blog of a lonely girl ᯓᡣ𐭩

in love with music and old, hot men posting depending on my depressed ass

[4stephanie4]

steph's about me + masterlist ᯓ★ contains FAQS + rules

hihi sweethearts!! [Stephanie/steph] - [she/her] - [18+] - [feminist] ⚠︎ before interacting please read ⤷ rules ✴︎big music lover especially arctic monkeys, pheobe bridgers, MARINA, mitski, the smiths, etc. ✿ lovelovelove 2000s movies/series ۶ৎ currently trying to learn chess, bec of spencer reid. ✦ requests are totally welcome anytime just if they follow my writing rules! ꩜ inbox is always open! masterlist + FAQS

[timrousbeastie]

[ratdesire]

Saw someone say they think the person in the foreground of this shot is Steve and if it is it makes the poses and expressions on Sam + Bucky's faces so much funnier.

[rhodeme]

[beaswellgirl]

yep, pretty much

[4stephanie4]

we don't need more data centers we NEED to create a livable earth for the future generations heck we need to create a livable earth for the next DECADE

i'm getting tired of begging to have a normal future

[4stephanie4]

ᯓᡣ𐭩fall for you ⤿clark kent x reader - word count: 737 - fluff

Clark who starts to wake up earlier than he intends just so he can pass by your favourite coffee shop that’s tucked next to his apartment, because he knows how much you adore their coffee with their chocolate chip cookies. He loves seeing you grin as you wrap your arms around him in a tight, warm hug while thanking him.

Clark who insists everyday on walking you to your apartment after work. Clark and you walk as the scorching figure of the sun leaves, draining the last colour, the darkness engulfing the sky. Both of you marched in comforting silence, the only light source were the street lamps towering over you. Clark swore that he could’ve kissed you right then if he wasn’t such a coward.

Clark who lets you persuade him to go out with the others after a rough day at work. You all land in a bar tucked in next to The Daily Planet, because, unsurprisingly, all of you live in different areas in Metropolis. Even though it’s miniature and extremely pricey, you have a great time…except for  Clark who breaks the bottle of beer in his hand accidentally when he sees you dancing with Jimmy too hard. Lois raises her eyebrows but doesn’t comment.

Clark who despite his refusal lets you drag him on the stage to sing. Your voices together were immiscible and it sounded extremely unpleasant to anyone with ears, despite that, both of you were laughing and having fun.

Clark who stands outside the ladies bathroom, because you said you felt dizzy and needed to throw up, so like any best friend he stands supportively behind the bathroom door with a, “you okay in there, sweetheart?” as he squirms under the judgy gaze of the woman who stands behind him wishing to use the bathroom. 

Clark who, when everyone decides to part ways, decides to carry you on his shoulders because you complained about how bad your feet hurt from wearing your heels for too long, despite the ache in his back from the last fight he had as Superman. He walks with you through the shadowy night, laughing and telling jokes.

Clark who helps you enter your flat and helps you gently sit on your bed. Slowly, he kneels on the wooden floor, his hands, malleable against your legs, help you remove your heels as he places them next to your bed. Giggling, you say, “like a knight in shining armour.” Under the soft dim light of the lamp, his face turns red, his curls falling on his forehead.

Clark who stands up and asks if you need anything before he goes. When he receives no reply, he takes it as a cue to leave, but before he turns, you suddenly stand up, gripping his white, crispy chemise like a lifeline with a murmur, “don’t go, Kent, not yet.”

Clark who quietly nods and tenderly looks into your eyes. His own hands moving on their own accords to rest on your waist. Clark’s breath hitches, his eyes dancing between you and your lips, hoping some kind of pressure would force your lips together.

Clark who swears he could feel fireworks exploding in his mind when you stood on your toes and pressed your lips sweetly to his like there was no tomorrow. His eyes shut close as you push him harshly towards the wall; your hands move to the buttons of his chemise, desperate for more. Parting slightly, both of you take a rapid breath before pressing your lips together once more. His hands move from your waist to your lower back, raising you so you could wrap your legs around his waist as your fingers tangle through his curls. 

Clark who sleeps in your bed the same night and when he awakes, he stares at you devotedly for a while before deciding to wake you up from sleep so both of you wouldn’t be late for work. While you dress, he rummages through your kitchen to make you breakfast. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned. The smell of burning penetrates your nose and you find Clark smiling sheepishly in your kitchen asking, “breakfast on me?”

Clark who listens to your heartbeat during work to help him calm down. Accidentally, he overhears your muffled giggles with Lois as you gush about what happened between you and Clark the night before in the print room. Shaking his head, he smiles.

[pleiadesuki]

weird fishes

[velvetbriar]

[gothredy]

[4stephanie4]

You put “is it casual” as hurt w comfort, girl where’s my comfort?😭😭😭😭

hahaha i did almost cry during writing it and i might be mistaken but w/ means with not without actually !! The hurt/no comfort is the one without comfort and the hurt w/ comfort is the one with comfort sorry if i made it confusing lol

[nothinggggg7]

“I asked chat gpt-” “I asked grok-” well i asked sloane and she said there’s a 98% chance my fist will connect with your face if you ever mention/use ai again

[4stephanie4]

u + my masterlist = <3

⚝ - fluff ✷- angst ✘ - hurt/no comfort 𔓘- hurt w/ comfort marvel ℬ.barnes

» you and forever ➡︎ the story of bucky and reader being there for each other as close friends - ⚝

ℬ.pointdexter » You and I ➡︎ running from the man you once loved, you find an affordable aparment in nyc, leaving your life in Lousiana. All you want to do is escape the man that taught you love is violent. You land a job in Nelson and Murdock and fourtantely meet Dex who shows you he's more than ready to do anything for you. Even going to murdering your ex-husband - ✷

DC 𝓒.kent » fall for you ➡︎ clark being the sweetheart he is - best friends to lovers - ⚝

Criminal Minds 𝒜.hotchner

» greif's a funny thing ➡︎ you lost your sister weeks ago and everybody says it gets better, so why do you still feel awful? Maybe time does heal wounds sometimes, but it's worth it in the end when Hotch confesses after a huge mess - ⚝ /𔓘

Outerbanks ℛ.cameron

» was it casual? ➡︎ having a friends with benefits is heavenly with rafe, but the lines start to blur from friends to actual lovers. However, if there's something you know by heart. It's that family first always. - 𔓘

[4stephanie4]

Was it ever casual? ⚓︎ R.Cameron

pairing: fwb!rafe cameron x maybank!reader warning: cursewords, blood, abuse, friends with benefits, punches, luke maybank, topper/kelce. word count: 3.5k summary: having a friends with benefits is heavenly with rafe, but the lines start to blur from friends to actual lovers. However, if there's something you know by heart. It's that family first always. A/N:listen to casual by chappell roan. I took a some inspo from the song xx + i imagined buzzcut rafe cameron 'cause buzzcut rafe was hotter than rafe with hair. first divider by: @suupersonic second divider by: @feldiesgraphics

Rafe swears he hates pogues. 

He despises them. The way they talk, the way they dress, so why has his mind made an exception for you? Why can’t he feel the same hatred towards you like he feels towards any pogue? You’re a filthy pogue just like the others, and you hang out with the people he loathes. And worst of all, you’re JJ’s older sister. Everything about you should make Rafe hate you. Keyword: hate, but he doesn’t.

One sleepless night, he lays in his bed staring at his ceilings. You consume his thoughts, even though the only conversation you had was an exchange of curse words at each other. But still there’s something about. Something about the way you talk, confident, but not egoistic. He’s also seen you at a beach keg party where you danced, laughed and drank like there was no tomorrow. Maybe that’s how you feel. That you won’t live to tomorrow.

Rafe swears all he wants to do is get you to sleep with him, nothing more, nothing less.

It happens one time. 

You seem lost at the party. Trying to spot your friends, the silhouette of a familiar  figure  appears in front of you. Sighing, you mumble, “now’s not that time at all, Cameron.” He just grins with one of those annoying looks on his face. To be fair, in your opinion he’s always annoying. 

“Now that’s not how a lady talks to a gentleman, is it? You seem pretty lost for a girl so genius, huh?” His voice drips with mockery like honey. First of all, Rafe daddy’s little spoiled son Cameron is not by any means a gentleman. He’s the complete opposite. He does drugs, he drinks day and night, he sleeps with girls left and right, but you can’t say that without triggering a physical fight with him, so you just throw these thoughts into the back of your mind.

You can’t deny how handsome he is though.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “whatever helps you sleep at night, Figure eight.”

“Such a dirty mouth, you like this in bed too? ‘cause I'd love to know, sweetheart. Do you want my business card? You can call me anytime.” He throws an empty card at you with a wink, and you make no movement to catch it.

 Lips curling upwards, you tell him, “sleep tight.” You push past him. And when you walk away, Rafe shamelessly stares at you as you spot your brother sitting in front of the bonfire. Topper and Kelce appear beside him.

Topper remarks, “you look like you’ve seen heaven? She agreed or nope?”

Rafe doesn’t respond. He should feel angry or mad, but he doesn’t. This is just the beginning. He’s not letting you go this easy. Rafe always gets what he wants. And right now, Rafe knows what he wants. 

You see JJ sitting alone which was surprising when he had almost a different girl every night, especially at a party like this. He looks depressed which makes you snort.

“That Cameron dude bothering you? I’ll punch him until he-” JJ stands up with clenched fists, discarding his bottle of beer. You stand in front of him, “JJ, stop. He’s not bothering me, and if he was I’d have it under control.”

“If I see him talking to you again, I’m going to kill him.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, but who knows?” You joke, sitting down beside him as both of you sit in front of the bonfire, “thanks though. I’m glad you’re my brother, J.” You smile, placing your head on his shoulder. His own arm wraps around yours in a comforting grip.

Family first.

At the end of the party, you’re too drunk and all your friends are gone. You can’t even spot your brother; he’s probably making out with some random girl that you’ve never seen before. The other pogues must have gone to the chateau. Half of them are probably making out and you do not want to see or hear that.

You decided to sit for a while. The party is still alive and well, and where’s the harm in that?

You sigh when Rafe appears in your sight again, “that desperate?” You ask, rolling your eyes for the hundredth time that night at the sight of him. 

“Just one time, sweetheart, I won’t disappoint. Come on, baby. No attachments though.”

“No.” Is your answer, but somehow you still end up in his bed consensually.

His kisses are precise, like he’s been doing this forever, which reminds you that you aren’t special. You don’t think you are special, but you hope. All you’ve wanted your whole life is to feel special. You wish someone would make you feel special, like you are one of a kind, but a pogue is not one of a kind. The most shattering thoughts come at the wrong time.

The kiss is messy but full of tension. Your body screams that you want him, but you don’t want to confess it. That’d be a blow to your ego though. All you can think about is how close both of you are, about the hands that are roaming your body without shame or the fact that you could be betraying pogues rules. You’re not sure if that’s a real pogue rule or not.

When you awake, the initial thing you notice is the pounding headache. Sitting up, you turn your head to the side. You notice once more the painkillers with water on the nightstand. However, Rafe is not next to you, neither nowhere to be seen. 

You should’ve known. What did you expect? For him to love you? For you to wake up beside him? That’s a fairytale. Maybanks don’t get fairytales. The family members either get ruined or die, no in between.

When you arrive at the chateau, you're bombarded with questions from the others of where you’ve been. You obviously can’t tell them, so you just go with the lie that you were sleeping at your dad’s house that night. But you don’t notice JJ’s unbelieving gaze from the corner. He stays quiet, not commenting on anything.

It should’ve ended there. It should’ve been a one time thing. You were drunk, but you kept going to him. He offers you release from the stress that binds into every thought you have in your mind. You love your brother, but sometimes he can be a bit too much. All you want to feel like a loved woman. All you want is to have peace. That’s all you want you swear. You know your friends love you, but not in the way you want, not in the way you need. Rafe doesn’t love you either, but he offers it for a few hours. Rafe is what you crave. 

One night, it was your usual routine with Rafe. Hooking up, sleeping in his bed, waking up before sunrise so no one would catch both of you. You were in his bed like usual, but this time was different from your normal schedule. Both of you couldn’t sleep, so like a normal friend (is anything normal between you and him anymore?) he holds you in his arms. 

His arms were around your waist as you laid on top of him. Slightly leaning down, he presses a kiss to your forehead that makes you melt in his arms. The gentle moonlight filters through the white curtains. The windows are open, letting in a soft wind that runs around the room in a soft whoosh!

Both of you don’t speak, opting to stay silent. You let the sound of crickets in the garden fill the room. It’s not the best sound to hear. It’s creepy to be more precise, but you’re afraid that if you say something it’ll scare him away; that’s the last thing you want right now.

One time, while you’re working at Island Club for your normal shift, you overhear Rafe’s friend Topper and Kelce, you assume, talking.

“Can’t believe he’s with a pogue. Wouldn’t give me money to come near something like that. Do they even shower?” Topper asks and Kelce just laughs.

Is that how Rafe feels? I mean you’re not entitled to anything from him.

“He told me it’s just casual though.” Is Kelce’s reply.

His reply shouldn’t shatter your heart, but it does.

