumb comedy he could find first. For a fleeting moment it felt like any normal night on the road, nursing an injury and eating greasy food in a room you’d never see again past tomorrow morning, and you almost forgot that (minutes? hours? you still didn’t know how long you’d been out) earlier you thought you were saying goodbye to the two people you loved most, who’d moved heaven and earth and miles of rural highway to bring you back, whose superhero resilience you’d seen start to crack at the thought of losing you. A searing jolt of pain when you reached for another Gatorade reminded you all too much, and when you hissed both Sam and Dean leapt off the bed with faces contorted in concern.

“Just stretched too far, I’m okay.”

Watching them take twin deep breaths could’ve been funny and you hoped it would be in a few days—hoped in a few days laughing wouldn’t feel like being impaled. For now, you tried to drink in this little moment of peace and made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t take another one for granted ever again.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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nolpat0 · 3 years

Text

too late | t. jost

summary: he left her, but he realizes it was a mistake too late

wc: 1,724

warnings: break up, angst

Cold, numb fingers curled around the steaming hot paper of coffee cup, gripping the fresh beverage with new desperation, the owner trying to will the heat into his frozen bones by sheer force of thought. Tyson huffed softly, his breath clouding thickly in the frigid, winter air, a shiver snaking down his spine despite the thick, wool layers he wrapped himself in that morning. Muttering a soft curse as he remembers just why he should've grabbed the thick, fuzzy gloves that were currently sitting on his entry side table, Tyson moves from the busy, buzzing street corner and quickly strides across the crosswalk. As if he can merely outwalk the cold threatening to petrify his bones; and Tyson was pretty damn sure it was a real possibility. Finally searching his surroundings, Tyson's dark eyes scan the scenery of the cold, wintery lense of Colorado's capital, trying to pick out his car from the rest of the masses in the over-stuffed parking lot. His dark eyes land on a couple, laughing loudly in the cold air, as free and in love as they could be, paying no mind to the freezing temperatures or the snow littering the ground in various, black slush clumps. A bell of familiarity rings in his mind at the sound of the girl's silvery laughter, but Tyson is unable to place the exact memory begging to be released to the surface of his consciousness. A tiny, confused frown tugs at the edges of his pink, chapped lips as his heavy, boot-clad feet shuffle closer. He knows the laughter.

And then it hits him: her.

All the icy breath trapped in his pink lungs rushes out, leaving him breathless and stunned, a sharp shard of aching pain slanting through his chest and cutting against the muscle of his wild heart. Tyson blinks, his hazel eyes shuttering in bitter surprise as he watches her with the unknown man. His heart goes tumbling to his stomach, burning away into nothing but ash when he sees her fingers curl around the upper arm of his jacket, her familiar, toothy smile tugging at her pretty face. She's laughing, a high and pretty sound that dislodges a horde of repressed memories from the back of his mind, bringing them forth and sparking a wave of stinging tears to prick the backs of his eyes. But she's not with him or holding on to Tyson, she's with him. At first, Tyson is unable to place him, his brain too overloaded with the endless stream of merry moments of the past two years with her to try and problem solve why the unfamiliar man is vaguely intriguing. And then he realizes why the sharp cut of his low voice is familiar: it’s Zach. Her college from work that Tyson always thought was too flirty and willing to touch her and brush his fingers against her arm when she said something funny.

She was now with Zach. The realization and reality of the statement hit Tyson like a freight train, barreling into him without remorse and at full speed, knocking the breath from his lungs once again. Tyson vaguely felt his white-knuckled grip on his scalding coffee loosen, shock waves of pain and regret rippling through him.

She looked up, crinkled eyes full of mirth and laughter flickering up to catch Tyson’s dark eyes, feet accidentally stalling against the snow-clogged gravel as they locked eyes. Tyson, for the life of him, was unable to turn away and continue the seemingly futile hunt for his car. And she was too stricken with shock to register that she’d been staring. Old, familiar feelings clawed at Tyson’s throat as he regarded her, begging to be released. But he held them back, determined to hide his regret from her and her all-knowing eyes. She dipped her chin, the barest form of a nod as the edges of her lips curled into a soft, melancholy smile. Her feet continued their previous path and she mumbled a quick, halfhearted apology to Zach before allowing her gloved hand to fall into his naturally, tugging him away from the scene of her broken heart before either boy noticed. Tyson was still watching the sidewalk she disappeared down long after her figure faded from sight.

———

Standing in the cramped, messy confines of Zach’s hallway bathroom, she pressed her fingers against the worn door in an illusion of more privacy as she dropped to the tile floor. Her eyes roam over her illuminated phone screen, rapt on the single notification that alerted her during dinner.

Tyson Jost: Voicemail

With shaking, uncertain hands, she unlocked her phone, eyes catching the photo of her pressing her lips against Zach’s cheek. The background was a familiar pose, one she and Tyson would make thousands of times in selfies in a mockery of the pose, grinning like fools every time the camera snapped and captured them in their happiness. Memories flitted across her eyelids, stacks of them as they played their heartbreaking adoration back to her. She pressed her fingers against the call app, playing Tyson’s voicemail.

Hi.

Tyson’s gravelly, unsure voice filled the small bathroom, reigniting a familiar ache in her chest, reminding her just how much she missed the familiar lilt of his calming, smile-lined voice.

I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I- I felt like- I don't know. I feel like I should say something.

With baited, frozen breath she curls around the device clutched in her palm, hanging on to every crackling syllable that hums from the speakers as if she can picture Tyson pacing, in the small, tiled room of his cramped kitchen as he hesitates with every breathed word. She's almost grateful for the conversational, thought-like cadence of his playing message, if only for the fact she can better picture him, imagine the scene of him talking to her under the warm glow of his kitchen light.

It isn't fair for me to say this. I know that, but Jesus, I gotta get this off my chest, baby.

Her heart stutters wildly in her chest at the achingly familiar pet name, the quiet murmur of her breath cutting off rapidly as a renewed wave of pain crashes through her body, burning every nerve. The subconsciousness of the saccharine saying has her head-first tumbling into every moment of Tyson's second nature actions of his love; the brush of his thumb against the soft back of her hand whenever she clung to him, the press of his lips into the layers of her hair when she laced her arms around his neck, the tug of her legs onto his lap whenever they lay on the couch together with his eyes still trained on the TV.

Letting you go was the worst decision I ever made- in my life. My mom and Kacey let me know that- like all the time. I kinda hate them for it, but I know they're right.

Fuck. I don't know what to do- but I- seeing you today nearly fucking destroyed me, okay? Like I couldn't breathe for like a minute and I thought I was sort of moving on, but now I know I just forgot how much I still love you.

Red-rimmed eyes going wide at the rashly truthful confession, she hiccups, throat catching on the breath as a quiver over sakes the tips of her fingers. She never thought she'd hear the confession again; hear the rough syllables of his voice etch out the words she imprinted on her traitorous heart.

———

She remembers the first time he finally confessed the words to her; after she'd confessed them a week prior.

Tyson's long fingers had run through his head of dark-honey curls enough to brush them out significantly, and she knew he was on edge from the glint in his eyes as he looked at her. She'd hesitantly laughed softly, eyebrows furrowed as she slowly surveyed him,

"Tyson? Why are you so nervous?"

"Right?" he cried in sudden protest, a choked laugh falling from his lips. "You already said it, and I know you love me, but I'm still nervous as fuck to say it back."

Her eyes crinkled gently at the fumbled words falling from his lips, a grin tugging at her lips s she reached for him, smoothing over the collar of his shirt as she giggled lightly. "You don't have to say it, you know."

"No, I want to." Tyson shakes his head softly, dark eyes intent on hers as his calloused palms slide against hers and his fingers curl atop hers. "Because I love you. So much."

———

A soft, grief-stricken sob escapes the boundaries of her shut lips, echoing off the pale tiles of the small bathroom as she places shaking fingers against her chapped lips to silence herself; saving herself from the inevitably embarrassing moment Zach finds her sobbing over a long, fumbling voicemail from her ex on the dirty floor of his bathroom, still as devastatingly in love with said ex as the day she confessed it.

Leaning her head against the wall of the room, she pushes a shaking, broken breath past her lips, trying to reel herself in, scooping up her shattered pieces into some semblance of herself so she can wrap her head around what his message means and what it means for her.

"Damn you, Tyson," she breathes with gentle conviction, squeezing her eyes shut as she wishes for the millionth time she just deleted the message instead of sneaking away to listen to it. Or, if she really got all three wishes: Tyson never let go of her smaller hand and let the shining glass of her fragile heart slip from his fingers as he tried to ease the blow with his calming, sorrowful words.

Shattered into thousands of tiny, beautifully glittering pieces on the floor of her boyfriend's bathroom, she accepts the one thing roaring wildly in her head in an endless, unrelenting loop that won't let her go. She might not understand how she'll continue on, or what this means for the clueless current boyfriend settled on his couch, or for the curly-haired boy with words capable enough to break her. But she understands one thing with distressing clarity.

She is in love with Tyson, and she'll never stop.

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Remus gets injured in a game. I have literally read everything you have written but i'm not sure if you have wrote one like this. If you have, ANOTHER PLZZ

Hello anon! I wove this together with a couple different prompts, listed below:

1. Coops argument

2. Prompt 21: “You need to eat something”

3. Remus gets in a fight with Snape

4. Protective Sirius

5. Coops going home grumpy after losing a game (see link)

Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove! TW for fights, blood, bruises, arguments, and someone getting called a wh*re

Snape’s cheek gave easily beneath Remus’ fist, which was a tad bit surprising. He wrapped his other hand in the neckline of his jersey, yanking him back in to land another punch to the side of his head—that would leave a nasty bruise in the morning. Stars sparkled in his vision as Snape got a lucky shot in and he doubled down, ignoring the thin line of pain that trickled down his chin.

“Break it up, boys, that’s enough!” The referee’s whistle blew as he and another pried Remus’ hands off Snape’s jersey; someone took him by the shoulders and pushed him away from the fight. Pots.

“Say it again!” Remus shouted at Snape as the refs and their teammates continued pulling them apart. “Say it again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth in!”

James’ hold on him faltered for a second as another person skated over and tried to join the melee. “Cap, no!”

“Move, Pots.”

“Loops won the fight, it’s done. Let’s just keep playing.” James shoved both their chests hard enough to send them back a few inches, but Remus’ blood boiled as he ground his mouthguard between his teeth. He glanced up at the clock—3:16 left in the third, Snakes up by two. Their win was almost guaranteed and Snape was still pulling this bullshit.

He skated quickly over to the bench and mumbled his thanks to Hestia as she pressed some gauze to his lip and ice to his cheek. “Lupin, you’re in for the rest of the game,” Coach Weasley said, tapping him on the arm with his playboard. “Anything broken?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then get your ass back out on the ice and score some points. We need some speed.”

He could feel the fury rolling off Sirius as they wove through the Snakes’ defense, shooting again and again to no avail. Frustration built up in every nerve—he was worried about the win, of course, but mostly he was pissed. Pissed at Snape, pissed at James for pushing him, and pissed at Sirius for butting into the fight.

Remus scored a final goal just as the buzzer sounded. Hissing filled the stadium, even though it was a home game. Snape smirked at him as he skated past and the only thing keeping him from dragging him right back in by his greasy hair was the possible suspension.

The shower was cold, because of course the fucking shower was cold. Remus shoved his stuff in his duffel and waited outside the locker room, silently fist bumping the guys as they left. God, he hated losing games. It was inevitable, but it always felt shitty.

“How’s the lip?” Sirius asked when he finally came out, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Fine. What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?”

