𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You learn how to be someone’s girlfriend. Or, 5 times Hotch raises your expectations (+1 time you raise his).

7k words, new established relationship to established relationship, lots of fluff and some small angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, calls him aaron, basically hotch treating you well

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1. Soup.

"Are you hungry?" Aaron asks, hands at the neck of his shirt as he loosens his tie.

You've never seen him do that. It's a lot to take in.

"A little, are you?" He's lucky that you remember to answer.

His smile lights you up inside and out, a warm, casual quirk. "Famished."

"Should we make something?"

He turns from the doorway and moves into the kitchen. You have to twist on his couch to see his movements.

"No need. I should've asked if you like it, but I made vegetable soup. The kind with mini dumplings."

You look down at your legs and squeeze your thighs together until your knees tap. You're too shy to go and meet him where he's standing, but perhaps sitting and having him wait on you is arrogant. And awkward.

The couch is plush under your hands as you stand. You'd slipped off your shoes at the door, and your socked-feet slide over the tiled floor of the kitchen as you make your way to his side. Aaron lights the stove, atop which stands a tall cooking pot.

"When did you have time to make that?" you ask, soft with awe.

"I knew you'd be coming over. I started it this morning."

"And if I didn't like it?"

He turns his gaze to yours, pot lid held aloft. "Then I would've ordered in for us. You're sure this is okay?"

You've never had somebody cook for you before. Homemade, fresh ingredients, and the intricacy of the dumplings too, it all impresses and amazes you. You feel very special. Like you're worth all the effort.

"I'm sure. More sure if you let me try it."

His laugh startles you for its rarity. "Okay. It's not done," he warns.

"Just to taste it."

He stirs the warming soup with a big spoon for half a minute, the heat on high, before scooping up some broth and holding it above a cupped palm. "It's probably not very hot," he says.

Oh, you think, excited and sick with nerves at once. He's going to feed the soup to me.

Something out of a movie, something you didn't know people actually did for their significant others, Aaron waits for you to open your mouth and offers the spoon. You slurp and feel heat rise to your cheeks at the clumsy sound.

"Aaron," you say, soft and obsessed after you've swallowed, "it's really nice. You made that yourself?"

"I can cook," he says defensively.

You lick your lips, giggling. "I can tell. That was really good. Though it was definitely too cold."

"Mm. It has to cook through some more. Reduce. Do you want to shower?" He puts down his wooden spoon, head tilting to one side gently. He assesses your expression, and brings a curved hand to settle over your cheek. The tip of his index finger kisses the delicate skin under your eye. "No, maybe not. You look tired."

You probably shouldn't say something like that to your brand new girlfriend (you scream internally at the word, every single time since he asked you a week ago) but Aaron speaks factually. You don't think for a second that there's any malice there, any hidden critique. His words shine with concern.

"It's Friday. I'm always tired at the end of the week."

His hand falls to your shoulder. "I can imagine."

"You can go shower, if you like. I'll watch the soup."

"I need one, huh?"

He must know how well-kept he looks even now. You're not sure you've ever seen him dishevelled.

"Definitely need one," you try to tease. It comes out murmur-quiet, and Aaron takes pity and kisses your cheek.

He leaves to shower and you 'watch' the soup — you stand at the stovetop and soak in it's emanating warmth, stirring it every now and then to prevent the bottom from burning. The shower runs muffled from the bathroom, and your mind wanders as it tends to do. It's an undeniable fact that Aaron is naked right now, the thought opening an avenue of images you've been trying not to think about all day. It's your very first time spending the night after a couple of weeks of dating, and now you're together, if Aaron wants to have sex tonight you'll say yes. He's handsome, and his build suggests a certain… tenacity.

His hands would convince you alone. Big hands.

You look down into the simmering pot of soup and smile harder than you have any right to smile. He's done everything right, all the romance; he'd asked you out clearly with no doubt of his intentions, which had shocked you; he'd brought you a bouquet of flowers on your first date, which had delighted you; and he hadn't tried to take you home, which had surprised you.

Modern romance often doesn't feel very romantic. Things with Aaron are different.

Hell, he's so sweet he probably won't make a move unless you make one yourself.

You'd prefer to be squeaky clean tonight, you've decided, just in case. When he gets out of the shower, you'll tell him you've changed your mind.

The shower shuts off. He appears a little bit after that, in new clothes, towel around his neck and feet either side of your own as he sidles in for a damp and quick cheek kiss.

"Sorry I took so long. Are you ready to eat?" he asks, taking the spoon from your hand to give the soup a big, gran stir.