But it happens again, and again, until it doesn’t stop. It becomes a routine. You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Over time, Rafe starts to grow feelings for you. He swears it’s casual, but when was it ever casual when you sleep at his for half of the week. Was it casual when you mentioned one time that your dad threw away most of your clothes as a punishment, and when you showed up at his, Rafe had an enormous bag full of clothes just for you? 

Just for you.

Was it casual when your favourite bra is in his dresser or when you talk down his sister, Sarah, when both of you are close friends.

Was it casual when Rafe cleaned you up after your dad laid your hands on you?

“What happened to you?” Rafe asks, his eyes full of bubbling rage as he clenches his fists. You swear you could hear a vein snapping in his forehead from the sheer amount of anger he was feeling at the black eye.

You don’t look him in the eye. You have only one thought in mind: ‘I know what you tell your friends’

It was supposed to be casual, but you wanted it all, and now you can’t have anything nice.

“I’m fine, okay? It was just a fight between a girl and I.” You reply in an effortless tone, like you weren’t in pain. Just like you practiced. Ha, you were in extreme pain. He doesn’t even know about the time your dad broke your nose. Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be extremely enthusiastic about stuff like that? And maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“Don’t lie to me!” He exclaims, slamming his head on his nightstand. You flinch, which makes Rafe regret his action. It’s a normal reaction, you think. You just don’t like loud noises. Totally normal and acceptable.

You know he won’t hurt you. He wouldn’t harm you.

But that’s the same thing you said about your father.

What? A person just has to be cautious.

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean it. Don’t be afraid of me, baby.” He mutters as softly as he can. Hands moving to your upper arms to hold them in a comforting grip. He knows that look. He knows it. He’s seen it too many times. In you and in himself.

It’s that look of defeat.

Like the whole world is against you.

“It was just a fight between my dad and I, okay? I’m not- I’m fine. I just need a painkiller and water. Please, Cameron?” You ask with hope glinting in your eyes. You know Rafe would never say no to you.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You mumble under your breath, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken, or something. It’s just a black eye, figure eight.” You shrug.

He doesn’t reply, just wraps his arms around you in a tender grip. His head rests above yours. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the tears. They start to form in your eyes before you can take control over them. You let them go. And it feels good, relieves pent-up stress that’s there. It’s probably older than JJ.

That night, he held you closer.

So was it casual?

Was it casual when both of you attended a beach party by accident, and he almost punched the guy to death because he was inappropriately touching you with no consent? His friends had to forcefully pull him from above the guy.

One morning, when you enter the Chateau, you only find JJ inside, as usual drinking. The place is messy, clothes thrown around and dirty  dishes filling the sink. It’s always messy. And as the oldest, you’re always cleaning up after them. 

“Where are the others?” You ask, shuffling through the fridge to find something to eat. You were starving, your stomach grunting all the way here. 

“Surfing.” 

“Why aren’t you with them?” You acknowledge. JJ loves surfing, so it’s a surprise he isn’t with the others while they surf. You pour yourself some milk while looking around for your phone, “hey did you see my phone? I couldn’t find it yesterday.”

“Where were you yesterday?” He questions with an accusing voice while standing up, staring holes into your back. He leans against the wall and places a toothpick in his mouth.

“At dad’s, why?” Smooth and controlled. Just like you practiced.

“You weren’t, because I was there and I didn’t see you.” He accuses. Hands shaking, you don’t turn, but try your best to muster up the best excuse you can think of, “okay, fine, I was sleeping at a friend’s house. You don’t know her. She’s a pogue too.” You reply, hoping he wouldn’t ask anymore questions.

“So you and Rafe are friends now? You’re such a loser. You know you’re just a girl he bangs on his couch.” He says as he shows you…the call history between you and Rafe…on your phone? How the hell did he find your phone? You were looking everywhere for it!

“Hey, give me that! You can’t go snooping around on my phone!” You jump, trying to take the phone from him, but, unfortunately, he has the phone above your head and you can’t reach it. Damn the height difference. Sometimes it’s useful, but right now it’s not.

“God dammnit! Answer me!” He yells, throwing your phone at you. You manage to catch it thankfully. If it falls on the floor once more, it’s going to be permanently damaged. The amount of scratches on it is unbelievable. 

But you don’t reply. What would you even say? Hey, I’m screwing the person you hate the most behind your back? 

“Listen, JJ-” you try to rationalize with him, but he looks betrayed. Your heart breaks at the way he’s looking at you. You’ve never felt this shitty before, like a bad sister. All your life, you’ve never been a bad sister to JJ. You were always there, always played together, and always let him lean on you when times were tough, but right now you feel like the worst sister ever.

“I can’t believe you.” Is all he says before walking out of the Chateau, slamming the door. He’s probably going to drive on his dirt bike around town. JJ can be a little reckless sometimes, you just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. You don’t want him to land in the hospital or the police station.

No matter how much you try to deny it, whatever the hell’s going on between you and Rafe has to go. You can’t risk this for your brother. If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from your life, it’s that family first. Sighing, you plop on the couch with a new headache.

Family first.

The next few days, Rafe tries to call, but you ignore him completely as well as ignoring the other pogues. You’re in no shape to talk. You’ve barely eaten, staying in your room all day because Luke was roaming downstairs like a soldier protecting his castle, except Luke doesn’t protect anyone,  and you couldn’t deal with him right now.

He’s been gone for today though, probably buying more beer or whatever he normally buys. So thankfully you’re all alone. That’s all you need.

The other pogues don’t check up on you, getting the hint that you need some time alone. You haven't told them why, and you hope JJ has done the same.

Your room is a mess is an understatement. So like a normal person with an insane amount of free time, you clean it. While scrubbing your room clean, something glistening under a huge amount of clothes catches your eye. Kneeling down, you capture it in your hands.

Smiling in nostalgia, you remember Rafe. In your hands lay a beautiful gold necklace Rafe had gifted you.

“I have something,” He clears his throat, “for, uh, you.” He tries to smile, but it looks awkward which makes you nervous. His words are a bit slurred and shaky.

“Is it a speeding ticket?” You joke. You don’t have a car, and you can’t drive, so, yeah.

“It’s a…turn around.” He orders with a soft smile on his face.

“Bossy! Fine, I’ll turn around. Happy?” You chuckle, turning around. You feel something cold around your neck. Rafe positions you in front of the mirror so you can look at the gift.

“Rafe!” You gasp, hands over your mouth. “No, I can’t accept this.”

“Please.” It comes out as a plea instead of an order, like he was practically straight up begging you to take it.

Your hands tenderly touch the necklace. You’ve been ignoring his calls for these few days. I mean, you've been basically rotting in bed. And you don’t want to handle him right now.

Dumb love, you love being stupid. Every night you dream of you and Rafe in a year. Maybe both of you’d confess, and he’d propose and no matter the societal divides, his friends would accept you and he’d show you off at the Pier.

Crash!

Is what you hear while tidying up your room. Your hand touches something wooden, a bat. I mean, it could be Luke, but he couldn’t have come back this early, right? You hope not. You don’t want to deal with him drunk right now.

With the bat in your hands, your heart leaping, you go downstairs only to be met with a familiar figure.

Rafe.

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get inside?” You exclaim, dropping down the bat and rubbing your forehead. Rafe doesn’t look amused, his furrowed eyebrows probably gave it away. Luke probably forgot to lock the door. 

Damnit.

“I thought something happened to you. Why the hell are you not answering? You look like shit.” He asks, voice on the edge of yelling. His eyes are narrowed at you. If he was a cartoon character, he’d definitely explode by now.

“What gave it away?” You deadpan, but your next words are dead serious.

“Do you know what will happen if Luke finds you here? He’s going to kill me. Scratch that, us! He’s going to kill us!”

“Do you think I’m scared of a filthy guy who calls himself a man when he lays his hands on you?” His eyebrows shoot up, hands moving to turn you around so he can look at you. Rafe doesn’t like a lot of people, but Luke? He’s on another level of hatred. “I’ve been worried sick, and you’re talking to me about some asshole that I wouldn’t think twice of punching if I see him?”

“Rafe, you have no reason to be here, so spit it out and tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m serious. You weren’t answering and it was starting to worry me.” His reply is steady, without missing a beat, like he practiced in front of a mirror for a good couple of minutes. You’d like to bet money on that.

“You worried I wasn’t calling you back? Didn’t you think I had enough of your bullshit? Huh?Let me tell you why you’re worried, it’s because you thought you wouldn’t be able to sleep with me anymore! Do you even think of others instead of yourself? No, you only care about yourself! That’s why you’re always alone. That’s why your family doesn’t love-” You bite your tongue, taking in a deep breath.

Low blow.

“Wow, okay, so that’s,” He pauses, “you think I don’t care about you? That you’re someone I bring to my bed every once in a while when I’m bored? Yes, maybe I do like what we do, but I care about you. Hell, I like you! Sweetheart…” His hands cup your cheeks, his voice vulnerable as he bears his heart to you.

“Don’t- don’t touch me. I think I’m going to be sick.” You move out of his grasp, pushing his hands roughly away from your face. You convince yourself this is for you and JJ. 

Family first.

“Just get out, please, Rafe. Whatever this is…we’re done.” You point at the door.

He sneers at you, “I don’t even know who you are.”

You shut your eyes, rubbing your forehead. You hear the fading sound of heavy footsteps that you could recognise from a mile away. The only sign that makes you know he left is the slam of the door.  Unable to hold it anymore, you let out a sob that wracks your body. It’s so loud that you’re afraid the neighbours would hear you. 

You fall to your knees like someone who’s had it all, but lost it all. 

Rome wasn't built in a day but it fell in one.

[4stephanie4]

u + my masterlist = <3

⚝ - fluff ✷- angst ✘ - hurt/no comfort 𔓘- hurt w/ comfort marvel ℬ.barnes

» you and forever ➡︎ the story of bucky and reader being there for each other as close friends - ⚝

ℬ.pointdexter » You and I ➡︎ running from the man you once loved, you find an affordable aparment in nyc, leaving your life in Lousiana. All you want to do is escape the man that taught you love is violent. You ]land a job in Nelson and Murdock and fourtantely meet Dex who shows you he's more than ready to do anything for you. Even going to murdering your ex-husband - ✷

DC 𝓒.kent » fall for you ➡︎ clark being the sweetheart he is - best friends to lovers - ⚝

BAU 𝒜.hotchner

» greif's a funny thing ➡︎ you lost your sister weeks ago and everybody says it gets better, so why do you still feel awful? Maybe time does heal wounds sometimes, but it's worth it in the end when Hotch confesses after a huge mess - ⚝ /𔓘

[4stephanie4]

masterlist updated sweets!!

[4stephanie4]

You and I ‎ꫂ᭪݁ B.Pointdexter

pairing: benjamin pointdexter x reader warning: cursewords, kissing, mentions of blood, punches, kicks, murder, mentions of abuse, stalking, obssession. word count: 5922 summary: running from the man you once loved, you find an affordable aparment in nyc, leaving your life in Lousiana. All you want to do is escape the man that taught you love is violent. You land a job in Nelson and Murdock and fourtantely meet Dex who shows you he's more than ready to do anything for you. Even going to murdering your ex-husband A/N: purple lace divider by @mieluno simple line divider by @starrliqhtt

Dex swears he’s a good person. He’s finally got his mind back and the first thing he wants to do is be one of the good guys. That's what he thinks is best.

That’s what he says as he settles on the rooftop in one of the towering buildings of Hell’s Kitchen, eyes patrolling the murky alleyway beneath his feet that’s overcrowded with a large amount of trash.

Dex swears when he stalked that man for a good couple of hours and found out things about him that family wouldn't even know, it was just to help him catch him just so he could have a little chat with the guy, not like he was going to do anything to the guy. He just used up half a notebook to memorise and write down the man’s schedule. All this just for justice. That’s what good guys do, right? 

Dex’s mind explodes in happiness, a sense of overwhelming euphoria erupts in his mind as he spots a familiar, shadowy figure moving in the alleyway, whistling and unaware that a few metres up, lay the man who’d end his fate with a precise knife to the heart. Ha, got you!

Dex won’t let the man go that easy.

After escaping prison, Dex chose a worn-out apartment to reside in tucked in the corner of the city. It was nice, livable, which was the most important aspect of the flat really. Dex didn’t really make friends with any of his neighbors except the lady next to him with the cat. Everyday, Dex has the same routine, sleep, eat, work out, take a walk, and then repeat.

One morning, while he pets the old lady’s cat, she mentions a new tenant in the apartment on his left which had been tenantless for months. In response, he just hums, flashes the lady a charming smile and strides away down the stairs. He doesn’t meet the new tenant, you, until much later.

He learns that you live downstairs and come from Louisiana, possibly escaping family or something that young people do nowadays he jolts down in his notebook. Not that he made a notebook especially for you. He does that for anyone. You’re not special. Okay, maybe you intrigue him a bit, only because you don’t speak a lot like the weird lady next to him.

He observes you, observes the way you walk, the way you make small talk with the former veteran downstairs, and how you carry the groceries for the neighbor on crutches. To Dex, you are a mystery and he’s already obsessed. 

One time, fate brings you together. You’re carrying hefty groceries up the stretching stairs, at the same time, Dex is going down for…a walk. When he goes down the stairs, he finds you having trouble carrying huge bags, so like a good guy he helps you.