“You butted into my fight. Nobody asked you to.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Re, he called you—”

“Yeah, I know what he called me,” Remus snapped, practically slamming the door to the parking lot closed. “I was there.”

The only reason you’re on this team is because you’re the captain’s whore, Snape had sneered. He bit the inside of his cheek as his anger flared at the memory. “I was just trying to help,” Sirius grumbled.

“Well, you didn’t. You proved his fucking point.”

“I didn’t prove shit!” Sirius scoffed as they got in the car. Immediately, Remus felt claustrophobic.

“I had it handled, Sirius!”

“You’re still bleeding!”

Remus ran his tongue along his lip—sure enough, the salty tang of blood filled his mouth. He swore under his breath and held his sleeve to his lip; his cheekbone throbbed and he knew it would be swollen in mere hours.

“Here.”

“I don’t need that.”

“You’d rather stain your sleeve than accept a tissue from me?”

“It’s a black sweatshirt, it’s fine.” Sirius muttered something. “Care to share with the class?”

Sirius sighed as he turned off the freeway. “I said it was your idea to keep these here in the first place. I don’t know why you’re being all pissy with me. We’ve lost games before.”

“I’m pissed because you don’t think I can handle myself in a fight.”

Sirius took his eyes off the road for a half second in shock. “Excuse me? Why do you think that?”

“I just told you!” Remus said, exasperated. “Snape was being a dick, so I punched him. I didn’t need your hero complex to swoop in and save the day.”

“Re, I didn’t even get a hand on him. Pots—”

“Oh, I’m pissed at him as well,” Remus snorted, staring out the passenger window at the blurry lights against the dark. “If someone calls me a whore, I’d rather get the message across that they can’t do it again.”

“Would you rather have gotten a penalty?”

“Yes.”

“That is unbelievably selfish.”

Remus laughed without humor. “Y’know, it’s really funny that you’ve never had this conversation with Logan, the king of the penalty box. Is it because he’s not a delicate flower like me?”

“Wh—” Sirius clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Remus. I have never seen you as a—a delicate flower. For your information, I have chewed Logan out on multiple occasions.”

Remus gritted his teeth and trained his gaze firmly out the window. He heard Sirius sigh next to him and it took every ounce of willpower to keep his composure. The next ten minutes were dead silent and deeply uncomfortable, which was a rarity with them; even after losses, they would talk through the errors or try to lighten the mood.

Both of them closed their doors a little harder than necessary when they got to the house and Hattie trotted over hesitantly when they came inside. “Hey, Hatters,” Remus murmured, crouching down to her level and holding a hand out. She licked his cheek and let him bury his face in her thick fur—Sirius scratched her ears as he walked past. “Did you have a good time while we were out? Huh, baby girl?” He looked up and saw the tail end of Sirius’ eye roll. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sirius, it doesn’t work. I’m giving the dog a hug because I’m still pissed at you.”

“There is literally no good reason for you to be pissed at me!” Sirius finally said, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. “Holy shit, Re, I don’t even think you’re mad at me!”

“Oh, yeah? Then who am I mad at, oh great and wise captain?” Remus practically spat, shouldering past him into the kitchen and wrenching a cabinet open. “Please enlighten me.”

“I wish I knew!”

Remus slammed the bread down on the counter and glared at him. “Then maybe you should shut the fuck up if you don’t have anything to support your claim.”

“Acting like this is a goddamn debate club isn’t helping. Your lip is bleeding again.”

“Fuck.” Remus ripped a paper towel off the roll and dampened it, holding it to his lip with a wince. Sirius opened the freezer and dug around for a moment with another paper towel. “I don’t remember you getting hit.”

“This is for you, you stubborn fucker,” Sirius said as he walked over and pressed it gently to the side of Remus’ face. “Better?”

“…a bit.”

The tension on Sirius’ face began to fade; he just looked concerned as he pulled the ice away and checked the bruise. “Your eye might swell.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you actually want to talk now, or should we yell a little more?”

Remus sighed and felt his anger abate. He was beyond exhausted, and still upset, but having Sirius nearby was like balm on a burn. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going to make some sandwiches. Hold this.” Sirius tapped the ice towel and moved to the abandoned loaf, grabbing some peanut butter and jelly as he went.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

Sirius glanced over his shoulder and gave him a look. “I know you, Re. You’re not going to feel better unless you get some food, and neither will I.”

“I hate it when you’re reasonable.”

“No, you don’t.”

Remus’ lack of response was enough of an answer. The pain stretched to his forehead and he grimaced, prodding his lip cautiously. Sirius whistled for Hattie and spread the leftover peanut butter from the knife onto a clean spoon, holding it down for her to lick. A smile tugged the corner of Remus’ mouth. “Cute.”

“I can be cute on occasion.”

“You’re always cute.” There was a beat of quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“Not for interrupting the fight?”

“Nope.”

“That’s fair.” Something tickled at the back of Remus’ throat. “I fucking hate Snape.”

“Me, too.”

“Surprisingly enough, it feels pretty shitty to be called a whore. Who would’ve thought?”

Sirius turned and faced him, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes were soft. “You know that’s not true, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Remus. What he said wasn’t true. You have nothing to prove to anyone on the team, least of all to me. You earned that spot on the roster fair and square, and Snape’s just freaked out because there’s another player who could grind him into the dust without breaking a sweat.” He stepped closer and leaned on the counter next to Remus, leaving a few inches between them. “I don’t think you’re a whore, if that means anything.”

Remus laughed softly. “Of all the people out there, I think you’re the only one who could reliably make that assumption.”

Sirius didn’t smile. “You’re my best friend and also my fiancé. The sex is a great bonus, but my favorite part of being with you is just being with you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Remus muttered, though the sharp edges began to smooth in his gut. He closed the distance between them and laid his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you, too. Can I take a look at your lip?”

“Sure.” Remus peeled the towel away and Sirius bent slightly, poking the area around it. “Ouch.”

“That’ll probably take a week or so to heal. He got you good.”

Remus pouted. “No kisses for a week?”

Sirius did laugh that time, bright and sunny enough that Remus nearly made his lip bleed again with the answering smile. “I said nothing about no kisses.” Warm lips trailed from his unbruised cheekbone to the edge of his mouth, leaving tiny tingles in their wake.

“I really am sorry about what I said. You were right, I wasn’t angry with you, and I had no right to go off like that.”

Sirius shrugged. “It happens.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Then let’s agree to talk first, bite heads off later, okay?” He held his pinky out and Remus linked it with his own, kissing it quickly.

“Deal. Are the sandwiches done? I’m starving.”

Wordlessly, Sirius handed him a sandwich and hopped up to sit on the counter, scooting over to make room for Remus to join him. They ate quietly, swinging their legs as the calmness of the kitchen crept back in once more.

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

i randomly remembered when enzo broke his arm around a year ago, i know it sounds mean but could you possibly do one of mac/maya doing the same (nothing major to cause it)

"It's okay." Amy hears herself repeat the phrase for probably the hundredth time now. "It's okay." It's probably supposed to calm them all down, all three adults and one little crying, screaming boy in the car, but it's barely working.

"It's not!" Jake hisses into her direction, the fear and panic and worry in his eyes more than obvious as he clutches Mac's head against his shoulder some more, tightens the grip around his back.

"It's gonna be, though." Rosa says from the driver's seat in front - she was clearly the calmest of all of them after what happened, so she'd grabbed Amy's purse, pulled their car keys out of it, and then pushed all three of them into the backseat before starting the car. And now she was making her way to the emergency wing of the hospital at about 15mp/h higher than allowed in the inner city. "The arm's broken, but not in a bad way. It's gonna heal."

"How can a bone break in a good way?" Asks the man who once stated that as long as his blood was still inside him, things were obviously good. Mac starts wailing a little louder in his arms.

"You're stressing him out." Rosa states, matter-of-fact, before slowing down just a little before a right turn so the kid in Jake's arms doesn't get jostled too much.

"It hurt." Mac sniffles and looks over at Amy with the reddest, most tear-filled eyes she's ever seen, and it takes a lot not to cry with him.

"It's gonna be okay, peanut. The doctors like uncle Jorge are going to fix it." She tries to calm him, and maybe Jake a little bit, who nods and scratches through Mac's hair like he does when he's trying to lull him into sleep.

-*-

They make it to the emergency room in record time, frankly, and if Rosa's rushed past some traffic lights and speed radars, Amy's not going to complain once the tickets come in the mail.

A bored-looking nurse informs them that there’s only enough space for one parent in the room during the x-ray and the cast and treatment, and Jake wants to debate for the first time in his life, because that’s obviously bullshit, but Amy puts a hand on his arm and then lifts Mac out of them.

“Sit with Rosa”, she says in that voice she’s started using after Mac, that mom-voice that’s always right, “Calm down, and we’ll be back before you know it. And it’s all going to be fine.”

She’s off with the crying toddler and nurse before Jake can really protest, and Rosa is already sitting in a corner of the waiting area, so he drops down next to her instead and buries his head in his hands.

“Dude, you’re blowing this out of proportion. Kids hurt themselves all the time. He’s gonna bounce back like always.”

“I broke his arm, Rosa.”

There’s a beat of silence between them as the weight of that statement settles. Rosa gives up her nonchalant pose to lean forward as well, trying to get into Jake’s field of vision, but it’s kinda hard when he’s staring down onto the floor.

“You did not.” She hisses. “Jake, you didn’t. He fell. He was climbing. It happens.”

“I helped him up on that tower, he’s too little for it-”

“It’s on the playground, he was gonna go for it eventually-”

“I was right next to him-”

“So were Amy and I-”

“You were talking-”

“So at least you were paying better attention-”

“I coulda grabbed him, I shoulda-”

“You did what you could, immediately and without question. It’s not your fault the kid drops faster than a cannonball.” Rosa ends their little squabble, and the old lady across them lets out a little harrumph, but Rosa shoots her the deadliest glare she can muster, which means a lot. “You were over there in a flash, Jake, I’ve never seen you move so fast.”

“Wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t good enough.” He mumbles into his hands, rubbing across his face and his hair that’s already a mess. Rosa watches him for a moment, and calculates. Pieces together the evidence, like she does as a detective, and comes to a solution that most people probably won’t like, but those usually get her results.

“Do you want to leave?” She asks, and he looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “Amy’s got it under control, she told you. It’s probably gonna take a while, anyway, we can dip out for a drink to calm down and come back and they’ll be none the wiser.”

“Are you insane?!” Jake hisses back now, giving her exactly the reaction she’d expected. “I’m not going to leave my son in the hospital to go to a bar-”

He stops and stares at her, and it seems like his own detective brain is finally catching up with his panicked dad brain, because he sees what she’s doing. So she nods.

“You’re still good. You’re still better.” She says, and they don’t need to mention who he’s better than. It was the first of his stories that he told her, after he hurt something in his wrist at the academy - how that wrist never really healed right anyway, not since he was 5 and Bobby Linder drove over it with his tricycle by accident and his mom had to rush him to the hospital and his dad asked ‘what is that?’ with beer on his breath when he showed him the cast later. They’d known each other for barely a month back then, and Rosa was still refusing to think of anyone as her friend, but the way he’d looked at his wrist in its bandage and smiled the most broken smile she’d ever seen had set something off in her head. Something that yelled Protect at her every time he mentioned his dad later, something that made her threaten Roger Peralta with one of her knives after their graduation when Jake was in the bathroom ‘real quick’, but she knew he was hiding in there so no one could see his hands shake. Good thing Rosa never gave a damn about going into the men’s toilets anyway, because she sure as hell went after him when Roger had dipped out as usual.