"Actually, could I shower?"

If he's surprised at your changed mind he says nothing, only turns down the heat of the stove. "Of course you can. Come on, I'll show you how it all works."

His 'come on' is accompanied with a guiding hand at the small of your back. You let yourself be guided. The heat of his touch fills your stomach and doesn't abate, no matter how cold you run the spray.

2. Phone calls.

It's the week after that when you're supposed to be spending the night again. You're excited for two reasons, the first and smallest being that he had been what you thought and more in bed, that itself an expectation raised, and it had felt like connection at its brightest — he'd been sweet, and he'd been rough but never, not ever once cruel. A perfect night. The second, and biggest, is that he's honestly just the nicest person you've ever met. He's your boyfriend, a phrase you don't say in front of him because he's admittedly older than you, and you can't imagine he calls you his girlfriend. Partner might be more apt. He's your boyfriend and he's openly fond of you. Openly more than that. It's new to be doted on as ardently as he dotes on you.

He touches you like he can't believe he's touching you. He talks to you like you're gold dust, all smiles and laughs heavy with admiration, and he listens. You've never felt listened to in the way you do when you're with him.

So many conversations are just one party waiting for the other to stop talking until it's their turn. You think, maybe, Aaron would let you talk for hours. He would listen the whole time.

In summary, you're basically thrumming with excitement to see him again. You've missed him some, but mostly you've spent the week bouncing off of walls waiting for the next time you get to talk to him.

His text is disheartening, to say the least.

Hey, honey. I have to cancel our plans tonight. I'm sorry, and I'll explain as soon as I get the chance. Please take care of yourself for me until I can.

It doesn't make you mad. While it is extremely short notice, and your heart hurts to the point of frustrated tears, you know it isn't his fault. He's been clear about his job at the FBI and what that means for you both. How it will without a doubt pull him away from you during dates, the middle of the night, special occasions, the works — this had been after a small disclosure about his commitment to his son, Jack, and how he's a father first — and how it will definitely cause some strain.

"But," he'd said, "I want you, and I want this to work. So if you can be patient with me, I'll try to make it worth it."

He's been successful every time. After he'd cancelled your third date, he'd quickly rearranged it and apologised with a modest but beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth date, you hadn't seen him for two whole weeks, and every worry you'd had about his intentions had been abated by a steady stream of encouraging text messages and the occasional photograph. Nothing crazy, but sweet things, like the cookies he and Jack had made that night, captioned, I'd save one for you if I thought Jack would let me, or a sunrise in a different state, captioned, This looks like the dress you wore to Lemaira.

Later that night, you're unhappy and frowning still, a small carton of ice cream freezing your fingers to the cardboard and a spoon in your mouth when your phone starts to ring.

You aren't expecting it to be Aaron. You aren't in the habit of calling one another, even though you'd secretly wished he would while he's away beforehand.

It's nearing eight o'clock.

"What time do you call this?" you joke, smiling despite yourself. Again, the excitement that comes with talking to him wells at the surface.

"I know, I'm sorry," he says, sounding very tired.

You slouch down into your couch cushions, ice cream on the armrest, remote for the TV on your chest. You click the volume button down, down, down until the TV's near silent.

"I'm kidding, mostly. Are you okay? I've been a little worried."

Understatement of the century. You know sudden cases of violence often draw him away from Virginia, but this had been sudden sudden. The lack of information had made you think the worst, worse than serial killer and bombers and hostage situations. You'd thought Aaron was in danger himself, and then you'd tried to suffocate that thought. He'd never worry you like that even if he were.

"I'm fine. Sorry to miss you tonight."

"I'm sorry to miss you too," you say, voice disjointed, too earnest. You scramble to hide the depth of your feelings. "Where are you?"

"I'm in St. Louis. Where are you?"

You laugh, curling onto your side with the phone pressed up against your ear. "Where am I? I'm at home."

"What are you doing?"

"I was watching TV."

"Yeah? Did you eat anything yet?"

You think to the takeout you'd bought and shoved in the microwave, not hungry at the time but knowing knowing would be. "Not yet. Why are you asking?"

"I want to know."

"I told you in my text I would take care, Aaron."

"Honey," he says, pet name like a warm palm over your heart, "my definition of taking care and your definition are very different. Promise me you'll eat something."

"Of course I will. Easy promise." You scratch the couch fabric absent-mindedly. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes," he says, the sound of a closing window in the background. "It's awful how much take out I eat. All these cases, there's never any time to cook real food."