You spot your neighbour moving towards you, before you can ask for help, he scoops some of the bags on his arms. God, his biceps! Makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. “You don’t have to do that.” You say as both of you take the stairs. “I want to.” He replies with a charming smile. 

“Good thing my taxes are becoming of use!” You joke, but Dex doesn’t fully comprehend the joke, not reacting with a laugh or a smile like you expected. You both stand in uneasy silence staring at each other before you break and say:

“Sorry, that was a joke.” You awkwardly laugh, giving him your name with a soft smile. 

“Uh, no problem. I’m Dex. Nice to meet you.” 

A couple of stairs later, you find yourself in front of your wooden door. Dex drops the bag on the doorway as you look for your key through the pockets of your jeans. While you’re unaware, Dex’s gaze admires your face as it tries to catch the small details.

Dex’s eyes stare aimlessly at you, almost seemingly in a trance. The only thought in his mind was the fact that you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he ever saw in his life.

“Aha! There it is. Thanks, Dex. See you around.” You give him a small smile, waving at him before opening the door and pulling the heavy weight of bags with you inside. The door shuts softly, giving him the cue that you left obviously, but Dex’s feet are planted on the floor, unable, no, not willing to move. He finds himself staring at your door even after you left. 

Dex makes it his mission to know you.

So, like any good person would do, he times your schedule with his. He knows exactly when you go for a run at the park and when you go to your favourite cafe for a coffee. He knows everything, not in a creepy way, but in more of an observable way.

He’s looking out for a friend, isn’t he? That’s what friends do.

You barely know the girl.

One fateful morning when the scorching sun was shining and the birds were chirping in content, he ran into you accidentally at the coffee. He spots you standing at the cashier ordering your usual, not that he memorised your order too, that’d be ridiculous! Okay, maybe only how you take your coffee. And how you like to order cookies with that. Only that, though!

To anyone outside, you seem like the typical shy, open girl that could apologise to a snail if she stepped on it by accident, but to Dex, it looks like an act…a coverup for something deeper no one has realised.

The way you positioned yourself the first time you met Dex was defensive, like you were waiting for something bad to happen and even the way your eyes kept flicking back to him while you were looking for the keys, like he was a ticking bomb that was going to explode in seconds if you didn’t find the keys.

He watches you take your order and perch yourself on the table next to the enormous window that gives a beautiful view of the towering, eerie  buildings. 

With all the act he could muster, he walks towards you and makes a surprised face. 

“Oh, you’re the new tenant, right? Didn’t know you came to this cafe.” Liar.

Good guys don't lie.

“Yeah, it’s my favourite. Do you want to sit down?” You ask with an enchanting smile, your eyes glinting under the light of the cafe. 

“Yes, sure.” He replies as you gesture to the chair in front of you. Sitting down, he looks at you, really looks at you, noticing the minor purple bruise on your neck that was barely covered by your turtle neck shirt. Dex furrows his eyebrows, maybe she’s clumsy, but he knows better than that. Why does he care anyway? It’s not like you’re friends. Heck, you barely know each other; this is your second meeting.

Unaware of his criticising gaze, you enquire, “so, you come here often?”

That seems to break Dex out of his haze, “yes, actually.” He retorts. Liar.

Why do you keep on lying, Dex?

“That’s good, guess we’ll see each other.” You flash him a grin, hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. He inspects your hand, and, unsurprisingly, finds you fidgeting badly, especially on the ring finger of your left hand, like it was a habit. Like there was something there that is now gone.

For the first time when he even heard your name from the neighbor next to him, he felt this inevitable pull between you and him, like he was destined to protect you. Like a good guy would do. From there, both of you chat about multiple things, such as how long you’ve been in Hell’s Kitchen and what you do on the weekends. You tell him about your life in Louisiana and how you are the eldest of your siblings. He doesn’t tell you much, which just makes you assume that he’s a private guy.

After that meeting, Dex keeps hoping to see you, but hope kills, so he just goes to the places you go. For example, one morning when the sun was still rising, he hears the sound of your keys, he deduces that you’re going for your morning walk; therefore, he waits for exactly three minutes before executing his mission.

Bumping into you in Central Park. 

Dex fakes it flawlessly: bumping into you, then dropping his not-so-full coffee. He knows you’ll feel bad, then offer him another cup of coffee, and Dex will agree.

It works perfectly. Since when does Dex fail? Everything he does is precise.

At the coffee shop, the buzzing of the music playing softly above you accompanied by the chatter and laughter of the people around you is enough to calm you down. You like Dex, really. He’s one of the few friends you have except for Matt, Foggy, and Karen. They’re all very amiable people, but you feel like they have their own circle and by joining that circle, you’re just imposing on something personal.

Dex makes you feel comfortable, like you have nothing to worry about. And here you are sitting in front of him again at the cafe, staring at him in awkward silence.

“It’s weird we keep bumping into each other, right?” You manage a joke, but you’ve never been a person of great humor unlike your husband, no, your ex. He was always loved by your friends because of his superb humour, only if they knew what kind of person he was on the inside.

Thank God you escaped that hell.

“Yeah, like fate knows something we don’t.” Looking at his cup, he replies as nonchalant as ever. Your breath hitches, not expecting that answer, oblivious to the fact that this was not fate. This was a mission, all of it, with steps and many plans. Avoiding eye contact, you look at your paper cup.

“Listen, I-” Dex starts, almost desperate to get the words out of his mouth. However, the words die on the tip of his tongue as the roaring sound of a ringtone fills his ear. Embarrassment floods your face, the tip of your ears going hot.

“I’m so sorry, I have to take this. It’s my boss.” You apologise, pulling the phone to your ear. Your voice is muffled and under your breath as you answer, Dex catches something of ‘I’ll be right there, and sorry’.

“I’m sorry, it’s my boss he needs me,” standing up, you excuse yourself while grabbing your cup of coffee.

“It’s fine,” he stands up too, watching you walk out of the cafe, the door jingles. Without rethinking his idea, he catches up to you in quick strides, hoping to catch you before you leave. 

“Wait!” He yells, stopping you in your tracks. “Dinner? Italian place next to the library? I’ll pay. 7? It’s a…date.” He acknowledges. Sweat falls on his forehead, his hands shaking next to his side. Don’t mess this up, Dex.

Nodding, you reply with a smile, “I’d love that.” 

When you arrive at work, you’re out of breath, you’re barely there early. You’re sure Matt wouldn’t say anything about you being a couple of minutes late, but you need this job, you can’t, by any means, give them a bad impression about you or even give them the thought of firing you.

As usual, the office is packed with people. Before greeting anyone, you make sure to place the cup of coffee on the miniature, black desk covered in paper and in immense mountains of files. By the time you’re about to sit down, Karen appears at your desk like a menacing shadow.

“You’re late.” She implies, crossing her arms with a look and handing you a new file on your desk.

“I know, traffic.” You excuse yourself, groaning when you catch sight of the file, “already?”

“Yes, and have you finished the Jack Finnily file? We need it for court after tomorrow.”

“After tomorrow? Matt said court wasn’t until next Monday, today’s Tuesday!"

“The prosecutor demanded it to be changed. Just don’t forget, okay? And today we’re going to Josie's, are you coming?” She inquires with a hopeful glint in her eyes. Karen likes you. She thinks you’re smart and extremely clever all while being helpful and kind; a friendship like that is worth millions of dollars.

“Can’t, sorry! I, uh, got plans…?” When you reply, it comes out as a question instead. Grimacing, you correct yourself, “I have a date, just don’t tell anyone, please?” You beg Karen, hoping to keep it a secret.

Karen smiles with a knowing look in her eyes, “so Matt doesn’t know? Don’t act like I don’t see you staring at him all the time.”

With a face getting warmer, you defend yourself, “I do NOT like Matt! And, by the way, that’s extremely unprofessional.”

 She scoffs jokingly, “whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

Jokes aside, you don’t like Matt. Yes, he is handsome and bright, but he’s just not your type. You still have the dream everyday of finding your prince charming.

He’s just not Dex.

Cut it out! You do not like Dex. He’s just hot, with a cool scar on his face. You bet he’d make a great boyfriend though.

Okay, that’s enough thinking for one day.

The time passes sluggishly, the constant tick of the analogue clock beside you on the wall keeping you on edge.  The day is mundane, nothing happens except the fight that starts between two clients. Foggy steps in to stop it though. 

However, there was a  cute, British guy with silver, gray eyes and sand coloured curls that fell on his forehead, with a jaw so sharp, it could be used as a cutter. His words were smooth and controlled with a deep, gravely voice that sounded so mellifluous that it was almost illegal. He kept on flirting with you nonstop to the point where Matt had to stop him twice as all of you sat together to discuss his case.

When work finished, you didn’t hesitate in breaking into a full sprint towards your apartment to get ready. You spent an hour doing an everything shower that includes shaving and applying cream, because a girl can only dream. 

Also, you spent an hour choosing the perfect dress that would flatter you, curving at the right places and making you feel confident in your own skin. For makeup, you were a specialist, especially after what happened with your husband. You learnt to cover bruises, what specific foundation and concealer  colour shades you should get to cover them up, which brands were water-proof just in case, what to do if you forgot to cover them just in case, because just in case was your life now. You were living on ifs just to survive, because he vowed to kill you if anyone found out.

But he’s not here anymore. You’re alone. It’s going to be okay. You’re safe!

In fifteen minutes, you reach the Italian place Dex chose. During the whole ride, you spent wondering, staring at the seat in front of you, because what if it was a mistake? What if I don’t move on?  What if Dex doesn’t like me? What if, what if. You didn’t even realise the taxi came to a halt until the man pointed it out, “we’re here, ma’am. Have a nice day.” 

With a deep breath, but a leaping heart, you exit the taxi, heels clicking against the concrete pavement. When you enter through the restaurant, you find Dex already resting on a table next to the window; his mouth explodes into a grin when he spots you.

“Hi,” you mutter softly, sitting in front of him as the waiter pours your drink in the glasses standing on top of the table. “Italian? Are you a spy for them or something?” You giggle. God, someone needs to tape your mouth because the jokes are getting worse everyday. How more awkward can you get?

In response, Dex gives an authentic laugh, something that warms your chest. Your gaze falls on him, before he motions for you to sit down. “I was going to sit down, wasn’t gonna stand the whole time, haha!” No seriously, someone needs to eliminate the gene or chromosome or whatever responsible for this.

The place is serene, softly dimmed light above you with non-scented candles on the table. It’s not enormous, but it’s quiet and lovely. The tables are covered with a white, lacy drape that creates a romantic theme in the restaurant.

You spend the rest of the date laughing and talking about your life back in Louisiana, but you keep one significant part out; he doesn’t need to know about it though, it won’t matter. Turns out, you and Dex have multiple things in common more than you predicted. It seems almost comical. 

At the end of the night, well, obviously, both of you walk home together, because both of you live next to each other, but it’s comforting anyway. For once in a long time, you feel serene. You’re brain isn’t in flight or fight mode like you used to be.

While walking out of the place, you almost trip on the sidewalk.Almost immediately, he grabs your arm, but you flinch, hot white pain flooding your pain from Dex’s grip. Even though his touch was tender, bruises still lingered there.

He gives you a look, but you don’t look at him. Clearing your throat, you say, “that shocked me.” You force a laugh, but it comes out as a shaky breath instead.

His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t comment. He just stares at you.

You hope he doesn’t see the shame on your face.

Stop it! What if you get too close and he finds out? What will be your excuse when he knows you’re a divorced woman?

The embarrassment!

This was a mistake 

Both of you don’t talk the whole, opting to stay in silence. You don’t want him to question you or interrogate you like a suspect.  No matter how much you deny it, you’re scared…of him? Of what he’ll say? 

You’re scared you’ll scare him away.

In no time, the sight of the enormous house appears in your view. You almost trip again while taking the flight of stairs, which could almost be comical if you weren’t sweating beads on your forehead.

“Uh, yeah, this is me!” You joke as you and Dex stand in front of your door. “I guess I’ll see you around.” You just hope the ground would swallow you already.

“Night.” Dex replies gruffly which makes you worry that this is the last time you will be seeing Dex. 

Both of you retreat to your apartments. Before you go to bed, you take a hot, steaming shower. You sit in your shower as the water gushes down your back in smooth rhythms. You don’t know when you start crying and you don’t know how long you sit there just staring at the wall. It has become a very bad habit.

When you awake, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look worse than you did in the marriage. Black under your eyes, bruises that somehow still linger no matter what. They stay like a silent reminder that you belong to him.

Dex, on the other hand, achieved no sleep last night. Not that he tried to, but he sat in the kitchen playing with the knife between his hands. He had only one thought in mind.

This man had to go.

The man who was laying his hands on you should be six feet under and Dex will make sure of that. 

Dex has never felt this protective over someone. He just met you a few days ago, but his heart does jump every time he sees you. He hates the way you looked at him last night, like you were scared of him, like you thought Dex would ever dare raise his hand on you.

In the haze of fifteen minutes, you try to make yourself somewhat presentable for work. You arrive early for once, shocking Matt who was already there. Matt has a knack of arriving early to work, mostly arriving with foggy by his side, but today he was early.

“Are you working on a Guinness Record?” You laugh, placing your bag on your desk. Your attempt at a joke is successful as Matt’s mellifluous laugh fills your ear. Your voice, however, is gruff from crying all night which catches Matt’s attention.