She watches Jake’s tense shoulders drop with another sigh.

“Being better doesn’t make me good. That bar is set so fucking low.”

“I’m not having this entire discussion with you again, Peralta. We’ve been through this way too many times anyway. You. are. a. good. dad. One accident doesn’t change that.”

“Okay.” He nods, and she can tell he’s trying to imprint her words into his brain, so she continues.

“Mac’s going to hurt himself, and others are going to hurt him, and things are gonna go bad sometimes. You’ll probably be back here in the hospital a few times, considering how much he seems to love danger. And it’s going to be okay, just like Amy said, because you’re going to be there, and you’ll help him through it, and take care of him while he heals.”

“Yeah.” He nods again, and Rosa leans closer to him some more, and finally gets into his field of vision.

“And you’re not going to even think, for one second, that you could be anywhere as bad of a father as that piece of shit. And you’re not going to believe, whatever anyone says, that Mac doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you as a dad.”

He nods a third time, and she remembers how he jokingly told her once, after a few drinks, that the little screaming voice of conscience in his head always alternates between either Amy’s voice or her voice. She hopes she’s given him some new tracks to replay if he needs to.

“Thank you, Rosa.” He says, and leans back in the most uncomfortable chair either of them have sat in, and they’ve both been to prison. He tilts over when she leans back too, lands his head on her shoulder, and she doesn’t shrug him off for once. She can have a soft spot for the Santiago-Peraltas when no one else is there to see, she supposes.

“You looked like you wanted to punch out that nurse.” She says with a quick grin, and hears him snort.

“Was thinking about it. Not enough space for two parents, what kind of bullshit is that?!”

“You couldn’t throw a proper punch anyway.”

“Hey, I know how to hit people. I trained to do it just as much as you.”

They share a giggle as the exhaustion and stress of the last hour flows out of them, and the old lady across them seems mildly shocked rather than annoyed by now, but who cares.

-*-

Amy comes back with Mac in her arms an hour later, and they’re both all smiles. Mac sports an impressive new sticker collection on his shirt, and a lollipop that’s painting his lips orange. (Amy’s have a slight tint to them as well.)

The cast on his arm is bright green, and he carefully lifts it to show Jake as he switches from his Mama’s arms into his. (Jake had jumped up from his chair so fast he almost threw Rosa, who was also getting up, to the ground.)

“Like ninja!” he says around the lollipop, and Amy wipes a bit of spit away before it can drop on Jake’s shirt.

“Yeah, just like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, buddy.” Jake nods because of course he understands his kid’s train of thought better than anyone else, and kisses Mac’s temple, stays there a second longer for that perfect toddler scent, even as it’s mixed with hospital disinfectant and playground mud.

“Look, RoRo!” Mac yells into his ear and leans over to show Rosa as well. “Turtle shell!”

“That’s pretty cool, dude.” Aunt RoRo answers as she inspects the cast to see if it’s well done or if she has to go back there and punch out a nurse herself. “Let’s get you three home.” She says after concluding that the cast is acceptable enough to let the poor hospital workers alone.

-*-

She was planning to drop them off, park their car and then head for the precinct where her bike is waiting for her, but Amy invited her up for some coffee for ‘her nerves’, and Jake offered dinner as a thanks, and Mac absolutely needed to show her the new toy he got in that package from abuela, and then suddenly she’s on a playmat on the floor for an hour after Chinese takeout and pretending to be a Ninja Tortoise or whatever. That soft spot is gonna be more trouble than it’s worth, she thinks for a second before Mac smiles at her as his Jedi figure shoots lasers at her turtle doll, and immediately realises it’s worth so much more than any trouble. Mac looks at his cast a little worried, whenever he thinks no one is watching him, and god, could he be any more like his dad? At least she and Amy already have a good instructions booklet on how to handle him, in that case.

“That green cast is pretty cool.” She says when she catches him look once more. “But you know what would make it even cooler? Drawings.”

“Drawies? On my arm?”

“Yeah, buddy. We can draw on it with a sharpie.”

He’s up and running to Amy, asking for a sharpie, in no time at all and yep, he is just as easily distracted as his dad. Mac grins wide and unworried now as he climbs on Jake’s lap on the couch, asks Amy to draw something when she returns with a set of markers, calls Rosa over to draw something too.

Amy does a little bear, his favourite animal at the moment. Rosa does a rocket ship and a pirate ship, the two best ships in the world, as they both agree. Jake does a Ninja Turtle cartoon face yelling PIZZA!, which is obviously Mac’s absolute favourite the moment it’s done.

When Jake wants to cap the Sharpie after his work of art, Mac grabs his hand and pulls it back down. “Steady, peanut. Don’t wanna scribble over Aunt RoRo’s cool ship, right?” He says with a grin over to her as she rolls her eyes. Mac’s already tried to cover several walls, most of his storytime books, and the kitchen table with his drawings as soon as he’s handed any sort of writing tool, so Jake won’t let go of the marker just to be safe, but he does let Mac’s little hand guide his big one as he makes him draw a wonky heart, right on the cast over the back of his hand, and then places a kiss on the same place on Jake’s hand.

You’re not going to believe, whatever anyone says, that Mac doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you as a dad the little Rosa voice in Jake’s head repeats as he smiles at her, and she actually smiles back.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #mac peralta #auntie roro #rosa diaz #my writing #ficlet

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Forty-Nine) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Oral (male and female (nb) receiving). Mentions and descriptions of sexual assault, child pornography, rape, wire cutting skin, PTSD, PTSD triggers, etc. IF YOU KNOW THE PIANO MAN CASE, JUST APPLY ALL OF THOSE WARNINGS TO THIS CHAPTER!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 14,753

Timeline: Season 7 Episode 12. Two months after part forty-eight.

A/N: Sub!Hotch is coming! :)

A couple of weeks ago, Hotch signed up for a triathlon that the FBI was holding in order to raise money to help support retired agents that needed psychiatric help. He insisted that it was important to him, and that he wanted to do it alone after I offered to sign up, too. As someone who needed help, he understood what it was like to be those on the couch in the therapist’s office. He knew better than anyone. Thankfully, we could afford to get him help—the best help that money could buy—but there were plenty of people who couldn’t afford it. Hotch loved the Bureau, and he loved making a difference in the world, so I knew exactly why this all meant so much to him, and why he was going to push himself to the very brink just to make sure he would raise as much money as possible. Not that I would tell him he couldn’t do it. I was just worried, and I didn’t want him to hurt himself since he wasn’t exactly as young as he remembers being. I just had to keep an eye on him.

When I found out that he was going to start training every morning by heading to the park to go on runs, I jumped at the opportunity. As he got up quietly that first morning to sneak around to make sure he wouldn’t wake me, and he put on his sneakers and athletic clothes, I rolled out of bed and started getting ready, too. He stopped when he came out of the bathroom to see me tying up my running shoes. Slowly, a smile started to form on his face. I smiled back at him, then patted his chest lightly as I walked around the bed and towards the stairs. Hotch chased after me to pinch my side playfully. I tried to slap his hand away because it made me giggle a little too loud, and the kids were sleeping just down the hallway, but Hotch predicted my attack, and instead grabbed my wrist and pulled me against his chest.

“Try it, baby girl, and see where it gets you.”

I bit my lip seductively. “In bed with you?” I teased.

He squinted. “In bed, sure. With me? No. With toys? Of course.”

“And… what would you do with said toys, Agent Hotchner?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Agent Hotchner.” He kissed my knuckles before releasing me and heading downstairs. I took a moment to catch my breath and regain my balance since my knees felt weak, then I followed him out to the car so that we could drive to the park.

We started going every single morning after that. When we started getting into the swing of things, we learned that we just didn’t have enough time between waking up and getting back on time to get the kids ready, so we started going after we would wake them up and drop them off at Jessica’s house so that she could drive them to school when it was time. At first, they hated getting up early. Like any normal kids, they hated getting up for school in the first place, but then we were insisting that they would wake up even earlier just so that Mom and Dad could go running in the park for an important race that he had coming up.

Eventually, Hotch and I turned our morning jogs into a competition. Whoever finished first always got to Dominate when we got home, no questions asked. Hotch kept fucking winning. I was sick of it. Now, I was determined more than anything in the world, to beat him at least once, just to see that devilish grin get smacked off his face, if nothing else. So, I started getting smart about it. I thought it like sex, right. Hotch liked to go slow and steady in the beginning in order to save his energy for the end. I always liked to go too fast and hard, which would wear me out by the end. So, I started playing by his rules. Slow and steady, and then sprint at the end. I wasn’t any good at it, if I were being honest, but I was working on it, and Hotch wasn’t exactly too happy to know that I was gaining on him, which boosted my ego somewhat.

But then slow and steady stopped working. The longer we raced, the better Hotch got at pacing himself and increasing his stamina, and it was getting hard to keep up with him again. So, I got smart, and I decided to play it my way. Rules were meant to be broken, right?

On Tuesday, when we got to the park, I started jogging normally. I followed closely behind Hotch at first, but the further we went, the longer the distance between us grew, and I got annoyed. But I played it cool. I waited until I could see the finish line in the distance. We always started at the car to limber up and stretch, then we would run around the park, head down a trail for a bit, then work our way back to the car. Whoever tapped the car first won. So, when I saw our car in the distance and I noticed that Hotch was kind of speeding up a bit more, I made my choice. This was it. This was my chance to finally win.

“Ow!” I cried out, coming to a halt while grabbing my leg. Hotch looked over his shoulder to see what happened. I hopped on one leg, my face cringing as I continued my act. “Aaron—” He stopped just as soon as he realized that something was wrong and started jogging back towards me. “Shit, my ankle…”

Hotch held his hands out for me, like he was ready to catch me if I needed to topple over for any reason. “What’s wrong?” His eyes tried to find mine to get a read on what was going on. “Are you alright?”

“You know I love you, right?” I asked, still looking down at my ankle to hide the smirk that was growing on my face.

“What?”

“Tonight’s gonna be fun.”

Before Hotch could put two and two together, I put my foot back down on the ground, and I ran like hell towards our car. It was just ahead, in the third spot in the parking lot, the trunk facing where we were in the park. I tapped the trunk of the car as fast as I could before spinning around, my arms raised in the air as I claimed victory finally. All that work trying to win, all those days of Hotch being so cocky because we would get home and he’d immediately claim his reward, yet I finally won just by juking him out. Sucker.

“You gotta keep up, old man!” I called to him. Hotch threw his head back and groaned. “Do you need a walker? Maybe a stretcher will suffice? Ooh— maybe one of those old-timey walking canes. Yes!” I laughed. “Oh, that’s going to be your birthday gift this year.”

Hotch squinted sourly at me as he got closer. When he was within range, I raised my arms and jumped on him. He caught me and let me kiss him suddenly. It didn’t matter that we were both still panting and sweaty, we’d continue to be until we could get home, finish my victory tour of his body, then finally take a shower. It was just something we had gotten used to recently.

“What about a blue one to match your vest?” I asked while jumping off him, still joking about the cane idea. “Or maybe red to match your favorite tie.”

“Y/N…” he warned.

I threw my hands up defensively. “You’re the one who lost.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you cheated,” he scoffed.

“I didn’t cheat. I just… abused the fact that you love and care for me so much that you had to come check on me before you crossed the finish line.” I grinned and threw my arms back around his neck to make him kiss me, but I didn’t jump up again. “That’s not cheating. That’s profiling.”

Hotch chuckled sarcastically, “Profiling? Hmmm… Interesting. Did your profile include that I don’t let cheaters get away scot free without punishment?” He was leaning in close, and he was whispering so that only I could hear the veiled threat. I gulped. “Car. Now.”