"Why, what did you have? And surely there's some uber healthy options out there, like, a chickpea salad-"

"That costs thirty dollars? I'm not struggling, honey, but we both know that's obscene."

You're laughter takes on a giddy quality as you cross your leg over the other, picturing his smile as his laughter echoes breathily down the line. You really, really wish he were here right now and that you were having this conversation face to face. You know he'd smile and try to hide how smug he feels at making you laugh. His hand would reach over any gap to touch some silly part of you, forearm or collar or the skin under your ribcage.

"Are you okay?" You say his name to drive the point home. Your voice is quiet — you're hesitant to offer, worried you're crossing a boundary. "Aaron, I know you don't like bringing it home, but you aren't home, so… I'm here."

"I know. It's nothing I want you to worry about, there's an ongoing situation here, bomb threats coming in quicker than the local P.D can handle. They need us to vet them and figure out if any of them are real."

You think about it for a few seconds, the silence small but not uncomfortable. If you were under that kind of pressure, you'd be hurting. Chest pains, anxiety shakes, a migraine.

"You'll be safe?" you ask.

"Always. I'm not in any danger. And I need to get home, I owe you a Friday."

"You do," you mumble.

There's the creak of a box spring mattress, and the sound of a lamp being clicked. On or off, you don't know. When Aaron speaks, his tone is dulcet and hushed but distinct. You feel it in your chest.

"Tell me about your day," he murmurs.

You lay it all out for him in detail. He can barely reply when you hang up, sleep thickening his affectionate, "Goodnight, honey."

3. His bleeding heart.

"What kind of kid were you?" he asks.

You look up from your notebook, surprised. Aaron has been silent for what feels like an hour now, laid out on the picnic blanket with your sweater bundled up under his head while the sun warms your skin.

"I was…" You let your pen roll into the centre of your notebook and close it. He's laid his paperback flat across his chest. You think he might be very interested in the answer. "It was a long time ago, but I think I was lonely."

He nods like this is what he'd been expecting. "Me too."

It's a gorgeous day out. The sky is a light, bright blue with few clouds. They block the sun occasionally, providing a short and bittersweet shield from the heat. The grass surrounding is shockingly green, rippling in the breeze.

"You were?" you ask. "What were you like?"

"I was quiet."

"That's not surprising," you say mildly.

"No, I guess not."

You abandon your notebook and lay down beside him. Worrying what you look like from this angle, you cover your jaw with your hand and turn toward him ever so slightly to show you're listening.

"I liked affection. I remember my mom used to say I was a siphon for it. I'd be all over her, and she'd have nothing left to give anyone else."

"That's not true," you deny. Every ounce of affection that you given him, he has returned tenfold, and that's inspired a lot of kindness in you, for him and for the world. "You're like an amplifier, if anything."

He smiles to himself and turns his gaze skyward. "I wish we'd met before."

"Me too," you say, leaving little room for debate.

"You're so kind," — he adorns you with each word like a gift, a tiny star of praise — "I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

He laughs. It's a catching sound, contagious as anything. You giggle with him and shift closer. Your arms touch, your hips.

"Baby," you murmur, almost lamenting, "d'you ever think your ability to see the good in people is- It's indicative of the good in you... You've given more of your life than most to keep other people safe. That's the kindest thing a person can do."

He tangles your hand with his where it had been resting on your stomach. You're pretty sure you can feel every line of every fingerprint as he works your fingers together, a snug fit like one of those wooden brain teaser puzzles: How do you pull these two pieces apart? From the outside, it looks impossible!

"I think I'd be different, if I'd met you before. I'd be kinder," he says.

You can't agree with him. It's obvious who he is. You know more about him now than you ever have before. His late wife, how she'd been the best mother they ever made. His son, and how he moulds Aaron everyday into a better man. His friends, who trust him, who adore him. All these people have a hand in who Aaron is now, and while you wish you'd been around from the start, now will have to do.

"You're plenty kind," you say. Understatement of the century.

"Sorry," he says with a laugh, "With you-" He cuts himself off, head-shaking from side to side as he pulls your joined hands up slowly.

Your arm bends and then turns as he pulls it toward his face. He unlinks your fingers to steer your forearm, aligning it flat over his lips. The first kiss is a surprise, light like the feathered edge of a flower petal, and the second isn't dissimilar.

The third melts you, veritably, the parting of his lips emphasised by the dull scratch of teeth against your pulse, the wet heat of his tongue. Three becomes four, and a final fifth, crescent moons pressed into your skin like he's trying to tell you something.

You've no clue what. You likely couldn't say which way the world turns, not when he's kissing you. Not like this.