“You sound horrible.” Matt comments. Damn his sensitive ears. Is this normal? You don’t think so. It’s like he has superhearing!

“Bad sleep last night. Bed bugs did bite unfortunately.” Oh my God, you need to stop with the jokes! They probably laugh out of pity. Your father is rolling in his grave from the amount of bad, unfunny jokes you’re telling.

“Make sure they don’t bite today too. We’ve got court tomorrow.”

“Ay ay captain.” You smile, “oh and brought you coffee by the way. Can’t believe I forgot to give it to you. The barista said it was…couples day, so they were handing out free pairs of coffee?” You say, handing him the paper cup.

This time, the day passes on rapidly, making it a very arduous and booked day. You don’t think you had time to breathe and take a moment for yourself. Your ankles are sore and red from the amount of pacing you did in the office.

At the end of the day, you’re still buried in your files when Foggy and Karen leave and even Matt does which is surprising considering he likes to stay late at work.

You don’t leave until past nine, walking through the lowly dim streets with nothing but pepper spray in your bag.

You feel watched. You feel someone watching you as you walk.

Alarmed, you clutch your bag tightly as if it could save you. 

Suddenly, you feel yourself being pushed into a gloomy alleyway, falling on your side with a loud groan. You don’t know what’s happening. Everything’s happening too quickly

All you see are obscure movements. You blink once, twice. Ignoring the pain in your side, you try to stand up, but the man, you assume, kicks you hard in your stomach. Then, a rough slap to your cheek. It stings as hell.

You let out a loud cry, hands moving to your stomach to soothe the pain, but he grabs your hands with one of his hands and forcefully pulls them away from your body.

“You bitch thought you were gonna escape me? You’re stupid just like your parents.” He laughs and it almost sounds like a roar.  You can recognise this voice from a mile away. There’s nothing in the world that can make you forget him.

You try to sit up, but he kicks your stomach again. With a loud cry, you land on your back. The tears come quickly like waves in a tsunami. They’re loud as you sob. You shouldn’t be crying. It gives him power, but what can you really do when you’re being beaten up in an alleyway by your ex-husband?

 You can smell the beer on him. One sniff of it and it takes you back to your marriage. 

You wish you hadn’t stayed late at work. You wish you could’ve accepted Murdock’s invitation to walk you home, but you didn’t. 

He’s tipsy. You see from your restricted vision in the dark that he can’t even stand on his legs. You reach around you, trying to find your bag and reach for the pepper spray.

“You’re still my fa-favourite girl, don’t worry, sweet baby.” He slurs, trying to make his voice sound soft. He squats down to look at you, but you’re too busy sobbing in pain and waving your hand around in search of your bag.  He caresses the side of your face with his free hand. Squirming, you try to move out of his grip, but it’s no use.

Fortunately, not all sad stories have a bad ending.

The silhouette of the familiar Hell’s Kitchen’s Hero appears in the sight of your ex-husband. Your ex-husband, not being a resident of NYC and not being familiar with the hero, squints his eyes  like he can’t tell if he’s been drinking too much or if this is actually real.

You don’t notice the hero though, eyes shut as you try to sit up. You only hear him though, and when you do, you let out another sob, but this one was in relief.

“Move away from the lady, and I won’t have to hurt you badly.” Are Daredevil’s words. They’re ominous. Even though the words are quiet, the words land on your ex with a loud blow. They’re supposed to blow his ego away, but, unfortunately, he has the ego of a blue whale. It means he won’t back down without a fight.

You take this as a cue to leave. You don't look back, only hearing the sound of bones crushing and breaking. Groans fill the place. Your breath becomes short gasps, as you try to sit up. Leaning against the wall while standing up, you scurry out of this alleyway in the fastest way possible despite the fact of the way you’re injured.

You barely make it up the stairs of the house, the lights above you shining harshly in your eyes. The worst part is the way the dizziness kicks in. Black and white fills your vision.

You don’t know why you knock on his door instead of yours, but you can’t be on your own right now. It’s not that you can’t deal with this, you’ve fixed up worse bruises and wounds in the past that he has given you, but something inside of you tells you to trust Dex. That you could depend on someone for once. That’d feel good for once, wouldn’t it?

Gently, you knock on his door, hoping not to wake up the neighbors. You can barely stay up on your own feet anymore. While leaning against the door, you slide against his door, falling slowly to your knees. The tears come again. What if he’s not home? Where are the people when you need them most?

Luck’s on your side this time.

The door swings open. 

Dex appears in the doorway like a guardian angel, the lighting shining from behind him. His eyes land on you. They look almost worried, but you’ve learned to read people. While other wives were giving birth to lovely children, going on dates with their husbands, travelling with their families, hosting holiday dinner, you were learning to read people like paper. You created a schedule of his drinking, you learned first aid kit, you learned how to become a good wife, because nothing could please him. You learned when to talk and when to stop talking, and most importantly you learned to never ask him for anything, he’d hit you with the glass cup immediately. 

Dex’s eyes look like he knew something would happen.

Both of you don’t break eye contact. Then, he just carries you silently into his apartment and places you on his elastic couch that feels like heaven to your back. 

You try to open your mouth to explain anything, but nothing comes out. You’ve stopped crying by now, mostly because you’re embarrassed of the way Dex’s sympathetic eyes are looking at you. He opts not to say anything, noticing how fatigue is written all over your face.

He just nods, gives you a glass of water with a painkiller, but you don’t ask what it is. You’re too exhausted to talk, you’ll tell him tomorrow about what happened.

But unknown to you, he’s pieced some of the puzzles together.

When you awake, the dim light filtering through the beige curtains catches your attention. Then, the smell of breakfast overwhelms your nose. Trying to sit up, a banging headache forms in your head. 

“Ow, gosh, where am I?” Eyes fully shut while sitting up, you acknowledge. Your eyes fly open. You take a single look around, noticing Dex’s apartment. It’s bland, but not too bland. It’s only full of the necessities. 

Turning your head to the side, you spot Dex standing in the kitchen cooking eggs in a pan. With weary bones, you carry yourself to where he’s standing. 

“You gonna tell me what happened, or should I make my own theory?” He questions. It must’ve been his try at a joke, but you didn’t laugh or even chuckle. The words that were gonna come out of your mouth right now were going to either make him a close friend or you’d lose him.

“Do you know why I moved here? Did I ever mention it?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows. You sit on his kitchen counter. Dex shakes his head, turning off the stove and placing a plate in front of you with a mug of coffee as black as dirt.

“I was escaping something, someone. I used to be married, but I divorced him, because he was…hurting me. We divorced quietly, because he was trying to run for mayor at that time in Louisiana, and apparently hitting your wife doesn’t look good on a resume. So he talked to my parents, offered them money, and they agreed to keep it quiet. Last night, I left work late and he just pulled me into an alleyway, but Daredevil was there thankfully. I’m sorry, I should have said something.” 

You feel a cold touch of a hand on your cheeks, forcing you to look in his eyes, “never, I mean ever, apologise for something like that. I don’t need you to say anything else, just give me a name.” Is his reply. You would’ve expected him to criticize you or tell you it was your fault, but he didn’t.

“Please.”

“Wh-why?” You stutter, “are you going to hurt him? Don’t- don’t do that. I’m…he won’t hurt me again.”

“I know that sweetheart. I won’t hurt him. It’s just for the future, y’know?” He tries to make up an excuse, what kind of bullshit excuse is that? Looking at you once, his rage bubbles in his throat. He’s sure that if he doesn’t take it out on something, it might make him explode like a balloon.

In a quiet voice, you give him his name. 

He really looks at you for once, taking his time to admire your face. A black eye adorned your alluring face. He took his time to look at the way you pouted while eating the food he made you. You bit on your inside cheek, like you were trying not to sob.

Sighing, Dex starts to move his legs towards his front door. He wants to murder this man are all his thoughts, before you call out his name. He stops in his tracks, looking back to find you behind him; the space between you was so little it was almost non-existent. 

“Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, Dex.” You whisper. Your eyes were vulnerable and so clear he could see a line of tears forming. He couldn’t manage seeing you cry. What the hell was happening to him? Why did this woman that he’s only known for a week manage to make him wrapped around her little finger.

“Please, Dex.” In a surprising motion, you wrap your arms around him, an army of tears falling onto his shirt as you cry quietly.. His eyes widen, he doesn’t really know what he should be doing. In a half-effort, he wraps his arms around you awkwardly. 

Dex tries to convince himself he doesn’t care about you, but it’s no use, but here you are, standing in his apartment, crying in his arms.  You stopped crying, but your breath is uneven. You don’t remember the last time you cried this hard. 

Dex does care about you.

He wishes not to, but he can’t stop, not now and now ever.

Breaking the hug, you look into his eyes, but you can’t help yourself as you close the gap between you and Dex. Your arms wrap around his neck, his wrapping around your waist as he gently pushes your back towards the kitchen counter. You don’t stop. The kiss is deep and full of hidden admiration. It’s a very passionate kiss for people who’ve known each other for a week. His muscled arms help you sit on the counter as he stands between your legs. His lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a series of scattered kisses. Both of you break apart.

For the rest of the hour, you and Dex lay on his couch, with your head leaning against his shoulder. Dex’s arm is around your shoulder and once in a while he looks down at your cuddling form.

A few minutes later, you fall asleep, softly snoring. Dex leaves your body asleep on his couch, closing his curtains and opening the TV to whatever channel is on. He’ll be gone for a while, so he wrote you a note that he placed on the coffee table.

And so, that’s how Dex found himself on top of the rooftop. 

And that’s also how Dex found himself dangling the guy upside down on the rooftop while the man screams and begs for mercy, but Dex won’t let that man go easily. He has a whole plan planned out, because how dare he lay his filthy hands on you? He has fun watching the guy squirm and cry, it’s more of  a hobby really. It makes him feel on cloud nine.

Killing him slowly would take the enjoyment out of the whole thing, so give Dex a reason why he would do that. Isn't it meant to be enjoyable? He punches him, but not enough to take him into unconsciousness. He has to be awake to experience all the pain. He made his bed, so he must lie in it.

And when Dex opens the door with blood thrown on his face and bruised knuckles, your thoughts are confirmed. The worst part is that you should be afraid of him, but you aren’t. You know exactly what he did, and you don’t care. You can’t help the feeling of happiness that lodges in your heart.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

Dex’s eyes are full of pride as he nods. He doesn’t care if you leave him if you’re scared. The most important thing to him is the fact that the guy is long gone. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore and you won’t have to leave in fear forever.

“Okay…that’s…something.” Is your reply. You try to keep your emotions discreet; you don’t know why. With a soft smile, you hug him again. You hug him maybe due to the fact that you feel safe, or the fact that Dex did all of this just for you. Your heart leaps, not in fear, but in pleasure and joy.

For once, you feel safe. You’re sure you’re safe. That’s what you tell yourself, but why are your hands still shaking?

You sit down on his rusty couch. You expect him to sit down next to you, but instead he kneels in front of you and captures both of your hands in his in a tight but gentle grip. His loving eyes stare into yours.

“Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do anything for you. Just love me. That’s all I ask."

[4stephanie4]

Greif's a funny thing -- A.hotchner ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader word count: 6,033 words summary: you lost your sister weeks ago and everybody says it gets better, so why do you still feel awful? Maybe time does heal wounds sometimes, but it's worth it in the end when Hotch confesses after a huge mess. warning: few curse words, angst, misogyny, strauss(she's only mentioned once tho), car crash

Grief has hollowed you, carved your heart out and took place inside instead of the vital organ. You barely eat or drink; nothing makes you move out of bed anymore. The worst part is the fact that you don’t cry, scream or demand why she left. Everything feels numb, like you knew this was bound to happen. You can still hear their condolences in your ears. 

We’re so sorry, but she didn’t make it. 

How? She was fine a moment ago, talking to you on the phone about your nephew’s, Jason, football match. She was laughing and so were you. Maybe this is all your fault; if you hadn’t let her hang up on you, maybe she would’ve been alive. Maybe, maybe, maybe. How many times have you said this word over and over in your head? Are you losing your mind already?

 Maybe she would’ve been alive, not laying on the ground with two bullets inside her. The worst part is the fact that she didn’t die slowly. No, he wasn’t that kind. The bullet to the thigh made her scream. The pain was so intense she couldn’t stop yelling and screaming, until her vocal cords ripped. That shut her up. He waited for her to stop screaming so he could put the other bullet to her head, killing her almost immediately. That’s what the forensic analysis said.

What they said is that she was running after a suspect, who, unknown to her, was carrying a gun. She underestimated him, tried to approach without reaching for her gun. And he, without guilt or shame, shot her twice. 

Bang!

You wake up, sweat glistening on your forehead, pupil dilating in your widened eyes. You wish this nightmare could go away. She’s dead, why do I still dream of her?

It’s not like I don’t want to dream of her, but I can’t keep seeing her dead, vacant eyes in my memory. 

All of the team noticed your new behaviour courtesy of all of them being profilers, yet they didn’t comment about anything. They noticed how instead of bringing croissants and donuts in the morning for a case or even just the extremely sweet coffee, you brought a black coffee for yourself only. How you seem on edge lately. Prentiss raised her eyebrows when you snapped at Reid for talking too much, and when she passed you later in the hallways, she shaked her head. 