“We’re in a park, Hotch—”

“Then you better stay low.”

He grabbed my bicep and started dragging me towards the car again. He let go when I was set on my path to the front passenger’s side door. As he unlocked the car, Hotch eagerly jumped into the driver’s seat, and I slid into mine beside him. The second we were both settled in our seats, Hotch lifted his hips and pushed his shorts down to his ankles, then his underwear. Somehow, he was already hard without me even having touched him. I felt myself heat up and my thighs rubbed together when I started getting wet. I knew that it was a bad idea. Anyone could see us, and he probably wasn’t even going to fuck me, but—

Hotch grabbed the back of my head and pulled me over the arm rest between us. Before I could protest or do anything, Hotch pushed my open mouth onto his cock. I moaned around him in response to the sudden, demanding movement. He kept pushing me down until I was gagging and pushing against his thigh to find relief, but he didn’t let up.

I heard him let out a groan as his head fell back against the headrest. Knowing I wasn’t getting out of this easily, I decided to give in. When his fingers tangled in my hair, I started moving of my own volition up and down his length. His grip tightened. I moved my hands from his thigh to the base of his length, using my fingers to add stimulation.

“Baby…” he moaned lightly. I still heeded his earlier advice, keeping my head low, using my tongue to do the extra work. Usually, I took time to tease his tip because it was the most sensitive part of him, but he was holding me down, and I still didn’t want to be seen by anyone outside of the car. “I won’t last long.”

Already? Honestly, I thought to myself: the sooner the better. The faster he finished, the faster we could get home and I could finally claim my prize for winning this race. I was sure he was going to be stubborn about it, but that was part of the fun, wasn’t it? So, I hollowed my cheeks around him and took every inch of him into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat.

“Fuck—” There was his tell. Hotch’s hips bucked slightly, and he pulled at my hair, earning a groan from me. The vibrations of my moans and groans around him was enough to tip him over the edge. He cursed my name as he came in my mouth. “Good girl,” he hissed, snapping his hips up as he finished. “Look at me,” he demanded lifting my head off him slowly. As he raised me up, I looked at him through my lashes. “Open.” I presented myself for him. “Swallow.” I closed my mouth and did as I was told. “My good girl.”

“You’re in for it when we get home,” I told him with a smirk, facing forward in my seat.

Hotch pulled up his pants. “I’d like to see you try.” And then his phone started ringing.

I whined. “Please, no. Don’t answer it.”

However, Hotch was already grabbing it and swiping his thumb across the screen to answer it while saying, “I’m sorry, baby girl.” I sighed and slid down in my seat, knowing that it had to do with work and that our morning plans were going to be postponed. Hotch hung up. “We have a case.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby girl…” He slid his hand onto my thigh, grabbing it lightly and playfully but still sensually so as to get my attention.

I forced myself to look at him. “You still owe me.”

“I know I do.”

“I won’t forget it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

I slowly felt a smile grow on my face. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

After that, Hotch and I headed home to get showered quickly. Apparently, JJ only gave us about an hour to get home, get ready for work, then head to the office. It was plenty of time. Hotch and I raced up the stairs and to our bedroom, tearing each other’s clothes off while kissing each other sloppily and desperately as we stumbled around. There wasn’t enough time for me to claim my prize yet, but there was still time for other things. So, while we were standing in the shower, soaking under the warm water, Hotch had me pushed against the wall, my arms pinned over my head, his tongue fighting for dominance against mine. I rolled my hips around to get him all worked up, and I succeeded. He knelt down in front of me and grabbed my hips roughly to hold me steady as he pressed his tongue flat against my clit and started flicking it side to side. I almost slipped at first. If he hadn’t been holding me the way he was, I would’ve lost my footing and fell right over, crashing into the constantly draining water. But Hotch wouldn’t let that happen. He made sure that I was safe so that I could just focus on moaning out his name and begging for more while pulling at his wet hair.

Once I came, Hotch kept holding me, sliding his hands up from my hips to my waist as he stood, and then he kissed me roughly again. I moaned into his mouth as I tasted myself. It wasn’t exactly the reward I anticipated getting after our run, but it was still perfect, and I let him know it as I continued to kiss him by keeping him trapped in my arms that were flung around his neck.

“We have to…” he began before I kissed him again. “We have to actually… Fuck… We have to actually shower, baby girl.”

“We could also call in sick.”

“No…” He moved one of his hands to my neck slowly, but then he quickly grabbed on and held me still against the wall so that he could pull back and catch his breath. “We have to actually go in today.” He used his free hand to brush his hair out of his face and wipe the water out of his eyes. He looked so hot like that, though… Fuck… “Behave.” He gently released me. When I didn’t jump him again, he relaxed. “Good girl.”

“I hate you.”

“No, no, no. What do you say after what I just did for you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Sir.”

He grinned as he grabbed the shampoo from the ledge. “Exactly.”

By the time we were actually clean, we had run out of time in our hour that JJ gave us. However, it didn’t seem to be that big of deal, considering that as we were running into the office building with our case files from home and two apples for breakfast, Rossi was meandering up to the door casually like he didn’t care that he was late, too. He opened the door for us just in time to run in. He chuckled. While we raced through security, hardly getting a chance to stop and greet the guards we were friends with, Rossi was still slowly making his way through, yet we still waited at the elevator for him. We were great friends…

In the elevator, Rossi stayed quiet as he looked between me and Hotch, then looked us both up and down respectively. I furrowed my brows, curious as to what he was looking at or for. Did Hotch leave a button undone? Was his zipper down? Did I forget to brush my hair? What the hell did Rossi find so intriguing about us just standing in the elevator?

“What?” Hotch finally asked, also uneasy with Rossi’s silent profiling and wandering eyes.

Rossi shrugged and looked forward. “Did you two work out this morning?”

Wait— What? Did we smell? Was our wet hair from the shower somehow an obvious sign? Did I not fucking brush my hair! David Rossi, I swear—

“We did. We’ve been jogging.”

“Jogging.” Rossi nodded with a small smirk. “And how was the, uh… work out.”

I rolled my eyes. There it was. Somehow Rossi knew that more than a morning jog happened. That man had a scent and an eye for that kind of thing, and I never understood how. I could shower and not have sex for a week, and he’d take notice. I could fuck Hotch ten times in a day, and he’d notice. What was our tell? We’re we really that bad at hiding it? I mean, come on, we were married, we were still… young-ish. We had stressful jobs and home life, but we loved each other, and we loved to show it as often as possible. Could Rossi really blame us?

“It’s called training,” Hotch rolled his eyes, “and it was fine.”

“Right…” Rossi agreed sarcastically. “Training. Training for… what, though.”

“Rossi!” I hissed, hitting his arm playfully.

He shrugged like he didn’t know why I had yelled at him or hit him. He was acting all innocent. “What? We’re just talking about jogging!”

“Yeah, we are!” I insisted.

“There ya go. No harm, no foul.” The elevator dinged and the doors started opening. “Next time, though, just keep in mind that I walk my dog at 7:15 in that park every morning. I go back to my car in the fifth spot around 7:45. Maybe try not doing it in the front seat of your car in the third spot at 7:45.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes shot wide at the realization. Rossi stepped out of the elevator, still grinning, but I looked up at Hotch, both of us utterly horrified. “Then you better stay low?” I echoed his words from earlier as quiet as I could as we stepped out a few seconds after Rossi was gone. “Oh, my god!” I couldn’t help the smile that was widening on my face and the laugh that was growing in my chest. Hotch was red with embarrassment, but what the hell did he have to be embarrassed about when I was the one who had been choking on his length with his hands tangled in my hair! “This is your fault.”

“You’re the one who was being a brat,” he hissed under his breath. He opened the glass door for me. “I think there’s shared blame.”

“You insisted—”

“Do you want me to punish you again?”

I squinted at him. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m counting that.”

“I still won this morning. So, technically, I should be the one counting.”

He shook his head as we kept walking to the roundtable where everyone was gathering so that JJ could present the case. “You can count, brat; but I’m still keeping score of my own. Just keep that in mind.” He ushered me into the room without another word about it, but with a devilish grin plastered to his face.

“Good morning, everyone,” JJ greeted as everyone took their seats. I was squished between Hotch and Emily. “There’s a problem in Houston that we’ve been monitoring for a while, but they’ve finally called us in so that we can handle the case with a hands-on approach.”

“Why?” Emily asked.

“Because the Piano Man is back.”

I froze in my seat. “What?”

Five months ago, Houston PD reached out to us with a serial rapist case where at least twelve survivors had come forward in the last five years, all claiming to be attacked by the same man. Police identified and connected all of the cases because of the survivors’ testimonies. His MO was to knock them out with a date rape drug, then he would bind them using piano wire. Hence, the name—which I explicitly argued against in my original profile and consultation. This had been my case to handle while Hotch was gone. However, they took my profile, and they never got back to me. I simply figured they caught the guy.

“What do we know?” Hotch asked.

I answered that. Because of the drugs, none of the survivors could remember the assault. However, because of all the missing time, we could approximate that he was keeping all of his victims for about twelve hours each after being taken or attacked in different times, locations, and ways. The twelve hours were to ensure that he had as much time with them as possible before the drugs would wear off, leaving the police with no evidence. Even rape kits turned out to be a shitty lead.

“Brittany Anderson woke up the other day in front of the diner that she had been abducted outside of,” JJ said. Wait— “And Vanessa Campbell went missing last night.” No.

“Those were victims two and five,” Reid realized.

“He’s going back and attacking his survivors a second time,” Morgan added.

JJ nodded. “Unfortunately, that didn’t save Vanessa this time around. She tried, but…”

“What do you mean ‘she tried’?”

“Vanessa tried to throw up the drugs using a salt and water mixture.”

“A homemade emetic,” Emily said, impressed. “She knew how to protect herself from ever getting drugged again, but it just didn’t do the trick. Whatever he’s drugging them with must be stronger this time around.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “because everything she’s done since her first attack has been to protect herself. She got a new home security system, she stopped drinking alcohol, she doesn’t take public transportation anymore, so on. She’s been extremely cautious.”

“He’s getting off on upping the stakes,” I whispered. Everyone turned to look at me. I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably in my chair, trying to straighten my posture without raising any questions. “He’s getting off on knowing that no matter what, no matter how safe they feel, he can still get to them.”

“So, the question is, how did the Unsub drug her and take her in her own home?” Hotch questioned. He looked at me to say, “I want you to take the lead on this case since you did the original consultation and profile.” I nodded. “Okay. Wheels up in forty.” He immediately stood with his things in hand and headed towards his office.

Everyone began collecting their things and pushing out their chairs so that we could hurry to our desks in the bullpen and grab our go-bags. Morgan was eyeing me warily the whole time. I tried to ignore it, thinking that he had probably just caught my awkwardness in the roundtable room. Out of everyone, he probably understood most of all why.

“Y/N,” Hotch called from his office. I looked up from my go-bag on my chair and saw him curling his finger towards himself and his office.

“Ooh,” Morgan chortled, “someone’s in trouble with the principal.”

I squinted at him. “Bite me.” I stood and started walking up the ramp.

“Every day you stray further from the sweet and innocent Y/N who first walked through those doors. When do I get them back?”

“I was never sweet and innocent, Derek! Once you learn that, you’ll think of something smart to say back to me one of these days.”

“And the shots just keep coming.”

“They never stop!” I laughed.

“Hey,” Hotch greeted as I entered his office. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright with working on this case.”