Aaron has an acute ability to talk without talking. Hello's and thank you's and I care about you's woven into quick kisses, the swift squeeze of his hand over the slope of your shoulder.

These ones say something you don't want to speak aloud, lest you jinx it.

The sunlight fades. A big grey cloud covers the sun.

"I think it's gonna rain," you say.

A raindrop splashes in Aaron's eye.

"Fuck," he says, which is hilarious, because he never swears in front of you. You hadn't known he cussed at all.

The downpour is slow and then sudden, spitting rain dotting over you both like a fine mist as you stand, a thicker, faster outpouring chasing your heels as you hurry to the car. You realise you can't outrun it even if you sprint, and so you stop, Aaron's hand in yours tugged like a rubber band. He bounces back into your chest with the picnic blanket under his arm, your books tucked somewhere inside.

He doesn't ask what you're doing. He's made the same deduction as you, or maybe he trusts you, or maybe he's indulging you.

"Your hair," he laments.

"Doesn't matter," you say.

You lift your chin up for a kiss. Aaron ducks down to give you one. A raindrop runs down the bridge of his nose to the tip of yours.

4. In sickness.

You insist that it wasn't the rain that made you sick, but honestly there's no way to tell. You'd kissed for slightly too long, and the rain had been surprisingly cold. Now you aren't very well, and you have to cancel Aaron's sleepover.

You hold out as long as you can, but come Friday afternoon it's clear you aren't getting better. You wake to a text from Aaron, two texts, and it makes you smile through shivery coughs.

I can't wait to see you tonight. Do you need anything before I get there? Miss you. Sent 6.26AM.

Is everything okay? Sent 9.17AM.

Usually you'd have answer his morning text within the hour.

Hi, I miss you too, so much, but I don't think we'll be able to see each other tonight. I've got the flu :( I'm sorry. And sorry I couldn't answer your message until now, I was sleeping.

It's another hour before he answers. You rouse from your gross snotty stupor to squint at the phone. It's surprisingly long.

I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get back to you, things are tense here right now. You don't have to be sorry for either, I'm glad to hear you're resting. You could have told me you were sick. Is it okay if I come and see you tonight anyways? I would love to check on you. Don't rush to answer, and call me if you can.

You call him with reservations.

"Is this a good time?" you ask weakly, forgoing a hello.

It takes him a little while to speak. You assume he's leaving a room, closing a door. "Now's fine. How are you?"

"My throat hurts and it's a little hard to breathe, but I'm sure I'll live."

"You've been to see a doctor?"

"It's not that bad."

He sighs. "You sound tired. And sore. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"You don't have to baby me, I'm really okay."

"Have you considered that I'd like to baby you?"

Not really. You can't imagine anyone would want to deal with you. You're a mess, you look awful, you don't smell great, and you're not good company. You can't think of a single reason Aaron would want to be anywhere near you right now.

"No," you say, "I hadn't."

"I'd love to look after you."

"You could be doing something fun with your Friday. You could see Jack."

"Jack's going to Kings Dominion. And Fridays are our day, you being sick doesn't make me want to see you less."

You hadn't said that, but he'd inferred it. Of course he had.

You and Aaron decide that your sleepover will go ahead after all. Or, he persuades you very gently. You spend three hours doing tasks that should only take one. You shower, you clean your room, and you do the dishes. By the end of it you're sweating enough to need another shower but you aren't a quitter, so you open the freezer and stick your head in, hands braced against the refrigerator door.

You're excited to see him. You always are. Too bad you look so wiped out.

It's almost 6.30 when you hear his knock on the door. You'd been waiting for him and started dozing at the kitchen table, your neck a mess of twisted nerves, your hand numb from supporting your head. You shake it out and open the door, sheepish.

"Hi," you croak out.

He has a lot of stuff with him. His familiar overnight bag, a briefcase, two grocery bags, and a bouquet.

"Aaron, why," you moan, covering your face with one hand as you move back down the hall to let him in.

"Not the greeting I'd hoped for."

"I can't greet you, I'll make you sick."

You get all the way to the kitchen and think, triumphantly, that you've escaped his 'greeting'. He puts the flowers down carefully on the kitchen counter as you try to come up with a thank you that doesn't make your eyes burn. The grocery bags are placed without ceremony on the floor, and his overnight bag falls onto the kitchen chair. You watch him unbutton his rain spattered coat, and your triumph fades when he peels out of it and instantly reaches for you.

"Aaron," you mumble, stepping into his arms. He knows you can't say no to a hug, not after a week of not seeing him.