Then came a case in Georgia. There was havoc on the streets; people hesitated to go to work every morning in fear the streets were full of people attacking normal citizens. The streets weren’t safe even when there were crowds of people. These unsubs were extremely intelligent and you had to catch them as soon as possible.

A group of three individuals, the team deduced, were using .22 caliber pistols, as Reid explained, to shoot people in broad daylight. The use of this type of pistol allowed the unsubs to shoot the people, because of the low sound it emitted. They were smart and planned each one of their shootings, knowing their exits.

You thought it’d be simple, something that would end in three days maximum, something that you wouldn’t even remember in the future.

Boy, were you wrong. 

You were all surrounded around the round table, talking about the possibilities where the unsubs would strike. You argued that you should put teams on 14th, 42nd, and 59th street, because they are near subway express stops, which helps the unsubs blend in after killing the victim.

However, the Chief of Department denied your argument and sent reinforcements on 34th, 6th, and 43rd street.

He’s been acting weirdly towards you, like he can’t stand to look at your face. You can smell a misogynist from a mile away; he definitely can’t handle a woman being smarter than him.

Much to your dismay, you found yourself on 43rd street with a cop that leaks arrogance from his nose. You didn’t like him, but there was nothing you could say, so while he talked, you didn’t reply to him, not even nodding.

The cop, Noah, kept talking about his achievements in his rookie days and how the FBI was ‘dying to take him’ when he was younger. He talked about how he saved a family of five from a fire, and how it was in the news for days. 

Sighing, you walk around with the non-stop buzz of chatting in your ears. You just wish this day would end already; you just want to go visit Jason and play baseball with him.

Suddenly, Garcia’s urgent voice fills your ears telling you that the unsubs struck exactly in the places you told the officer he would strike. Her voice is filled with fear and she’s trying hard not to break down as she watches one of the unsubs shoot someone.

Stupid officer. That’s what I said!

You and Noah run to the 42nd because it was the street nearest to you. The pursuit is hard, the man you were running after was extremely rapid, knocking the air out of your lungs easily, but both of you didn’t stop. You can’t stop. He’s right in front of you, but many people are unaware. The people around you walk slowly, only gasping when you push them harshly to try not to lose sight of the Unsub.

Noah managed to surpass you, which wasn’t surprising. He took a rough turn,almost tripping. He was only a metre behind the Unsub. Before he could grab his loaded gun, the man shoots him and you only arrive when you hear the crowd screaming. A woman next to you cries loudly.

There in the alleyway lay two men, the unsub, who was dead, and Noah who was on the line between life and death.

With widened eyes, you kneel next to Noah, frantically checking for a pulse while trying to stop the bleeding. You tear off your jacket, placing it on the bleeding wound of his. 

“Don’t move. Just keep your eyes open! Garcia, I need the medics now!” You yell into your comms. Garcia responds, “Coming right now!”

Blood is everywhere, on your shirt, on yours and gushing all over the ground under you. 

Is this how your sister died too?

You’re so close to throwing up, even though you didn’t eat this morning. 

“Tell my family…that I-I love them.” He mutters his final wish under his breath.

Did your sister say that too?

Noah, unfortunately, stops breathing right after those words.

Your heart falls into your stomach. With a sudden rush of panic that runs throughout your whole body, you realise there’s nothing for you to do. He’s dead. Hands trembling, you hear a roaring ringing in your ears. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, she stopped breathing before the medics could even reach her.”

The wind twirls around you as you lie next to her headstone, Jason, her son, in your lap. He’s too young to understand. A boy with a crooked smile and a heart too big. Both of you sit on the grass as he asks, “are you going to stay over, auntie?”

You don’t want to break his heart by telling him no, so you keep it as vague as possible, “you can always visit, J.”

You could probably bet that you look almost crazycrazy right now with blood all over your shirt and arms while hyperventiliating at the same time. You feel arms around you, pulling you away and on your feet as someone pushes you towards an ambulance. The shaking doesn’t stop though. 

While the medic checks up on you, Hotch’s figure appears in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks and you just nod. You fear that if you were to open your mouth you’d throw up.

When the medic finishes checking up on you, you push past him and Hotch. Hotch’s eyebrow furrowes, but he stops himself from reacting further.

Stomping towards the Chief of Department, you point your finger at him accusingly, “if you had listened to me, this officer wouldn’t have died!”

He scoffs, “we did what we could.”

“A man, a father, died today because you can’t handle a woman giving you orders!”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Derek plants himself between you, pushing you softly away from the man. He gives you a knowing look, but you ignore him. Your colleagues and other offices gather around you. 

What has happened to you?

At the police station, you rush to the bathroom. In the mirror, you look unrecognizable. Blood scattered all over your body with hair in every direction. There peeks a golden glint of a necklace, reminding that your sister will always be everywhere, no matter where you are.

Is that a good thing or bad thing? You can’t tell.

On the flight back home, you decided to sit in the back of the plane, avoiding everyone with a blanket thrown around you. Your face screams do not approach, but Hotch places a cup of tea in front of you silently, before retreating to his own seat. You swallow the lump in your throat, looking out the window, hoping no one else would come up to you.

Hotch stares at you from the other side of the plane. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he likes you. Not as friends, but as something more. He can’t watch you be like this, but he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

And after the Georgia incident where you yelled at the cop, he walked up to you where you were sitting on your desk, finishing the mountains of files piled up next to the miniature lamp as Derek and Reid talked about the geographical profile of one of the victims in a new case. God, is your sister going to be like one of the victims you see everyday? 

“I would like to see you in my office, agent.” He ordered which was obvious from the stoic tone of his voice, not accepting any arguments or bargaining. Reid and Morgan went quiet, trying to not stare between you and Hotch, but it was getting hard not to by the way you were avoiding looking at him.

“I’ll finish this quickly and come as soon as I can, sir.” Your reply is as smooth as ever, just like you revised in your bathroom mirror where shards of glass lay in the corner from punching it out of sheer rage; you had it replaced in two days, not able to look yourself in the mirror, partly because you feel guilty for your sister’s death.

People dressed in black passed by you. Did it matter what colour they wore? Black didn’t mean respect, as well as wearing any other colour didn’t mean disrespect. Did it? The lines start to blur when your mind is stuck in a haze. They murmured apologies like that could fix everything. Could it fix the child that will grow without his mother? 

“I said now, agent.” Hotch repeated, his eyes only looking at you, ignoring the looks from Reid and Morgan. He knew something was up, call it a mother’s intuition.

“Fine.” You answer following him into his office, trying, but unsurprisingly failing, to not look like a nervous wreck. The arguments already start to form in your head. You could say: tired, not enough sleep, got a dog, job is draining the life out of me, but Hotch is one hell of a profiler. He probably could smell your lies before you utter anything, speaking of which, he creeps you out sometimes with the fact that you’ve stared at him a couple of times and found him not blinking. Is that something that comes with a job, or?

“Is something wrong?” You blink, opting to not look at him, instead you look at the photo of his son propped on his desk. Hotch notices, courtesy of him being an excellent profiler. He notices your quiet fidgeting. It’s not noticeable, but Hotch has been on this job for years. He can tell when someone’s hiding something.

“I hope you don’t interrupt me, agent, but your behaviour is unacceptable. You will have to figure it out.” He asserts. If you didn’t know Hotch, you’d think his voice was detached, but you’ve been with this team for years, you know it’s just worry laced under. You hope it is worry under, unless you’re actually pissing Hotch off.

Your hands start to shake, sweat starts to form on your forehead, your eyes widen. The worst happens. The worst keeps happening.

“Is mom going to visit soon?” Jason asks innocently in the morning while you’re cleaning some dishes.

“Soon, baby.” Is your reply, because how are you going to tell this angel that his mom will never come back?

Breathe.

“Yes, sir, it’s just-” Before you can continue or even make up any excuses, he raises his hand, cutting you off. 

“I don’t need an excuse. You’ll take a week off to figure it out. This cannot affect our current cases.” Hotch orders, sitting down at his wooden desk, not bothering to look at you.

“Please, don’t do that. Hotch, please, I need this. It’s nothing. I just need a good coffee. That’s all. I promise. Please.” You beg, eyes glinting with plead under the harsh light of the soaring lamp above you. 

“Are you suspending me?” You repeat, anger mixing in your tone. 

“Gun and badge, agent.”

“You can’t do this, Hotch. Please. You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Exactly and until you find a solution to whatever problem is bothering you, you’re suspended for a week. You’ve been a liability on and off the field. Gun and badge. Don’t make me repeat it.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” You snap, eyes locking on his. 

He closes the distance between you, the space almost non-existent, “Gun and badge, agent.”

“Stop calling me agent, dammnit! You know it’s not right, Hotch.” Your voice is loud, too loud as Hotch clenches his jaw.

“Do not tell me what’s right or wrong, what’s white or black, when your mind is clearly not in the right place. Do not make me repeat myself or I will be extending your suspension.”

Slam!

Your gun and badge land on Hotch’s desk. You stare at him for a moment, like you hope he’d take back what he said, but he doesn’t. He stands his ground. The tears start to form in your eyes, but you move out of his before he’d catch them. 

He still noticed though.

Unbeknown to both of you, the rest of the team was gathered in the Bullpen trying to figure out what was going on in the office.

“Come on, Reid, give us something. What's she saying?” Derek asks, standing beside Reid as he tries to read your lips.

“I can’t tell due to the fact her face isn’t properly facing me, but given the look of her face with the way she’s standing, it almost looks like she’s begging Hotch. There’s a small possibility that he could be…suspending her.” Reid concludes, failing to hide the shock on his face. 

“Suspending her? I mean she’s been off for a while, but is he really going to do that?” Emily, who was sitting on Reid’s messy desk, asks in worry. She knows something’s been off, she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Suddenly, JJ grabs Emily by her while Morgan and Reid are distracted and pulls her into the small kitchenette of the Bullpen.

“Do you think she’s pregnant?” JJ questions, concern in her voice, “do you think she’s pregnant, but scared to tell us? Because I’ve known her for a long time. She’s the sweetest girl ever, don’t you think something big, life-changing, has to happen for someone to switch up on their personality like that?”

“You’re right, but pregnancy is a big stretch. Maybe it’s grief? I don’t think it’s fear. Fear would cause her to be nervous, always moving, but this? This is most definitely grief. Her movements are sluggish and tired.” Emily replies with a distressed look on her face.

Before JJ could give her opinion, the door to Hotch’s office slammed shut with a loud, echoing slam, startling all of the agents in the Bullpen. You walk down the hall with clenched fists, a quivering lip and a line of tears glistening. You walk with no direction, just wanting, and hoping, to get out of this place. You hope that you can get out of this place before anyone catches the tears that were going to start gushing out of your eyes.

You make it to your car, but unfortunately for you, the universe is never in favor of you. The tears start flowing before you even open the door to your car. Sitting down in your car, you place your forehead on your steering wheel, you sob loudly, not even caring to hide it anymore.

You can’t carry the world on your shoulders.

“Hey, name?” Your sister calls out for you while both of you unpack her things. She and her husband recently moved to a new house. Everything was in its right place, all that was left were a few paintings and some decor that was to be hung around the house.

“Yeah?” You reply, hammering one of the paintings on the wall. This one was ‘too modern’ you once commented. It was just a splash of some colours, too bland for a house this colourful, but your sister denied, said you’d only get it if you truly understand. You brushed her off as crazy.

“You’ll take care of Jason if something happens right? He loves you damn much and so do I.” She comments, eyes deeply looking into yours.

“No, because you’ll be here to take care of both of us. Can’t be painting my walls without your ugly taste in decor.” You reply without missing a beat.

Did she foresee her fate?

You’re tired, tired of this god damn job with this god damn grief that clings to your clothes. You hate that you let her death affect you this much. It should, but you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss  begging him not to give you a week off. He doesn’t know that you can’t look at yourself in the mirror. He doesn’t know that if you spend another day, scratch that, another hour with your thoughts, you may never make it out.

Inside his office, Hotch sighs, hands rubbing his forehead as he tries to focus on the file in front of you. What the hell was wrong with you? He knew something was up, but you were never one who made scenes in public. Something must be deeply affecting you. Why the hell were you not talking about it? He was sure as hell this team was extremely close like a family, so why weren’t you opening your god damn mouth?

He made a mental note to check up on you after work, if he gets these files done.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Your heart breathing returns to what is almost considered normal, and you start to take the familiar route you’ve taken for years now to your house. It’s a miniature house located near the FBI campus by approximately 15 minutes. It’s an advantage, because you don’t have to wake up early, and the roads are always full of light traffic.

You’ve never been more content to reach your house, opting to drown in your bed and sulk all day. If someone were to call you, like Prentiss or JJ, you’d ignore it, and probably respond the day after, because you know what? You’re not in shape to talk. Maybe Hotch had a point. They’re better off with you, aren’t they? Maybe all you’re doing is getting in their line of work. Not like you help at all.

With a sorrowful sigh, you park your car in your driveway and cut the ignition. The neighbourhood is extremely amiable and homely. Children are always playing in the front yards, yelling and screaming as they run after the ball. Parents always host parties, and you…are just there.