I furrowed my brows. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hotch hesitated. “Well, I figured with… the nature of it…”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N, I saw you during the case presentation. I know that what happened to you in high school isn’t something you like to talk about, but it’s okay if you can’t—”

“It made me uncomfortable, Hotch, because we should have taken this guy down five months ago before he started going back to his survivors. No one should ever have to endure that twice. Ever.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I want to lead this case. I want to be there when we take him down. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” I nodded, too. While I hadn’t exactly told him the entire truth, I only told him what mattered—and, honestly, since he lied to me about Prentiss, I had some wiggle room to lie to him, too. He didn’t need to know that this was putting me on edge. Not yet at least.

“I got Prentiss’s evaluation back,” he told me quietly. I cocked a brow. “She lied to her therapist in order to pass.”

“Well, that’s okay.”

“What?”

I shrugged. “She’s just trying to move past it all. She really just wants things to go back to normal.”

“Y/N…” He hesitated. “I know that she wants things to go back to how they were…” He eyed me carefully. “But she’s still going through it. She can’t just snap her fingers and make things the same.”

I eyed him back. That was about more than just Prentiss. This was about how it had been a solid two months since he got back, and things weren’t back to how they were before he left. Honestly, I knew that I told him that they would eventually, but I wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t that things were bad. In fact, they were as good as they could get, considering all the pain he caused, but to say that it would ever be how it was… No… That was impossible. The best thing we could do now was to just look to the future and create a new normal.

Hotch shook off his thought. “I’m going to talk to her before the team gets on the jet. Think you can hold them off for me?”

“I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

----

On the jet, Hotch and I sat in the two seats in the very back while everyone else was huddled around the four seats—except for Emily, who was still reading the case file on her own. Hotch held my hand during takeoff. Four years into working at the BAU, and I was much better at flying than I was when I first started, but it was still nice to have him there to comfort me whenever the plane would bounce while climbing in altitude.

Then, once we were high up in the air, coasting for a few minutes like we would be for the next few hours, I nonchalantly laid my head on Hotch’s shoulder—not even realizing what it was that I was doing and where I was doing it. I just needed to rest my eyes. That was all I was thinking about. Houston was a couple hours away, and we weren’t going to keep talking about the case yet, so I could afford to just shut my eyes for a little bit… Even if it while laying on Hotch in front of everyone on the jet. Though, to be fair, we had done a lot worse on that jet while people were around.

“Why are you so exhausted, my love?” he whispered, careful not to disturb me or catch anyone’s attention.

I sighed and relaxed even more against him. “Between staying up all night with Scar, then keeping up with you while jogging, then going to work, then… you know… stuff at home…” He chuckled. “It’s all a lot.” Then I realized how that sounded. “But I’m happy!” I insisted quickly. “I’m happy, baby, I promise. I’m just tired.”

He grabbed my hand and brought my knuckles to his lips. After pressing a gentle kiss on them, he wiped his thumb gently over every bump. “Why don’t you go sleep on the couch for a bit while Emily and I catch up on the case since we weren’t here when you guys first got it a couple of months ago?”

I nodded against him. “Okay. Thank you.” I lifted my head off of his shoulder, and with half-open eyelids, I pushed myself out of my seat and slowly meandered over to the couch on the opposite side of the jet. I plopped down with a groan.

“Rough morning?” Rossi asked from his seat.

With my eyes still closed, I responded, “I will cut your tongue out if you don’t figure out how to hold it.”

I heard him chuckle, earning a smirk from me, too.

----

I jolted awake when I felt a hand on my bicep, scaring the absolute shit out of me. When I caught my breath, I realized that it was just Hotch carefully coaxing me awake on the couch. That was when I realized that there was no one else on the plane. We weren’t moving anymore. Shit.

I groaned as I sat up. “You let me sleep the whole way?!”

“Sorry,” he apologized quietly, “but we heard from the local PD as we were landing.” He handed me my go-bag when I was ready. “There were no date rape drugs found in Vanessa Campbell’s stomach contents.” I cursed under my breath as I stood and we started walking off the jet together to find that the team was already gone, leaving us with the last black SUV that we had waiting to drive us into town. “They didn’t find anything in her system, actually.”

“Wait, what?” I inquired while sliding into the backseat. That was odd, considering she would have only just been drugged, so there should have been some traces of the drug in her bile.

“That’s not even the worst part.” He settled in the seat beside me, then patted the driver’s seat to reference that we were ready to go. The chauffeur started driving. “Three more victims have come forward to admit that they had been re-assaulted.”

I didn’t even have to ask why they didn’t come forward earlier because I already knew the answer. They didn’t think it was worth it. At least once someone came forward and the story hit the news, it encouraged more women to come further. I was sure that if Reid were riding in the car with us, he would’ve given some statistic—one which I really didn’t want to hear in this case.

At the station, Emily and I went to sit in the boardroom all day, ready to ask each of the survivors the questions we had prepared. When the first girl showed up, I took the lead. I asked the questions, and Emily just sat by and took notes; but the longer we sat there, hearing the same depressing story again and again, I found that I was slowing down, and it was getting hard to keep asking the same questions while already knowing how gut wrenching the answer was going to be.

The first question was always about what they had changed in their lives since the first attack. Vanessa Campbell had changed her appearance, her home, her work, her lifestyle—everything for the sake of protecting herself. When we first started asking the question, we anticipated different answers. We thought that we would have to grasp at straws to find connections, but we were not at all prepared to hear that they all did the same things. Hair, clothes, home, work, partners, lifestyle, pets—everything. They all changed the same things.

And then there was a moment when I asked myself if I had done that, too, without realizing. After it happened, I stopped going to parties. I mean, it happened at the end of senior year at one of the last parties that our graduating class ever threw, so it didn’t really matter. But in college, I never went to one. I thought about it, but every time I did, I felt sick. So, I stayed in. I stopped wearing clothes that were revealing all the way up until I met Hotch. But I think that stood out the most was my sex life. While I never had any “boyfriends” or “girlfriends” after it happened, I certainly had my fair share of fuck buddies. BDSM parties, swinger parties, orgies, even. For some reason, I took what happened to me, and my brain made sense of it by telling me that I had to relinquish control in that part of my life—but only with people I absolutely trusted. I never, ever participated in one of those events unless I was with a friend that I trusted with my life.

Most people, on the other hand, would have never done what I did. Understandable. I took the route that said I needed more sex in order to forget about what happened to me—whereas most survivors were the opposite. But everyone was different. I handled my trauma the way that made sense to me, and each of the women we interviewed that day took the other approach.

But then they all said something that was all too true about me, as well. They didn’t tell the police because they didn’t think that anyone would believe them. I was in high school. I was underage at a party, photographed doing illegal things. If I would have gone to the police, I would have been in more trouble than the boy who took those pictures because his face was never in them. There was evidence that I had been drinking, there was evidence that I had been smoking pot, and there was evidence that I was fucking a boy. Yet, there wasn’t a single shred of evidence of what he actually did—other than my word… But knowing the statistics, what were the odds that they would have believed me over him?

“Besides, who would ever believe the slut who cries wolf?” Dana, one of the survivors, asked. I cocked a brow at her. “Can we take a break or something? I need a smoke.”

I froze while writing. After hesitating for a moment, I looked at Emily, then I looked at Dana. That was the fourth time we had heard that request from the survivors. Four out of four.

After Emily told her that she could smoke outside the building, Dana grabbed her purse and left. I spun in my chair to look at Emily. We were both thinking the same thing, I could see it in her eyes. If the victims weren’t being drugged through their drinks or food, then there was only one common link between them that made sense. Their cigarettes.

My phone started ringing with a call from Morgan. I answered to check in with him and Spencer on what they found at Vanessa Campbell’s house. Just like we had seen in the case file, there was vomit on the kitchen floor, a broken glass from the homemade emetic, the glass door had been busted in, and there was a clear sign of a struggle throughout the kitchen and living room. But what the cops failed to mention in their report before Morgan and Reid got there was that the TV was on, and that the Unsub had been playing a song that Vanessa absolutely hated, according to her husband.

“Can you try asking the other victims if there’s any song they can’t stand since their first attack?” Reid asked me. I asked why. “If there’s a pattern, he could have possibly chosen to play that exact song on purpose.”

It sounded reasonable enough, so I gave in to the idea. When Dana came back from her smoke, we asked her about the songs. She told us that there was one piano ballad specifically that she couldn’t stand anymore because it had been playing during both attacks. After we talked to her, Emily and I went back to talk to the other survivors, and they all told us the same. So, Reid had been right about a pattern.

I collected my things as Emily saw the survivors to their cars just outside of the station. Hotch, Rossi, JJ, Morgan, and Spencer headed into the boardroom and took some of the empty seats, making sure not to steal Emily’s next to mine. I watched Morgan as he sat down. I wondered if he was okay since getting back to the station from Vanessa’s house, after seeing everything that man did to her. Morgan and I had different experiences, don’t get me wrong. But assault was assault. Just because mine aligned more with the Piano Man case didn’t mean that the content didn’t still bother the great Derek Morgan.

Hotch cleared his throat, catching my attention. He made a smooth gesture my way to tell me to start leading the meeting. They all wanted to know what Emily and I had found out while talking to all of the survivors, and I wanted to know what Morgan and Reid thought of the songs and the crime scene at Vanessa Campbell’s house. With confirmation that the song was part of the Unsub’s signature, Reid started putting all of the pieces together so that Rossi and Hotch could start building an official profile off of the one I had given the local PD months ago.

Reid finished what he was saying with, “It’s possible that while they’ve lost consciousness during their attacks, the Unsub is playing each of these songs on repeat, and in the victims are retraining the information—perhaps like a Pavlovian response, which turns the songs into a trigger.”

“The question is, why these songs?” Hotch questioned.

“Well, piano ballads are usually comforting, romantic songs. He could be setting the mood while also torturing them with the fact that music will never sound the same to them,” Rossi offered.

I cleared my throat like I had something stuck that was choking me up, and I used that as an excuse to leave and grab some coffee. No one said anything as I left.

----

That night, while Hotch and I were getting ready for bed at the hotel, I got lost in thought. I was standing in front of the sink with the water running, staring into my own reflection in the mirror, remembered the photos he had taken of me and used against me just to get some fucking money… Not that he even needed it. He came from a good family that was sending him to a good school so that he had a bright future. But he just wanted to make my life a living hell. I could remember that even after the bruises on my hips faded and the hickeys on my neck and collarbone disappeared, it never felt like they were gone because they were always there in those pictures. Even though Morgan and I burned those pictures a long time ago, it still felt like they were following me around. It felt like the bruises were still on me.

“I thought you said you could handle it,” Hotch whispered from behind me. I snapped out of my trance to see him leaning against the doorframe. “This case. You said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It isn’t,” I insisted while shutting the water off.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other.”

I glared at him through the mirror.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he said, approaching me to try to hug me from behind. I dodged the attempt and stepped around him, heading for the bedroom. “It’s okay if you need to sit this one out because of what happened—”

“Like I’ve told you a thousand times, Hotch, I’m fine. I don’t need you worrying about me when I just need you to focus on helping me find this guy. Okay? Drop it.”

“I have every right and reason to worry about you!” he exclaimed while following me into the bedroom.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face him. “Aaron.” He stopped to stare at me, fear in his eyes, an obvious debate running through his mind about what the hell I could be so serious about all of a sudden. “Do you remember when I told you that I’d ask you to lay out all of the lies for me one day, when I was ready to talk about Emily and everything?” He nodded warily. “I need you to tell me or I’m going to go crazy during this case. I can’t be battling knowing that you’re still hiding things from me and also swallowing the fact that every time I hear someone on the team call those girls ‘victims’, I want to throw up. So, I need you to just… lay it all out for me. Right now.”