Pain floods through your side as you feel the kick of a ball. Just what you needed! You were about to turn to curse at the children on the other side of the road, but one of them moves towards you to take the ball back, already starting to yell apologies. 

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach as you hear the horn of a car beeping. The child, unaware and carefree, ignores the sound. The child’s mom lets out a shrill scream of terror. You swear that scream will be planted in your ears forever. 

Dropping your bag, you run towards the child, pushing him away.

Then, the world stops.

You don’t really notice what’s going on. People swarm around you. You hear yelling and someone ordering you not to move. Can you even feel your legs? Someone cries. The only thing you can really notice is the taste of metal on your lips. It’s almost funny how confused you look. God, I just want to sleep! Does the universe hate me taking naps or something?

The child…the child!

You try to sit up because laying on the concrete road is extremely uncomfortable and you need to see if the child is okay, but someone forces you to lay straight again. Trying to argue, it comes out as a shaky breath. Something touches your wrist, then multiple hands on your back pushing you on something solid. You’re moving?

Yeah, and the universe said enough of your shit, and the pain just started to kick in. The paramedic around you shines something in your eye; you let out a loud whimper, moving around in pain. Everywhere hurts.

Could this day get worse?

Thoughts conquer your mind, wondering what happened or what will happen, but underneath all these thoughts is a thought you wish to deny.

You’re going to be joining your sister.

Hotch doesn’t really do relationships. After the whole Haley incident and almost losing his son, he just doesn’t do that kind of thing. Can you blame the guy? However, he can’t deny that sense of protectiveness when it comes to you. He doesn’t like you though. It’s just a sense of admiration towards your personality.

Oh, who is he fooling! It’s definitely a crush. A crush? It seems so childish to admit it. Hotch denies it every time that thought pops in his mind. But he just can’t do it. Him, your boss, and his subordinate? Strauss is going to fire both of you! Maybe he was too harsh on you.

Yeah, no matter how many files he has, he’s going to check up on you later. The silence in the room gets interrupted with a roaring ringtone coming from the phone next to him. He picks it up, his voice calm and collected, “Hotchner.”

The voice that talks on the other side of the phone is unfamiliar, his voice talking with urgency. The words that come out next are worse. 

“You are Agent Name’s emergency contact. Unfortunately, sir, she was injured in a car accident. She’s currently at St. David’s hospital.” Hotch’s heart falls to his stomach before be replies, “I’ll be right there.” How could this happen? You were fine, you were just angrily yelling at him a few hours ago.

Strauss was the one who recommened to have Hotch as your emergency contact, since you didn’t have anyone to put as your contact. Yes, you could’ve put your sister, but you didn’t want to bother her. You land in the hospital quite frequently. Hotch didn’t mind, even though you refused multiple times, not wanting to disturb him, especially that he had a son. He was already busy, but Hotch still wrote his number down stubbornly.

When he walks out of his office, JJ stops in front of him, “we have a case right now, do I call name or is she…” she asks, hoping JJ isn’t right and you’re not actually suspended.

“Start the briefing. I’ll be briefed on the plane..” JJ nods to his response, files in hand and walking to the center of the Bullpen to gather the rest of the team.

What he opts to do is send an agent to stay with you until this case ends. With an order, he sends the young agent, the one freshly new to the BAU.

Hotch thinks that maybe suspending you was a mistake. If he hadn’t made that mistake, he wouldn’t have to get that call, but he needs to focus right now.

As everyone gets on the plane, Derek places his hand on Hotch’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, “i hope you know what you’re doing.” He says.

And Hotch for once doesn’t know if he’s made the right decision or not.

On the plane, the team shares their theories due to the fact that he wasn’t present during the briefing. 

“Millie Barnes was abducted last night in San Francisco, California. She was inside her house while the parents were on a date. The parents came home to find blood on her doorway.”

“Blood?” Rossi questions with a confused look, “is it hers?”

“Yes, Forensic Analysis confirmed that it was Millie's blood.” JJ confirms.

“That means she fought back.” Hotch theorizes and Derek nods, agreeing.

“They have a dog, right? How come the neighbours didn’t hear?” Emily asks, looking over the files as Millie’s photos scatter on the table.

“That means the unsub is familiar to Millie. Actually 75% to 90% of abduction cases globally are done by a relative or even a friend. It helps make the kidnapping easier and smoother.”

When everyone returns to silence, Prentiss clears her throat, “ Is name going to be joining us?” 

Hotch clenches his jaw, “no, unfortunately, agent name was hit by a speeding car while driving back home.”

“And you didn’t even care to tell us?” Derek’s voice raises. Everyone’s eyebrows raise. How could Hotch hide something like that? This is serious. One of their close friends was injured, possibly in critical condition, and Hotch just decides not to tell them?

“We need to focus on the case.” Hotch argues.

“What we need to focus on is her. Right now, she’s at the hospital, most probably needing us, while you say a case is more important than her. You can’t do stuff like that!” Derek’s eyes snap to Hotch’s angrily. You and Derek are close, and him not being there for you is breaking him and everyone can see that.

Rossi cuts in, “Hotch is right. We need to focus. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to her.” Rossi knows that Hotch is wrong. That he should’ve stopped the team. That they should be there next to you, but they’re already halfway there. He knows you’re going to be fine, he hopes.

In the corner, JJ and Prentiss share a look.

When you awake, the tip of your ears and nose are ice cold. You swear you almost feel them freezing. Your eyes don’t open until a few seconds later. Bright light shines into your eyes, blinding you for a good moment before you partially register. It feels like you were strapped down in a mental asylum.

White, white, white. That’s all you see around you. A soft, but frustrating, buzz sound fills your ears. Trying to sit up, pain fills your side. Looking down, you find bandages almost everywhere on your body.

Trying to move your knuckles, the agent spots your movement.

“Agent L/N, you’re awake! My name is  Agent Jeremy. Agent Hotchner appointed me to look after you while they’re on a case in california.” Jeremy exclaims. You can’t fully register his face. It looks more like a floating blob than a real, human face.

You don’t respond, your throat feeling too dry to try to talk. 

The next few days, the nurses don’t let you out of their sight, tendering to you like a mother caring for a sick child.

One morning after a sleepless night due to the pain, colors blur in your eyes. Yeah, you know that person. “Oh my God, sugar!” Garcia cries as she sits down besides you on the chair. “I was so worried, name. I thought you- i thought you…” she sobs, not even trying to stop her tears anymore.

“I’m okay, Garcia. I was just hit by a car. It’s fine.” You sit up despite the pain and she wraps her arms around you. “Ow, the wounds are still fresh, P.” You wince, but she still has her arms around you.

Penelope is a lovely girl. She’s sunshine and colours and her outfits always amaze you. She’s sweet like sugar, and extremely smart, despite that you know she’s a tad bit innocent for her kind, almost getting killed once by a guy who claimed to have computer problems.

You’re just glad to see anyone except for Jeremy. You like him, but he talks a lot. You like to chat, but not when you’re barely alive.

When you awake again, the whimsy atmosphere leaves the room, leaving you to stare at the bland, white walls of the hospital room. Sighing, your eyes land on someone in the chair. It’s not Penelope, but a man in a crisp, white chemise, and jacket draped over his lap.

Hotch.

You feel something on your hand. Looking down, you find his hand tenderly wrapped around yours. You pull your hand from his.

You avoid looking at him, moving your head to the side, partly because you feel embarrassed of your little outburst, but you’re sure he understands.

He understands what it’s like to lose someone.

You’ve known Hotch for long, tiresome years. He’s always been there for you and vice versa. He’s not just your boss. He’s also the man that cares for you deeply, but you’re sure he’s like that towards anyone else.

Disclaimer: he’s not.

Hotch is fearless as well as extremely courageful; that’s what makes him an exceptional boss. Hotch isn’t just a boss though. He’s the man that watched you break down in tears after a tough case one day. He’s the man that brings your sweet coffee when he finds you staring at a wall too hard with furrowed eyebrows. He’s the man that brings you blueberry muffins when you’re working cases on the weekends, even though he says he brings it for the whole team no one likes blueberry muffins on the team except for you. He’s the one who bailed you out when a police officer arrested you for punching a man during an outing with JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia. You gave him a look with an excuse, “he wouldn’t stop bothering Penelope. Someone had to teach him a lesson.”

Despite the situation, you know for sure that Hotch still cares.

You hope so. You don’t know what you’d do if he was mad at you, call it perhaps daddy issues?

Clearing his throat, Hotch opens his mouth to speak but shuts it almost immediately.  

“Listen, name…” he utters your name, not ‘agent’, but your actual name. You swear it could make a woman melt on the floor. 

“I overreacted. I know.” You cut him off, eyes firm. He looks at you, really looks at you.

“No, you didn’t. I let my feelings get in the way of the job.” He shakes his head.

What the hell does he mean? Feelings?

“Name. You are an extraordinary agent, a gift. I’ve known that since I accepted your transfer from Counter Terrorism. I tried not to let…my feelings for you change what’s between us, but I can’t deny it anymore.”

“Hotch, what the hell do you mean? This is absurd…” you reply, speechless. You’ve always had a reply for everything, but right now, you are looking at Hotch like he grew two heads.  

“Please, just listen. These last few days during the case, I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the abduction, but I felt fully responsible for what happened to you. I want to apologise.  You aren’t a liability. You are one of the most important agents on this team. And… watching you be so self-destructive made me feel defeated, so I thought suspending you would be the answer, but I was wrong and I take full responsibility. And almost losing you felt like losing balance.”

For once, you’re…speechless. The whole confession from Hotch hits hard. You’ve been treating the whole team badly. 

Watching Hotch get this vulnerable makes you almost cringe. He hasn’t had this look on his face since his ex-wife died.

You don’t know what to say. Nothing will come out.

“I,” Hotch swallows, “would like to get to know you better, maybe take you out on a date…if you’d like. After the doctor says you’re okay to go obviously.”

Silence fills the room, the tension so sharp it could be cut with a knife.

“I’m so sorry for being an asshole, Hotch. It’s just that my sister died, and then I just felt worthless. I do like you too, Hotch, but I’m just not ready. I- it’s too fast…too soon. I would like for things to go slow if you’re okay with that. But, yes, I’d like that” You stutter, hoping he wouldn’t get mad.

“Yes, that’s fine with me. The others would like to see you now.” he replies, a gentle smile on his face before standing up and letting the others in. Then, the room is filled with joy and love, and for once you feel okay. You haven't felt that in weeks.

Yes, maybe grief doesn’t go, it just stays and reminds you of the person in everything you see.  You still remember your sister’s laugh when you hear Prentiss chuckle. You still see your sister’s intelligence. in Reid whenever he makes a witted comeback when Morgan jokingly insults him.

The most important thing is that you had a reason to live. You had a family, and most importantly you were going to understand Hotch better. You like him. He’s everything you ever wanted in a good man. He’s honest, and most importantly you can see in his eyes that he likes you, not like the other men you dated.

Strauss is going to have a fun day, depending on her definition of fun, if she finds out that you and Hotch are going to start to date, but maybe she doesn’t have to know.

A few weeks later after your discharge, you and Hotch go on a date. Then another, then another, then another, until he invites you over one time and Jack adores you. Then you stay over one time, then another, then it becomes a habit. Then you start leaving stuff over at his house. Then Jack keeps begging you to stay. Then you wake up early, not for a case, but to make Jack pancakes. He won’t eat it if Hotch does it for him though, claiming that yours is better even though they are the same.

One night, Hotch holds you in his bed. You’re staying over like usual, it’s like you’ve become a resident in his house. Your head is using his chest as a pillow, your thigh draped over his arms are looped around your back. You’re staring holes into the walls. Both of you lay silently.

“You’ve been staying over, gonna start charging you for rent.” He comments, a smile playing on his lips as he looks down at your angelic face. One hand moves to cup your face, finger caressing your cheek.

“Packing my stuff today.” you reply lazily. After a tough case, all you want is to sleep, but sleep won’t come to you, “I don’t know if this is right, but I’m glad I got hit by a car, seeing you almost beg was funny to be honest.” You grin, sitting up.

“I’m starting to regret it now.” He groans, throwing his hands on his face, “will you let that go? For Jack’s sake!”

Most importantly, you were gonna be fine.

[4stephanie4]

Greif's a funny thing -- A.hotchner ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader word count: 6,033 words summary: you lost your sister weeks ago and everybody says it gets better, so why do you still feel awful? Maybe time does heal wounds sometimes, but it's worth it in the end when Hotch confesses after a huge mess. warning: few curse words, angst, misogyny, strauss(she's only mentioned once tho), car crash

Grief has hollowed you, carved your heart out and took place inside instead of the vital organ. You barely eat or drink; nothing makes you move out of bed anymore. The worst part is the fact that you don’t cry, scream or demand why she left. Everything feels numb, like you knew this was bound to happen. You can still hear their condolences in your ears. 

We’re so sorry, but she didn’t make it. 

How? She was fine a moment ago, talking to you on the phone about your nephew’s, Jason, football match. She was laughing and so were you. Maybe this is all your fault; if you hadn’t let her hang up on you, maybe she would’ve been alive. Maybe, maybe, maybe. How many times have you said this word over and over in your head? Are you losing your mind already?

 Maybe she would’ve been alive, not laying on the ground with two bullets inside her. The worst part is the fact that she didn’t die slowly. No, he wasn’t that kind. The bullet to the thigh made her scream. The pain was so intense she couldn’t stop yelling and screaming, until her vocal cords ripped. That shut her up. He waited for her to stop screaming so he could put the other bullet to her head, killing her almost immediately. That’s what the forensic analysis said.

What they said is that she was running after a suspect, who, unknown to her, was carrying a gun. She underestimated him, tried to approach without reaching for her gun. And he, without guilt or shame, shot her twice. 

Bang!

You wake up, sweat glistening on your forehead, pupil dilating in your widened eyes. You wish this nightmare could go away. She’s dead, why do I still dream of her?

It’s not like I don’t want to dream of her, but I can’t keep seeing her dead, vacant eyes in my memory. 

All of the team noticed your new behaviour courtesy of all of them being profilers, yet they didn’t comment about anything. They noticed how instead of bringing croissants and donuts in the morning for a case or even just the extremely sweet coffee, you brought a black coffee for yourself only. How you seem on edge lately. Prentiss raised her eyebrows when you snapped at Reid for talking too much, and when she passed you later in the hallways, she shaked her head. 

Then came a case in Georgia. There was havoc on the streets; people hesitated to go to work every morning in fear the streets were full of people attacking normal citizens. The streets weren’t safe even when there were crowds of people. These unsubs were extremely intelligent and you had to catch them as soon as possible.

A group of three individuals, the team deduced, were using .22 caliber pistols, as Reid explained, to shoot people in broad daylight. The use of this type of pistol allowed the unsubs to shoot the people, because of the low sound it emitted. They were smart and planned each one of their shootings, knowing their exits.

You thought it’d be simple, something that would end in three days maximum, something that you wouldn’t even remember in the future.

Boy, were you wrong. 

You were all surrounded around the round table, talking about the possibilities where the unsubs would strike. You argued that you should put teams on 14th, 42nd, and 59th street, because they are near subway express stops, which helps the unsubs blend in after killing the victim.

However, the Chief of Department denied your argument and sent reinforcements on 34th, 6th, and 43rd street.

He’s been acting weirdly towards you, like he can’t stand to look at your face. You can smell a misogynist from a mile away; he definitely can’t handle a woman being smarter than him.

Much to your dismay, you found yourself on 43rd street with a cop that leaks arrogance from his nose. You didn’t like him, but there was nothing you could say, so while he talked, you didn’t reply to him, not even nodding.

The cop, Noah, kept talking about his achievements in his rookie days and how the FBI was ‘dying to take him’ when he was younger. He talked about how he saved a family of five from a fire, and how it was in the news for days. 

Sighing, you walk around with the non-stop buzz of chatting in your ears. You just wish this day would end already; you just want to go visit Jason and play baseball with him.

Suddenly, Garcia’s urgent voice fills your ears telling you that the unsubs struck exactly in the places you told the officer he would strike. Her voice is filled with fear and she’s trying hard not to break down as she watches one of the unsubs shoot someone.

Stupid officer. That’s what I said!

You and Noah run to the 42nd because it was the street nearest to you. The pursuit is hard, the man you were running after was extremely rapid, knocking the air out of your lungs easily, but both of you didn’t stop. You can’t stop. He’s right in front of you, but many people are unaware. The people around you walk slowly, only gasping when you push them harshly to try not to lose sight of the Unsub.

Noah managed to surpass you, which wasn’t surprising. He took a rough turn,almost tripping. He was only a metre behind the Unsub. Before he could grab his loaded gun, the man shoots him and you only arrive when you hear the crowd screaming. A woman next to you cries loudly.

There in the alleyway lay two men, the unsub, who was dead, and Noah who was on the line between life and death.

With widened eyes, you kneel next to Noah, frantically checking for a pulse while trying to stop the bleeding. You tear off your jacket, placing it on the bleeding wound of his. 

“Don’t move. Just keep your eyes open! Garcia, I need the medics now!” You yell into your comms. Garcia responds, “Coming right now!”

Blood is everywhere, on your shirt, on yours and gushing all over the ground under you. 

Is this how your sister died too?

You’re so close to throwing up, even though you didn’t eat this morning. 

“Tell my family…that I-I love them.” He mutters his final wish under his breath.

Did your sister say that too?

Noah, unfortunately, stops breathing right after those words.

Your heart falls into your stomach. With a sudden rush of panic that runs throughout your whole body, you realise there’s nothing for you to do. He’s dead. Hands trembling, you hear a roaring ringing in your ears. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, she stopped breathing before the medics could even reach her.”

The wind twirls around you as you lie next to her headstone, Jason, her son, in your lap. He’s too young to understand. A boy with a crooked smile and a heart too big. Both of you sit on the grass as he asks, “are you going to stay over, auntie?”

You don’t want to break his heart by telling him no, so you keep it as vague as possible, “you can always visit, J.”

You could probably bet that you look almost crazycrazy right now with blood all over your shirt and arms while hyperventiliating at the same time. You feel arms around you, pulling you away and on your feet as someone pushes you towards an ambulance. The shaking doesn’t stop though. 

While the medic checks up on you, Hotch’s figure appears in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks and you just nod. You fear that if you were to open your mouth you’d throw up.

When the medic finishes checking up on you, you push past him and Hotch. Hotch’s eyebrow furrowes, but he stops himself from reacting further.

Stomping towards the Chief of Department, you point your finger at him accusingly, “if you had listened to me, this officer wouldn’t have died!”

He scoffs, “we did what we could.”

“A man, a father, died today because you can’t handle a woman giving you orders!”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Derek plants himself between you, pushing you softly away from the man. He gives you a knowing look, but you ignore him. Your colleagues and other offices gather around you. 

What has happened to you?

At the police station, you rush to the bathroom. In the mirror, you look unrecognizable. Blood scattered all over your body with hair in every direction. There peeks a golden glint of a necklace, reminding that your sister will always be everywhere, no matter where you are.

Is that a good thing or bad thing? You can’t tell.

On the flight back home, you decided to sit in the back of the plane, avoiding everyone with a blanket thrown around you. Your face screams do not approach, but Hotch places a cup of tea in front of you silently, before retreating to his own seat. You swallow the lump in your throat, looking out the window, hoping no one else would come up to you.

Hotch stares at you from the other side of the plane. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he likes you. Not as friends, but as something more. He can’t watch you be like this, but he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

And after the Georgia incident where you yelled at the cop, he walked up to you where you were sitting on your desk, finishing the mountains of files piled up next to the miniature lamp as Derek and Reid talked about the geographical profile of one of the victims in a new case. God, is your sister going to be like one of the victims you see everyday? 

“I would like to see you in my office, agent.” He ordered which was obvious from the stoic tone of his voice, not accepting any arguments or bargaining. Reid and Morgan went quiet, trying to not stare between you and Hotch, but it was getting hard not to by the way you were avoiding looking at him.

“I’ll finish this quickly and come as soon as I can, sir.” Your reply is as smooth as ever, just like you revised in your bathroom mirror where shards of glass lay in the corner from punching it out of sheer rage; you had it replaced in two days, not able to look yourself in the mirror, partly because you feel guilty for your sister’s death.

People dressed in black passed by you. Did it matter what colour they wore? Black didn’t mean respect, as well as wearing any other colour didn’t mean disrespect. Did it? The lines start to blur when your mind is stuck in a haze. They murmured apologies like that could fix everything. Could it fix the child that will grow without his mother? 

“I said now, agent.” Hotch repeated, his eyes only looking at you, ignoring the looks from Reid and Morgan. He knew something was up, call it a mother’s intuition.

“Fine.” You answer following him into his office, trying, but unsurprisingly failing, to not look like a nervous wreck. The arguments already start to form in your head. You could say: tired, not enough sleep, got a dog, job is draining the life out of me, but Hotch is one hell of a profiler. He probably could smell your lies before you utter anything, speaking of which, he creeps you out sometimes with the fact that you’ve stared at him a couple of times and found him not blinking. Is that something that comes with a job, or?

“Is something wrong?” You blink, opting to not look at him, instead you look at the photo of his son propped on his desk. Hotch notices, courtesy of him being an excellent profiler. He notices your quiet fidgeting. It’s not noticeable, but Hotch has been on this job for years. He can tell when someone’s hiding something.

“I hope you don’t interrupt me, agent, but your behaviour is unacceptable. You will have to figure it out.” He asserts. If you didn’t know Hotch, you’d think his voice was detached, but you’ve been with this team for years, you know it’s just worry laced under. You hope it is worry under, unless you’re actually pissing Hotch off.

Your hands start to shake, sweat starts to form on your forehead, your eyes widen. The worst happens. The worst keeps happening.

“Is mom going to visit soon?” Jason asks innocently in the morning while you’re cleaning some dishes.

“Soon, baby.” Is your reply, because how are you going to tell this angel that his mom will never come back?

Breathe.

“Yes, sir, it’s just-” Before you can continue or even make up any excuses, he raises his hand, cutting you off. 

“I don’t need an excuse. You’ll take a week off to figure it out. This cannot affect our current cases.” Hotch orders, sitting down at his wooden desk, not bothering to look at you.

“Please, don’t do that. Hotch, please, I need this. It’s nothing. I just need a good coffee. That’s all. I promise. Please.” You beg, eyes glinting with plead under the harsh light of the soaring lamp above you. 

“Are you suspending me?” You repeat, anger mixing in your tone. 

“Gun and badge, agent.”

“You can’t do this, Hotch. Please. You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Exactly and until you find a solution to whatever problem is bothering you, you’re suspended for a week. You’ve been a liability on and off the field. Gun and badge. Don’t make me repeat it.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” You snap, eyes locking on his. 

He closes the distance between you, the space almost non-existent, “Gun and badge, agent.”

“Stop calling me agent, dammnit! You know it’s not right, Hotch.” Your voice is loud, too loud as Hotch clenches his jaw.

“Do not tell me what’s right or wrong, what’s white or black, when your mind is clearly not in the right place. Do not make me repeat myself or I will be extending your suspension.”

Slam!

Your gun and badge land on Hotch’s desk. You stare at him for a moment, like you hope he’d take back what he said, but he doesn’t. He stands his ground. The tears start to form in your eyes, but you move out of his before he’d catch them. 

He still noticed though.

Unbeknown to both of you, the rest of the team was gathered in the Bullpen trying to figure out what was going on in the office.

“Come on, Reid, give us something. What's she saying?” Derek asks, standing beside Reid as he tries to read your lips.

“I can’t tell due to the fact her face isn’t properly facing me, but given the look of her face with the way she’s standing, it almost looks like she’s begging Hotch. There’s a small possibility that he could be…suspending her.” Reid concludes, failing to hide the shock on his face. 

“Suspending her? I mean she’s been off for a while, but is he really going to do that?” Emily, who was sitting on Reid’s messy desk, asks in worry. She knows something’s been off, she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Suddenly, JJ grabs Emily by her while Morgan and Reid are distracted and pulls her into the small kitchenette of the Bullpen.

“Do you think she’s pregnant?” JJ questions, concern in her voice, “do you think she’s pregnant, but scared to tell us? Because I’ve known her for a long time. She’s the sweetest girl ever, don’t you think something big, life-changing, has to happen for someone to switch up on their personality like that?”

“You’re right, but pregnancy is a big stretch. Maybe it’s grief? I don’t think it’s fear. Fear would cause her to be nervous, always moving, but this? This is most definitely grief. Her movements are sluggish and tired.” Emily replies with a distressed look on her face.

Before JJ could give her opinion, the door to Hotch’s office slammed shut with a loud, echoing slam, startling all of the agents in the Bullpen. You walk down the hall with clenched fists, a quivering lip and a line of tears glistening. You walk with no direction, just wanting, and hoping, to get out of this place. You hope that you can get out of this place before anyone catches the tears that were going to start gushing out of your eyes.

You make it to your car, but unfortunately for you, the universe is never in favor of you. The tears start flowing before you even open the door to your car. Sitting down in your car, you place your forehead on your steering wheel, you sob loudly, not even caring to hide it anymore.

You can’t carry the world on your shoulders.

“Hey, name?” Your sister calls out for you while both of you unpack her things. She and her husband recently moved to a new house. Everything was in its right place, all that was left were a few paintings and some decor that was to be hung around the house.

“Yeah?” You reply, hammering one of the paintings on the wall. This one was ‘too modern’ you once commented. It was just a splash of some colours, too bland for a house this colourful, but your sister denied, said you’d only get it if you truly understand. You brushed her off as crazy.

“You’ll take care of Jason if something happens right? He loves you damn much and so do I.” She comments, eyes deeply looking into yours.

“No, because you’ll be here to take care of both of us. Can’t be painting my walls without your ugly taste in decor.” You reply without missing a beat.

Did she foresee her fate?

You’re tired, tired of this god damn job with this god damn grief that clings to your clothes. You hate that you let her death affect you this much. It should, but you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss  begging him not to give you a week off. He doesn’t know that you can’t look at yourself in the mirror. He doesn’t know that if you spend another day, scratch that, another hour with your thoughts, you may never make it out.