“Baby, are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure. You promised me. This was the deal that if I stayed, if we were going to work through this, then you had to fess up. No matter how bad, no matter how stupid, I need to know, Hotch. I don’t keep things from you, and all I ask is that you share the same courtesy.” I huffed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Please.”

Hotch took a moment to himself, standing there in front of me, watching as I stared at anything on or around him in order to avoid his gaze. It was humiliating to ask my husband to be honest with me. I knew that there was no way he had cheated on me, and I knew that there was no way that he stopped loving me, so I didn’t fear that something like that would come up, but I was still terrified that he would admit something that would break my heart, and maybe make things worse. But, honestly, nothing could have been worse than him lying about Emily’s death and letting me name our daughter after her.

He finally gave in. Slowly, he sat beside me, keeping his hands to himself, and he followed my lead by just staring at the wall opposite us. “Okay,” he croaked. He cleared his throat to reiterate, “Okay.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “I lied to you about Kate.”

Oh, my fucking—

“When I was working with her in England, there was one night when we slept together. We had both been drinking, and one thing led to another, as they usually do, and it happened before I could stop myself. I regretted it the next morning… I told her that it could never happen again, and it didn’t.”

“Did Haley know?”

Hotch shook his head. “She would’ve left me if I told her. And it didn’t even mean anything, Y/N. Kate was one of my best friends. It’s like if you slept with Morgan—”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“I’m serious!” He chuckled. “There would be feelings, sure, but it wouldn’t ultimately mean anything—” He suddenly stopped himself. “Or. Well. Would it?”

I punched his arm lightly. “No, it wouldn’t.”

He rubbed the spot where I hit him while still smiling, but then he started thinking about other lies he had told or secrets he kept from me, and his smile faded. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving Haley…” he whispered. “And I don’t think I ever will.”

I grabbed his hand and intertwined our fingers. “That’s not a secret, Aaron Christopher Hotchner.”

He looked at me. “It’s not?”

I looked at him. “No.” The temptation to run my fingers through his hair overthrew me, so I gave in. He nuzzled into my touch as I did so. “Someone once told me that we’re capable of loving more than one person in our lifetime. They never really believed in soulmates, and I don’t think I do either. I think that there are just a string of people in our lives that we meet and we fall in love with them as hard as we can, and there’s no stopping it. Sometimes it’s just one person, and that’s enough to last a lifetime. But there are other times when it takes a few ‘soulmates’ before finding the one you don’t ever want to move on from.” I brushed his hair off his forehead. “I’ve only ever loved one other person the way I love you. Only one. Even now, years later, having not seen them in a long time, I’m still in love with them. Does that mean I love you any less? No. You are my forever love, Aaron Hotchner.” I cupped my palm on his cheek. “Haley was your soulmate—one of them, at least. You grew up loving her, and you dedicated your life to her for as long as you could. You had a family with her. That doesn’t wash away just because you’re not legally married anymore or because she isn’t around. It’s okay to love her, Aaron. It’s okay to miss her. I would never, ever judge you for that because I know that you still love me, and that I’m one of your soulmates—”

“You’re my forever love, Y/N,” he whispered while pressing his forehead against mine.

“Then, you don’t have to worry about me getting jealous over Kate or Haley. You don’t have to be scared that I’m going to run off because you’re still in love with your first soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.”

He slid his hand around the back of my neck, bracing me because the next thing I knew, he was kissing me deeply. I exhaled through my nose as I kissed back. I knew that he hadn’t gotten all of the lies and the secrets out yet, but I was honestly content with what he had said. I knew how hard it was for him to be truthful. I knew that him and Haley had a relationship that sorely lacked communication, and that was why they ultimately failed. So, I couldn’t push him too hard, and I couldn’t make him start piecing together all of the lies and the secrets of his life in one night. I thought that was what I wanted, but now that we were in the moment, I realized that it was too much. Too much for him, and too much for me. It was okay to just leave it where it was.

Hotch pulled from me shortly to catch his breath. “I’ve got another one.”

I smiled and ran a finger over his bottom lip. “Okay.”

“I used to sell pot in high school.”

I let out a laugh. Shaking my head at how stupid and silly he was, I pulled him in for another kiss, moving so that I was laying down and he was towering over me, his legs straddling my hips, his hands holding my face for balance, my fingers still tangled in his hair to keep him close. He must have run out of actual lies and secrets if he pulled that one out of his ass.

----

The next morning, we got the worst news possible. Just as we were settling in at the precinct to get to work on the profile, the cops got a call about a body in a river that ran through downtown. The detective who called us in for the case let us know that he was heading down there just to see if it had anything to do with our case or not, and I decided to send Morgan and Reid with him. Only, at the time, I didn’t think anything would come of it. But then my phone started ringing with a call from Morgan, which I eagerly answered, only to feel my heart drop to my stomach.

“Hey, peanut,” Morgan greeted. “We just found Vanessa Campbell’s body.”

I let out a sigh as I braced my elbow on the desk in front of me and hid my face in my hand. “You’re sure?”

“She matches the description, and her body is covered in cuts from piano wires that were restraining her.”

“Can you guys tell if she was…” I hesitated.

Morgan knew what I meant, though. “We won’t know for sure until the coroner runs a complete autopsy. But, listen, Reid found something that might help.” I cocked a brow and put the call on speaker so that the rest of the team could listen in. “We found pieces of surgical gloves in her mouth, like she bit it off the Piano Man’s hand or something.”

“Okay? So what?” JJ questioned.

“These gloves aren’t latex— and they’re expensive ones, too. He couldn’t just get these anywhere. Our Unsub has an allergy to latex, and Reid and I are betting on the fact that he works at a hospital.”

“He could have been one of the doctors that treated all of the survivors when they went in for their rape kits,” Emily said.

“Stay with the coroner for now, Morgan,” I said into the phone, “and I’ll let you guys know if there are any updates later.”

“Sounds good.”

I hung up on him and leaned back in my chair, looking at the team as they all stared at me. The glove changed some things, but not much. I mean, it was a solid lead, and JJ was already getting in contact with Garcia to start looking for the doctors that treated all of the survivors and had a latex allergy—but in terms of the profile… Things changed a bit. The gloves were just a counter measure. He was evolving because he knew that we were hunting him, and when Vanessa fought back, he got rid of her.

“Garcia couldn’t find any record that any of the surgeons or doctors that treated some or all of the survivors have a latex allergy,” JJ said. But then her phone started ringing. “Penelope?” After a moment, she put the call on speaker.

“I found something,” Garcia immediately said. “I couldn’t find a connection with the surgeons or doctors, but I did find one link with an orderly named Herman Scobie. According to hospital computer records, he accessed each of the victims’ medical and insurance records after they came in for a rape kit the first time.”

“That’s how he’s been finding their addresses after they moved,” I realized.

“Y/N, Dana’s back,” Emily said from beside me. We all turned around in our seats to see one of the survivors, Dana, standing in the middle of the precinct, aimlessly looking around for us.

“Everyone, clear the room, please,” I told the team. They all stood and began filing out of the room. Emily and I followed behind them, but we walked towards Dana instead of staying with the herd.

“He killed Vanessa?” she asked instantly.

Emily nodded. “Yes.”

“He could be after any one of us now, right?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

Dana sucked in a shaky breath while clearly contemplating something. After a long moment, she relaxed and looked at us. “I remember some things about that night. I… I lied when I told you guys that I completely blacked out.”

“Would you be willing to tell us now?”

“If it’ll save us… yeah…”

Emily smiled lightly. “Okay. Let’s head to the boardroom again.” She gestured across the office, and Dana turned to head there. Emily started following, but I stayed still. She waited up for me, taking a step back when she realized that my gaze was glued to the wall. “Y/N?” She put a comforting hand on my bicep. “Are you alright?”

I looked at her. “I can’t listen to it.”

Emily looked like she wanted to ask why, but I could tell that she also understood that there was no point in prying. “I’ll handle it, then. Why don’t you go with the team to the Unsub’s house, get some fresh air, clear your head a bit.” I nodded obediently. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.” I put a friendly hand on her shoulder as I walked around and past her, meeting up with the team as they were gearing up to head to Scobie’s house.

On our way there, Hotch and I sat together in the front seat of one of the SUVs with Morgan and Reid in the back. Every so often, Hotch would glance over at me, his eyes trying to get a read on if I was any better since last night when I somewhat admitted that I was struggling—at least specifically with the fact that no one was showing the survivors the respect they deserved. Even Morgan was still referring to them as “victims”. But I felt somewhat better, especially since Emily said she could handle questioning Dana on her own. I knew that I would feel a thousand times better, at least, when we would catch this son of a bitch, and it meant that one less predator was out on the streets.

“Y/N, we have a plan to stick to,” Hotch whispered. He must have seen the hungry look in my eye for revenge. I tried to shake it off. “I don’t want you to be the one—”

“It’s going to be me,” I insisted.

He hesitated. I wasn’t like my sister, he had to know that, right? Elle wasn’t able to control her emotions, so she arrested Lee before we had enough evidence, so we had to release him, and then he attacked her. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. We were going to do this the right way and we were going to make every single goddamn charge stick.

But even as we were pulling up to the house, I could still see that Hotch was unsure about letting me out of the car, so I just had to make sure that I was the first out, and that I was assigning orders to everyone as fast as possible. The plan was that Hotch and I were going to take the front door, Rossi and Morgan were going to take the back door, and Reid and JJ were going to search the van that was parked out front. I couldn’t wait to serve the search warrant to this asshole.

As Hotch and I approached the front door, I pinched my comm on my shoulder to ask if everyone was in position. When I got confirmation, I nodded to Hotch. He steadied his stance before roughly knocking on the door and exclaiming, “FBI, open up!” But there was no response. We had reasonable cause, so Hotch stepped back, then kicked the door in. Together, we rushed into the house, searching the living room, but that was when I saw Scobie, dressed in his work scrubs, dash through the hallway, heading straight for the back of the house.

“Morgan, he’s headed your way!” I yelled into the comm.

Within the next few moments, I heard a loud thud outside, followed by Scobie’s quick protests to be released. Seemed like Morgan got him.

“Y/N!” Rossi called through the comms. “We got him. There’s boxes and boxes of Neoprene gloves in his van.”

Hotch was watching me as I smirked and started heading towards the backyard to get a good look at the Piano Man.

----

When we were back at the office, Emily was already done talking to Dana, but asked her to stick around so that we could get a positive ID on Scobie being the Piano Man. She accepted. So, after we got him in the interrogation room, we led Dana to the mirror room where we told her that she would watch with Hotch and JJ while Emily and I went in there to talk to him. We made it clear that we would have to play his game. We were going to say things that we didn’t really mean, but Dana just had to trust us. She nodded nervously.

“You okay to go in there after earlier?” Emily questioned me.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then. I’ll take the lead, then. Be the strong, dominant personality or whatever.”

“I’ll follow,” I said with a smile.

It was a good interrogation tactic. Two women going in to confront a serial rapist. One of the women fit the dominant role to a T, while the other was submissive and shy to whatever he wanted. The conflicting responses to him would fuck with his head.

So, Emily and I headed into the interrogation room, letting the door to the mirror room close before Scobie could see Hotch, JJ, or Dana standing behind the glass.

“Where’s my lawyer?” he asked.

“We called him,” Emily answered. Not true. He technically hadn’t invoked yet, so we were just waiting for him to actually say that he wanted counsel. “He’s on his way. Actually—You know what, Y/N?” I cocked a brow. “Maybe we should just let him tell his client about the Piano Man investigation. What do you think?” I shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll do that. Sorry to bother you.” Emily moved to the door, holding it open for me.

“The what?”

“The Piano Man. You might have read about him in the paper.”

“You think I’m him?”

There was our in. Emily slowly ushered me back into the interrogation room, closing the door again behind us. As she said, “No, I don’t,” she pulled out a chair for me to sit in, and I did so obediently. “Well, we don’t,” she clarified while sitting next to me. “The problem is that there are other people out there who think that the way you treat your dates is a little similar to this guy. Some guys like it rough. In fact—” Emily stopped herself with a chuckle. “No… Never mind…” I blushed as part of the game, and hid my face away from him and her, earning a playful chuckle from her. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

“No, go ahead,” he insisted.

“No, we can’t.”

I bit my lip and continued to blush.

“Maybe you already did,” he said. “I can tell that you’re like me… You know… Rough.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Well, maybe the three of us. But out there, people don’t understand.”

“I agree,” Emily said. “They just don’t get it. But I do. I know that it’s easy and fun to lose control. So… did you? You know, did you ever get a little too rough?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

My blush faded.

“Never.”

“What about those naughty girls that came back for seconds?”

“What about them?”

“They’re the ones making the most noise. What I need from you is a reason to kick them to the curb, because we just want to help get you out of here, to prove that you did nothing wrong.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Look at the notches on their bedposts. You think they’re innocent?” He eyed me up and down. “Are any of you ever innocent?”

Emily leaned back, slyly keeping her distance from him, and she casually chuckled. “Good one.”

“Besides… Nobody ever believes a slut who cries wolf. Right?” He continued to stare at me. “You would’ve liked being rough, too.” I didn’t say anything to give into his fantasy. “I know you like it. Don’t deny it.”

What the fuck? That motherfucker!

“What did you just say to me?” I questioned sternly. “You son of a—”

The door opened to reveal Hotch who was there to say, “Out. This is over.”

Something within me snapped. I felt this sudden urge to start crying, but I couldn’t let myself break in front of him. Not when we had come so far. So, I swallowed every overwhelming feeling that was crashing through me long enough to push my seat back and calmly hurry out of the room without saying another word or giving Emily a heads up.

When we broke into the mirror room, the door slamming behind us, I saw Dana crying in JJ’s arms while hyperventilating. Through cracked words that just couldn’t seem to leave my lips, I asked what happened. JJ explained the wolf comment triggered her. Hotch ordered JJ to take Dana back to the boardroom and to get her some water to help her calm down.

When they were gone, that was when Hotch grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. I sucked in a shallow breath and screwed my eyes shut.

“What is it?”

“How does he know?” I asked quietly. A sob was building in my chest even though I didn’t know how or why.

“What?”

“How— How does he know all of the right songs to play and the right things to say?”

“What are you talking about?”

He knew that playing all of those songs while attacking his victims again was a perfect way to retraumatize them all over again, and now they all had mantras—which he proved came from him during that interview. But what I didn’t expect was that last part. I didn’t expect that he would turn to me and know exactly what to say to make me relive that night all over again. It had been years since that night in high school. Sure, there were times when I would have a nightmare, or I’d see flashes of his face, or feel like he was whispering in my ear… But every time that happened, I was able to turn to Hotch, hold him in my arms, and relax. I could forget because I had the love of my life. And then that man looked me in the eye and said: “I know you like it. Don’t deny it.” Something suddenly snapped inside of me. It was an involuntary response. Again, I wasn’t sure how or why, but I knew that him repeating those same words spoken to me years ago somehow managed to break me.

I shivered against Hotch’s touch. “I think I lied.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I can do this.” I buried my face in his chest. “I didn’t think it would get to me—but he did. He got to me, Aaron. I’m so sorry. I thought I could handle it.”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” He winged his arms around me, holding me close as I started to cry against him. “Just breathe.” But I couldn’t, though, so I just grabbed onto his suit jacket and held on for dear life as I kept crying. “We’ve got a positive I.D. It’s over. We can go home, and we can talk about this, forget about this, whatever. It’s going to be okay. You caught him, just like you said you would.”

Yeah, after I was a fucking mess the whole case and couldn’t even listen to the survivor’s testimonial when she came back in to admit she remembered more than she originally let on. I technically failed at my job. Hotch assigned me to lead this case, and instead of stepping up to the plate like I had done every single day while he was halfway across the world, I slowly fell apart until there was nothing left of me except that scared high schooler who felt entirely trapped and alone that summer after it happened.

“Why don’t you go take a breather outside while we wrap up the case officially and I reach out to the D.A. to help them build an airtight case.”

I sucked in a deep and shaky breath. “Okay.”

Hotch kissed the top of my head. “You’re here with me, and I love you more than anything in the world. You’re here with me, and I will protect you from anything and anyone who would ever want to harm you again. Do you know that?”

“I know.”

He hugged me as tight as he could for a short second, then he let me go entirely. As he took a step back, he lifted my chin with his thumb, and using his other hand, he carefully wiped my tears away. “I. Love. You.”

I kissed his fingers as they drifted to my other cheek. “I love you, too.”

“Go catch your breath. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

I nodded and began stepping around him, heading towards the door with my head lowered so that no one could see my red and puffy face. When I stepped outside, I took in a deep breath of fresh air, letting the wind blow past me and through my hair. I let out a heavy sigh.

And then the door opened again. I looked up, half expecting Hotch to be there, but I was shocked to see that it was Emily. I didn’t say anything to her. I looked down at the concrete and slumped against the wall. After taking a moment to watch me from a distance, Prentiss decided to lean against the wall with me, too. No one said anything for a bit. We just stood there in silence, listening to the different cars as they drove by, and how the birds were chirping on a seemingly normal day. And then the silence broke.

“Hey, why’d you freak out like that?”

I quickly glanced at her, shocked that she was so forward. But then I realized just how off I was, and that if I were in her shoes, I would have been worried, too. So, I answered. Kinda. “It’s nothing, Em. It just got intense in there.”

Honestly, there were only a handful of people who knew the truth about what happened to me. Before joining the BAU, I was the only person who knew. But since joining and since the Fisher King practically ruined the secret, I had to fess up to Morgan. Once Morgan found out, he spent forever trying to convince me that telling Hotch the truth was the right thing to do, and I eventually believed him. When I went to Hotch, he told me that he already knew the truth because Garcia went digging. So, at least three people on the team knew the whole truth. As for everyone else… Well, Elle, Reid, JJ, and Gideon were only told that the photos were just images of me topless at a party. That was it. But Rossi and Emily hadn’t been around at the time, so they didn’t know any of it, and I was completely fine with keeping it that way.

But Emily could still sense that something was wrong. “Y/N, I don’t want to live with regret for not knowing you or for making you feel like you can’t be open with me. This second chance we have should be to recognize that it’s okay to talk to each other.” She shuffled on the balls of her feet. “I think that I have a clue as to what’s going on, but I think that it’s important if you’re just honest with me.”

“So, do you think it’s important to be more honest with your therapist, too, then?” I snipped.

She backed down, even though regret was immediately washing over me, and I was trying to find a way to apologize. “Okay… I, um… Well, I’ll be here if you’re ever ready to talk about—”

“Em, I’m sorry. I just—It’s not you, I swear. It’s just hard to tell people the truth and to explain it. At least with the others on the team, they know part of the story, so it would be somewhat easy to explain, but you don’t know any of it, which means that the truth is going to hit you like a train, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I can take it, Y/N.”

I searched her eyes for a moment. Even though I knew that it was true, I was still hesitant to unload all of this on her. But Emily Prentiss was just stubborn as I was. I knew that she wasn’t going to let this go, even if she insisted. So, I decided to tell her the truth. The whole truth.

Afterwards, while she turned and calmly pulled me into an embrace and I hid my face in her shoulder, the door opened again and Hotch stepped out to tell us that there was a problem. Reid, JJ, and Morgan found out that Scobie was too young to be the Piano Man, which meant that he was being set up. Scobie was just a copycat.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath. I quickly pushed past both of them and hurried into the boardroom to ask Rossi what we knew now that changed the whole fucking profile.

“His music taste,” he explained to me.

I squinted at him. “His music taste? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Reid, Morgan, and JJ have been tearing his house apart for evidence proving that he’s the Piano Man—maybe trophies, or even the piano wire he used to hurt them. While they were there, they noticed that all of his music taste is heavy metal. He doesn’t own a single piano ballad.”

Angrily, I turned and threw some of the papers on the desk at the wall. “Fuck!” I kicked the wall, then bit my lip to ignore the wince that left me when it hurt like a bitch. “Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, defeated. “Fuck.” I looked up at him just as Hotch and Emily came in. “How can he not be the Piano Man? We found the gloves, we know he pulled their medical record after the first attacks, and he even repeated Dana’s mantra after she was attacked the second time—” I froze. God fucking dammit. How did we miss that? “Fuck,” I whispered again. “He’s not the Piano Man.” I looked at Hotch. He obviously knew that, so he just shrugged, trying to see where I was going with this. “He’s not a copycat. He’s a doppelganger.” He shrugged again. “He has to know who the Piano Man is if he was able to mimic the attacks.”

That was when it dawned on Hotch. “Prentiss and I will handle it.”

“His lawyer just got here, Aaron, you’re not going to get anything out of him,” Rossi said.

“He’ll talk when he finds out that he’s being set up by the Piano Man. Just like Mill Creek. Right?”

This time, it was my turn to shrug. So, with nothing else to be said, Hotch and Emily left the boardroom again to go talk to Scobie, but this time I followed. I knew that I couldn’t go back into the interrogation room, but I could at least watch from the mirror room. That wasn’t so bad. It was like watching a dangerous animal from behind glass at the zoo.

Scobie’s lawyer groaned when he saw two federal agents coming back into the room. “My client has nothing to say.”

“Good,” Hotch said. “We’d rather he just listen, anyway.”

Sometimes I really wondered what Hotch was like as a prosecutor; but then there were moments like this, or in court for the Matloff trial a couple of years ago, and I realized that if I would have known him then, we would have never gone to work because he would have been too busy keeping my hands off of him. Not that he didn’t already struggle with that. The two of us were incredibly handsy people—our love language was clearly touch—but we at least had enough restraint to save it for when we weren’t working.

“You’re going away for rape, there’s no doubt about it. The question is whether you’ll let your competition hang Vanessa Campbell’s murder on you, too.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Scobie defended calmly. “I didn’t even touch her.”

“From what you’ve told us, we know exactly what you think of women—especially survivors.”

That caught my attention. That was the first time throughout this whole case that I had heard him use the word “survivors” instead of “victims”. He had heard me last night. Even though I was a mess, and we had a long night after talking, he heard that one complaint, and he fixed it. All I could think about was to thank him. Just a defeated, simple “thank you” to let him know that I appreciated that small gesture. It probably didn’t mean anything to him, but it meant the world to me.

“But we know that you don’t think that they’re worth killing. You would rather that they live with what you’ve done to them. So, you didn’t kill Vanessa. In fact, we don’t even think you raped her. But if you don’t want to go away for her murder, you need to tell us who he is or how to find him.”

Scobie didn’t say anything.

Emily jumped in this time. “How do you think we found you? Just like you, he’s going back to his old victims. Only, with Vanessa, he wanted it to make it look like it was you and not him, so he shoved a piece of Neoprene down her throat. That’s how we got you. He’s not on your side, Herman, and he’s not going to protect you. He’s going to make sure you go away for all twelve assault counts and the single murder count. But if you help us right now, you’ll only have four counts of rape.”