Inside his office, Hotch sighs, hands rubbing his forehead as he tries to focus on the file in front of you. What the hell was wrong with you? He knew something was up, but you were never one who made scenes in public. Something must be deeply affecting you. Why the hell were you not talking about it? He was sure as hell this team was extremely close like a family, so why weren’t you opening your god damn mouth?

He made a mental note to check up on you after work, if he gets these files done.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Your heart breathing returns to what is almost considered normal, and you start to take the familiar route you’ve taken for years now to your house. It’s a miniature house located near the FBI campus by approximately 15 minutes. It’s an advantage, because you don’t have to wake up early, and the roads are always full of light traffic.

You’ve never been more content to reach your house, opting to drown in your bed and sulk all day. If someone were to call you, like Prentiss or JJ, you’d ignore it, and probably respond the day after, because you know what? You’re not in shape to talk. Maybe Hotch had a point. They’re better off with you, aren’t they? Maybe all you’re doing is getting in their line of work. Not like you help at all.

With a sorrowful sigh, you park your car in your driveway and cut the ignition. The neighbourhood is extremely amiable and homely. Children are always playing in the front yards, yelling and screaming as they run after the ball. Parents always host parties, and you…are just there.

Pain floods through your side as you feel the kick of a ball. Just what you needed! You were about to turn to curse at the children on the other side of the road, but one of them moves towards you to take the ball back, already starting to yell apologies. 

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach as you hear the horn of a car beeping. The child, unaware and carefree, ignores the sound. The child’s mom lets out a shrill scream of terror. You swear that scream will be planted in your ears forever. 

Dropping your bag, you run towards the child, pushing him away.

Then, the world stops.

You don’t really notice what’s going on. People swarm around you. You hear yelling and someone ordering you not to move. Can you even feel your legs? Someone cries. The only thing you can really notice is the taste of metal on your lips. It’s almost funny how confused you look. God, I just want to sleep! Does the universe hate me taking naps or something?

The child…the child!

You try to sit up because laying on the concrete road is extremely uncomfortable and you need to see if the child is okay, but someone forces you to lay straight again. Trying to argue, it comes out as a shaky breath. Something touches your wrist, then multiple hands on your back pushing you on something solid. You’re moving?

Yeah, and the universe said enough of your shit, and the pain just started to kick in. The paramedic around you shines something in your eye; you let out a loud whimper, moving around in pain. Everywhere hurts.

Could this day get worse?

Thoughts conquer your mind, wondering what happened or what will happen, but underneath all these thoughts is a thought you wish to deny.

You’re going to be joining your sister.

Hotch doesn’t really do relationships. After the whole Haley incident and almost losing his son, he just doesn’t do that kind of thing. Can you blame the guy? However, he can’t deny that sense of protectiveness when it comes to you. He doesn’t like you though. It’s just a sense of admiration towards your personality.

Oh, who is he fooling! It’s definitely a crush. A crush? It seems so childish to admit it. Hotch denies it every time that thought pops in his mind. But he just can’t do it. Him, your boss, and his subordinate? Strauss is going to fire both of you! Maybe he was too harsh on you.

Yeah, no matter how many files he has, he’s going to check up on you later. The silence in the room gets interrupted with a roaring ringtone coming from the phone next to him. He picks it up, his voice calm and collected, “Hotchner.”

The voice that talks on the other side of the phone is unfamiliar, his voice talking with urgency. The words that come out next are worse. 

“You are Agent Name’s emergency contact. Unfortunately, sir, she was injured in a car accident. She’s currently at St. David’s hospital.” Hotch’s heart falls to his stomach before be replies, “I’ll be right there.” How could this happen? You were fine, you were just angrily yelling at him a few hours ago.

Strauss was the one who recommened to have Hotch as your emergency contact, since you didn’t have anyone to put as your contact. Yes, you could’ve put your sister, but you didn’t want to bother her. You land in the hospital quite frequently. Hotch didn’t mind, even though you refused multiple times, not wanting to disturb him, especially that he had a son. He was already busy, but Hotch still wrote his number down stubbornly.

When he walks out of his office, JJ stops in front of him, “we have a case right now, do I call name or is she…” she asks, hoping JJ isn’t right and you’re not actually suspended.

“Start the briefing. I’ll be briefed on the plane..” JJ nods to his response, files in hand and walking to the center of the Bullpen to gather the rest of the team.

What he opts to do is send an agent to stay with you until this case ends. With an order, he sends the young agent, the one freshly new to the BAU.

Hotch thinks that maybe suspending you was a mistake. If he hadn’t made that mistake, he wouldn’t have to get that call, but he needs to focus right now.

As everyone gets on the plane, Derek places his hand on Hotch’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, “i hope you know what you’re doing.” He says.

And Hotch for once doesn’t know if he’s made the right decision or not.

On the plane, the team shares their theories due to the fact that he wasn’t present during the briefing. 

“Millie Barnes was abducted last night in San Francisco, California. She was inside her house while the parents were on a date. The parents came home to find blood on her doorway.”

“Blood?” Rossi questions with a confused look, “is it hers?”

“Yes, Forensic Analysis confirmed that it was Millie's blood.” JJ confirms.

“That means she fought back.” Hotch theorizes and Derek nods, agreeing.

“They have a dog, right? How come the neighbours didn’t hear?” Emily asks, looking over the files as Millie’s photos scatter on the table.

“That means the unsub is familiar to Millie. Actually 75% to 90% of abduction cases globally are done by a relative or even a friend. It helps make the kidnapping easier and smoother.”

When everyone returns to silence, Prentiss clears her throat, “ Is name going to be joining us?” 

Hotch clenches his jaw, “no, unfortunately, agent name was hit by a speeding car while driving back home.”

“And you didn’t even care to tell us?” Derek’s voice raises. Everyone’s eyebrows raise. How could Hotch hide something like that? This is serious. One of their close friends was injured, possibly in critical condition, and Hotch just decides not to tell them?

“We need to focus on the case.” Hotch argues.

“What we need to focus on is her. Right now, she’s at the hospital, most probably needing us, while you say a case is more important than her. You can’t do stuff like that!” Derek’s eyes snap to Hotch’s angrily. You and Derek are close, and him not being there for you is breaking him and everyone can see that.

Rossi cuts in, “Hotch is right. We need to focus. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to her.” Rossi knows that Hotch is wrong. That he should’ve stopped the team. That they should be there next to you, but they’re already halfway there. He knows you’re going to be fine, he hopes.

In the corner, JJ and Prentiss share a look.

When you awake, the tip of your ears and nose are ice cold. You swear you almost feel them freezing. Your eyes don’t open until a few seconds later. Bright light shines into your eyes, blinding you for a good moment before you partially register. It feels like you were strapped down in a mental asylum.

White, white, white. That’s all you see around you. A soft, but frustrating, buzz sound fills your ears. Trying to sit up, pain fills your side. Looking down, you find bandages almost everywhere on your body.

Trying to move your knuckles, the agent spots your movement.

“Agent L/N, you’re awake! My name is  Agent Jeremy. Agent Hotchner appointed me to look after you while they’re on a case in california.” Jeremy exclaims. You can’t fully register his face. It looks more like a floating blob than a real, human face.

You don’t respond, your throat feeling too dry to try to talk. 

The next few days, the nurses don’t let you out of their sight, tendering to you like a mother caring for a sick child.

One morning after a sleepless night due to the pain, colors blur in your eyes. Yeah, you know that person. “Oh my God, sugar!” Garcia cries as she sits down besides you on the chair. “I was so worried, name. I thought you- i thought you…” she sobs, not even trying to stop her tears anymore.

“I’m okay, Garcia. I was just hit by a car. It’s fine.” You sit up despite the pain and she wraps her arms around you. “Ow, the wounds are still fresh, P.” You wince, but she still has her arms around you.

Penelope is a lovely girl. She’s sunshine and colours and her outfits always amaze you. She’s sweet like sugar, and extremely smart, despite that you know she’s a tad bit innocent for her kind, almost getting killed once by a guy who claimed to have computer problems.

You’re just glad to see anyone except for Jeremy. You like him, but he talks a lot. You like to chat, but not when you’re barely alive.

When you awake again, the whimsy atmosphere leaves the room, leaving you to stare at the bland, white walls of the hospital room. Sighing, your eyes land on someone in the chair. It’s not Penelope, but a man in a crisp, white chemise, and jacket draped over his lap.

Hotch.

You feel something on your hand. Looking down, you find his hand tenderly wrapped around yours. You pull your hand from his.

You avoid looking at him, moving your head to the side, partly because you feel embarrassed of your little outburst, but you’re sure he understands.

He understands what it’s like to lose someone.

You’ve known Hotch for long, tiresome years. He’s always been there for you and vice versa. He’s not just your boss. He’s also the man that cares for you deeply, but you’re sure he’s like that towards anyone else.

Disclaimer: he’s not.

Hotch is fearless as well as extremely courageful; that’s what makes him an exceptional boss. Hotch isn’t just a boss though. He’s the man that watched you break down in tears after a tough case one day. He’s the man that brings your sweet coffee when he finds you staring at a wall too hard with furrowed eyebrows. He’s the man that brings you blueberry muffins when you’re working cases on the weekends, even though he says he brings it for the whole team no one likes blueberry muffins on the team except for you. He’s the one who bailed you out when a police officer arrested you for punching a man during an outing with JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia. You gave him a look with an excuse, “he wouldn’t stop bothering Penelope. Someone had to teach him a lesson.”

Despite the situation, you know for sure that Hotch still cares.

You hope so. You don’t know what you’d do if he was mad at you, call it perhaps daddy issues?

Clearing his throat, Hotch opens his mouth to speak but shuts it almost immediately.  

“Listen, name…” he utters your name, not ‘agent’, but your actual name. You swear it could make a woman melt on the floor. 

“I overreacted. I know.” You cut him off, eyes firm. He looks at you, really looks at you.

“No, you didn’t. I let my feelings get in the way of the job.” He shakes his head.

What the hell does he mean? Feelings?

“Name. You are an extraordinary agent, a gift. I’ve known that since I accepted your transfer from Counter Terrorism. I tried not to let…my feelings for you change what’s between us, but I can’t deny it anymore.”

“Hotch, what the hell do you mean? This is absurd…” you reply, speechless. You’ve always had a reply for everything, but right now, you are looking at Hotch like he grew two heads.  

“Please, just listen. These last few days during the case, I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the abduction, but I felt fully responsible for what happened to you. I want to apologise.  You aren’t a liability. You are one of the most important agents on this team. And… watching you be so self-destructive made me feel defeated, so I thought suspending you would be the answer, but I was wrong and I take full responsibility. And almost losing you felt like losing balance.”

For once, you’re…speechless. The whole confession from Hotch hits hard. You’ve been treating the whole team badly. 

Watching Hotch get this vulnerable makes you almost cringe. He hasn’t had this look on his face since his ex-wife died.

You don’t know what to say. Nothing will come out.

“I,” Hotch swallows, “would like to get to know you better, maybe take you out on a date…if you’d like. After the doctor says you’re okay to go obviously.”

Silence fills the room, the tension so sharp it could be cut with a knife.

“I’m so sorry for being an asshole, Hotch. It’s just that my sister died, and then I just felt worthless. I do like you too, Hotch, but I’m just not ready. I- it’s too fast…too soon. I would like for things to go slow if you’re okay with that. But, yes, I’d like that” You stutter, hoping he wouldn’t get mad.

“Yes, that’s fine with me. The others would like to see you now.” he replies, a gentle smile on his face before standing up and letting the others in. Then, the room is filled with joy and love, and for once you feel okay. You haven't felt that in weeks.

Yes, maybe grief doesn’t go, it just stays and reminds you of the person in everything you see.  You still remember your sister’s laugh when you hear Prentiss chuckle. You still see your sister’s intelligence. in Reid whenever he makes a witted comeback when Morgan jokingly insults him.

The most important thing is that you had a reason to live. You had a family, and most importantly you were going to understand Hotch better. You like him. He’s everything you ever wanted in a good man. He’s honest, and most importantly you can see in his eyes that he likes you, not like the other men you dated.

Strauss is going to have a fun day, depending on her definition of fun, if she finds out that you and Hotch are going to start to date, but maybe she doesn’t have to know.

A few weeks later after your discharge, you and Hotch go on a date. Then another, then another, then another, until he invites you over one time and Jack adores you. Then you stay over one time, then another, then it becomes a habit. Then you start leaving stuff over at his house. Then Jack keeps begging you to stay. Then you wake up early, not for a case, but to make Jack pancakes. He won’t eat it if Hotch does it for him though, claiming that yours is better even though they are the same.

One night, Hotch holds you in his bed. You’re staying over like usual, it’s like you’ve become a resident in his house. Your head is using his chest as a pillow, your thigh draped over his arms are looped around your back. You’re staring holes into the walls. Both of you lay silently.

“You’ve been staying over, gonna start charging you for rent.” He comments, a smile playing on his lips as he looks down at your angelic face. One hand moves to cup your face, finger caressing your cheek.

“Packing my stuff today.” you reply lazily. After a tough case, all you want is to sleep, but sleep won’t come to you, “I don’t know if this is right, but I’m glad I got hit by a car, seeing you almost beg was funny to be honest.” You grin, sitting up.

“I’m starting to regret it now.” He groans, throwing his hands on his face, “will you let that go? For Jack’s sake!”

Most importantly, you were gonna be fine.