“I need to discuss this with my client,” the lawyer insisted.

Hotch shook his head. “No. He talks to us now, or he takes his chances with a jury.”

“I don’t know who he is,” Scobie immediately said. “I just read about what he did in the hospital and insurance records. The weird thing, though, was that I had two chicks picked out to do next. I was going to start with Vanessa, but he got to her first.”

“Who was the other one?”

“Regina Lampert.”

I immediately grabbed my phone and dialed Garcia’s number to have her get in touch with Regina Lampert. We needed to get to her before the Piano Man. So, while Garcia started calling every number Regina had, Hotch and Emily came out of the interrogation room. Garcia let out an annoyed groan in my ear.

“What is it?” I asked, putting the call on speaker.

“She’s not picking up,” she said.

“Keep trying.”

“I am.”

“Garcia, we need a home address or workplace,” Hotch ordered.

“Well, she only works nights at a bar…” She drifted her words as she got lost in thought, then hesitated. “Oh?”

“Oh?” I questioned.

“I found something. I’m sending it to your phone right now.”

Just as the notification buzzed, I opened it. There was security footage from Regina’s work the other night where she went to go confront the man playing the piano.

“He’s taunting her,” Emily said.

“And she knows it, too. Look at her behavior around her versus otherwise,” Hotch said.

We watched as Regina kept her posture strong and tall when she was around him, but the second she was away, her face towards the camera, we saw her break down somewhat. She knew that it was him. He had probably been playing her trigger song at the time, which was why she confronted him, and now it was all coming back to her. Then, come closing time, she actually left with him—but she didn’t look scared anymore. In fact, she was smirking.

“She set herself up as bait,” I whispered.

“His name’s Hamilton Bartholomew,” Garcia began, “and… his wife reported him missing yesterday.”

“Regina knows that he’s her attacker, so she took him before he could take her.”

Hotch looked through the glass to watch as Scobie panicked in his own skin, then he looked back at the security footage on my phone. “Garcia, pull Regina’s rape kit. They found a fingerprint on her glasses after her attack. Compare the fingerprint to Bartholomew’s, please.” Hotch looked at me. “You sure you want to go with us?”

I rolled my eyes at him while thanking Garcia for her help and turned to leave the mirror room. Reid, Morgan, and JJ were back, already pulling their vests off, but I stopped them and let them know that we were headed to Regina Lampert’s house. In the case that the Piano Man was really there, we needed to be prepared. Otherwise, we would just bring her into protective custody. The three of them re-strapped their vests, then Morgan threw mine at me.

I didn’t ride with Hotch this time around. After my meltdown earlier, I didn’t need him to coddle me or ask a thousand questions about whether or not I was alright. I wasn’t alright. But I would be.

Emily got the call from Garcia in the car while I was driving her and Morgan. We got a hit on Hamilton’s DNA matching the Piano Man’s on Regina’s glasses. I started going faster.

At Regina’s house, while I was assigning positions again, just like at Scobie’s house, we heard a gunshot rang. Hotch made the call before I could. Everyone started racing inside behind SWAT, trying to figure out where the shot came from and who shot it. Hotch stepped in my way every time I rushed into another room with my weapon raised, and every time I tried to clear a corner. I groaned at him before turning around and running away from him. He tried to catch up, but by the time he did, he crashed into me in the kitchen where I found Regina standing over Hamilton, pointing a gun at his forehead.

“I got him! I caught him!” she cheered. “This is the Piano Man!”

“No, I’m not! This woman’s crazy!” he cried on the floor. “Please, you’ve gotta help me!”

“Regina, look at me,” I pleaded with her. “Please. Look at me.” When she did, I said, “Drop the gun.”

“I can’t,” she answered while looking back down at him. “I’ve waited five years for this.”

“I know. I know, Regina. I know what that feels like.”

Her gaze snapped back to me.

“Try eleven years, Regina. Eleven. But you don’t see me waving a gun in his face because there are better ways to go about this. I promise.”

The rest of the team came running in, ruining the rapport I had been building with her while she was focused on me and not Hamilton. I cursed under my breath. Hotch should’ve held them back, but he was too concerned about me to just fucking—I’d be mad about it later.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving her finger for the trigger.

“Regina!” Emily exclaimed. “Regina, we ran the rape kit to match his DNA, and it’s not him.”

She froze. “What?”

“He’s not the Piano Man. You have the wrong guy.”

“That’s impossible. That’s him. I know it is.”

“If you pull that trigger, you’re gonna kill an innocent man. Drop the gun.”

Regina whimpered as she realized what she had done, and she quickly elected to drop the weapon like we asked her to. Morgan hurried over to pick it up. While he moved out of the way and Emily went to restrain Regina for the next part, I leaned over to help Hamilton to his feet. Hotch held out his cuffs for me. For a moment, I hesitated. I had my own cuffs, and I was capable of making the arrest on my own… Why was he… And then I saw the plea on his face. He wanted me to make the arrest, but he wanted it to be an apology, too. He was sorry for being overprotective when I clearly didn’t need it, he was sorry for all of the lies, he was sorry for what happened to me long before he met me, and he was sorry for acting weird during this case. So, I took the cuffs and silently thanked him.

“Hamilton Bartholomew, you’re under the arrest for the rapes of twelve women and the murder of Vanessa Campbell,” I said while cuffing him. His face immediately dropped as his entire world flipped on its head. I made sure to tighten the cuffs until they hurt. “Asshole.” And then I started reading him his Miranda Rights.

----

When we got back to Virginia, the team headed back to the office to grab some work that had been left around before we left, and to make sure that they had everything from their go-bags so that they could replace them tomorrow. While everyone packed up, I sat down at my desk when I saw that Hotch was just sitting in his office, already nose deep in paperwork. He didn’t seem to be in any rush. I checked my watch to look at the time. It was too late to go anywhere fancy, but there was still time to head to our favorite diner… Or maybe we could just go home and eat something there. Since it was so late, Jack and Scarlet were still at Jessica’s house, which meant that we had the whole house to ourselves. I thought Hotch would’ve been jumping at the chance. He must have forgotten. It was Valentine’s Day, and he forgot. Great.

“Hey. I know that Hotch looks busy up there… on Valentine’s Day… Us loners on the team are heading out for drinks, if you want to come. Hang out with the cool kings like old times,” he teased. I smiled lightly at him before looking back at Hotch. “Hey, sunshine,” Morgan caught my attention again, “I’m sure he didn’t forget. Just come drink with us for a bit.”

“I don’t think—”

“Come on, your three children can afford to not see you for a couple more hours.”

“Three?” I raised a brow. Either he miscalculated or I forgot something very important about myself.

Morgan chuckled and nodded. “You know; Jack, Scar, and Hotch. Three.”

I chuckled with him, “Touché.” My face fell flat again as I turned back to Hotch’s office windows to gauge what he was doing. He seemed so distracted with work, not at all in a rush to sweep me off to somewhere secret and romantic. He really did forget. “Alright,” I answered Morgan’s offer. “Just a few drinks.”

I stood with my things. As we started walking out of the bullpen, Morgan threw his arms across my shoulders, pulling me in for a friendly, reassuring hug. I needed it. While I was putting on a brave face and was trying to feign excitement about going out with the team, I really thought that Hotch and I were going to do something special for Valentine’s. I knew that we had been too tangled up in the case for a reservation somewhere nice. I knew that he was still worried about my reaction after interrogating Scobie, but… I would’ve subbed for him. I trusted him and loved him. I would have done that for our fifth Valentine’s together.

I tried to forget about it all when we stepped into the bar. Rossi had insisted on paying for everyone, so Morgan and I started competing to see who could drink more—which was a helpful way to forget about how sad I was that my own fucking husband forgot what day it was. At least it wasn’t my birthday. Or maybe even our anniversary. But still… It was Valentine’s… How could he forget that?

I drank again.

Emily joined in once she heard about our little competition, but Rossi and Reid stayed out of it. Rossi was gently sipping on a scotch while eyeing a group of women across the bar, probably searching for the fourth Mrs. Rossi. Reid, on the other hand, wasn’t drinking. Well, kinda. He didn’t exactly “drink” like we did, but Rossi got him a soda.

“So, Y/N, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Rossi began. I nodded while picking up my drink. “Why are you here with us instead of ‘training’ with Hotch?”

“Training?” Prentiss inquired before downing another shot.

“Oh, yeah.” Rossi smirked. “They call it jogging; I call it catching them doing it in the car after they’ve jogged all morning.” I nearly spit out my drink. Everyone else laughed along with Rossi. “I’m never going back to that park, I swear it,” he said through his laughs.

I kicked Morgan’s shin under the table to make him stop laughing, but that only seemed to encourage it more.

Suddenly, the door of the bar flew open, letting in the cold winter air, making me shiver. I silently cursed which ever asshole it was that was just standing there. But then the door still didn’t close. I rolled my eyes and sat up straight to look around the back of the booth and yell at whoever it was, but then I stopped when I realized. Hotch. He was standing there, wet and freezing from the rain, holding a bouquet of roses while anxiously glancing around the bar in search of me. Holy shit.

I stood on the seat of the booth, then jumped over the back. Everyone at the table stopped talking to watch what I was doing. Hotch only noticed me when I was running at him, my arms open wide for a hug, and he finally let the door close behind him so that he could catch me. I jumped into his arms. Hotch immediately started kissing me, towering over me when I fell back with the passion he gave me. My back nearly fucking broke before he let up.

“I am… so, so, so, so, so, so—”

“Aaron,” I interrupted his ramble before he could keep going all night.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m such a freakin’ idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” I shook my head.

“I swear, I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Mmm…” I slid my hands up his chest. “Well, I still haven’t claimed my prize for winning our jog yesterday…”

Hotch smirked and held my chin up with his fingers. “You’re right. You wanna cash in the win?”

I nodded and bit my lip. “More than anything.”

He leaned down slowly and kissed me. “Okay.” He kissed me again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too…” I flung my arms around his neck and let him hold me close for a moment as we continued to kiss passionately, hardly pulling back for air.

The team, still sitting at the table behind us, started whistling and cheering us on. Hotch and I finally parted completely, separating and turning so that we could look at the team, both of us glowing a bright pink with a blush. Rossi raised his cup at us.

“Go train, you two!” Emily teased. Morgan held her bicep as he almost toppled over with laughter. “Happy Valentine’s, or whatever. Don’t make it a free show next time.”

“She’s got a point,” Garcia added.

Hotch spun me around and gently pushed me towards the door. “Goodnight, you guys. Don’t get too drunk.”

“You are three drinks too late, my friend,” Rossi replied.

Hotch caught my waist as I pushed on the doors of the bar and stepped out into the cold Virginian winter air. I laughed as I fell against him. He lifted me slightly and pulled me close before spinning us around in a circle. I laughed harder and started hitting gently at his hands to force him to let go of me, but he did no such thing. It wasn’t until someone else came out of the bar that he relented. I stumbled on my feet, then turned to face him. I held his face in my hands, staring at how handsome he was in the moonlight, and how I loved him more than anything in the world, and that I would literally die for him if I had to. I never felt like that with anyone else before. I mean, there was one person that I had loved before him, but this was… real… This was infinite. It felt like being at home and being endlessly safe when I was in his arms and looking at him. How did I get so lucky?

“Are you going to stare all night or are we going to head home?” he whispered.

“Little bit of both.”

He chuckled. “I love you, Y/N Hotchner.”

I tangled my fingers in his hair. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”

And then we kissed again.

-----------

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