"I missed you," he says, arms around your back, lips at your temple. "You're running a temperature."

"It's not that bad. 101."

"Honey, 101 is bad."

"Not as bad as 102."

"Not as bad as 102," he concedes. You can hear his voice rumbling in his throat, and feel it in his chest and yours.

He takes as much of your weight as he can, leaning back so you're forced to arc forward. Your face slips into his neck, and you're thinking, this is what it's like? To be held, sick, with nothing to give? It feels good.

"Please tell me the next time you're sick," he murmurs.

You definitely will. If this is what it's like, roaming, cautious hands over your shoulder blades, a strong nose stroking lines against your warm forehead.

"Thank you for the flowers."

It's squished against his skin but he hears it. "You're welcome. Do you want me to put them in a vase?"

"I can do it."

"I think that might defeat the purpose. They're a gift, not an extra chore."

"Nobody ever got me flowers before you, so it doesn't feel like a chore at all."

He encourages your face back enough to look at you. You have to mouth breath on him because your nose is all stuffed up, and it is not something you're happy to do. You look down so he can't feel it.

"I'm gonna do something really cheesy, and you can tease me about it later, okay?"

You look at him from under your lashes. "'Kay."

"Close your eyes," he whispers.

You let your eyes shut. Aaron cradles your face in both hands and pulls your face toward his chin, in your rough approximation.

Heat fans against your eyes. He kisses your eyelids, the left and then the right, the most gentle press of his lips you've ever felt.

"It's killing me to see you like this," he says, and you're grateful for the pinch of humour behind it. "Couch or bed?"

"Couch. I wanna watch a movie with you."

"Good. I wanna watch a movie with you, too."

Aaron does everything. You're too tired to notice, but when you're better, you'll add it all up. He makes you dinner and breakfast and lunch and enough for the day after that, too. He trims down all your flowers and places them in a vase on your window sill. He recleans your room, cleans your bathroom, and plays nursemaid diligently. He makes you take your temperature in front of him, and then he fawns and makes you hug an ice pack, stays the night again when he's supposed to go home.

It sucks, but your temperature falls, and when your insides stop cooking themselves you start to feel better. On Sunday morning, when he has to leave, you feel the strange pang of being cared for unconditionally like the wind being knocked out of you. He'd done all of that because he cares about you. He'd wanted to see you fed and well and happy, and he hadn't gotten anything out of it in return.

5. The test-drive.

"Hi, Jack," you mumble, rubbing wetness out of your sleep-heavy eyes. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he says cheerfully, of his father's disposition.

"Did you," — you yawn wide and turn your face so neither of them can see — "sleep well?"

"Yeah, thank you. Why are you so tired?"

Aaron's standing at the stovetop making oatmeal. You stand at the counter beside it, hips touching but facing opposite ways. "I'm still getting used to your dad's bed."

It's true. There's something about someone else's mattress that makes you ache.

"What is it about my mattress you can't get along with?" Aaron asks in good humour, adding a generous pinch of salt to the saucepan.

"It's more comfortable than mine," you say with a self-satisfied laugh.

Aaron pecks your damp cheek and skirts around you to fill three identical bowls of oatmeal next to three identical glasses of orange juice. Jack cheers when his portions are placed in front of him, and he digs in even though it's ridiculously hot.

Aaron had explained once that he's basically trained Jack to eat it scorchingly hot by accident. Years of oatmeal straight off of the hob versus a growing boy with no patience. You watch in awe as Jack scarfs it down.

You and Aaron are doing this thing. You've called it the test-drive in your head. He wants to see how well you and Jack get along, likely, and how well you handle living together, too. (Though you absolutely don't think you'll be moving in together quite this soon.) That's your working theory. He'd asked you if you'd be interested in staying for the week a month ago, and you had, and it had been a dream. This is week two, and it seems to be going just as well as the first.

It's definitely revealing. To see each other's routines. And an adjustment. You have to see all the gross stuff, no avoiding it.

Though stuff you might consider gross he enjoys. Like watching you put on body lotion, he'd loved that more than words could express. And watching him shave, you'd loved that more than you'd thought you would. You'd sat on the lip of the tub and he'd listened to your morning murmurings, half asleep and excited as always to talk to him about everything.

Getting to know Jack more has been a joy, too. You've met him nowhere near as many times as you would've liked and done family things: bowling, pizza places, the movies, a baseball game.

Eating breakfast together is way more fun. Especially because Jack likes you.

As soon as you sit down he starts to tell you about school. You listen, sipping your orange juice while you wait for the oatmeal to cool from lava.

After breakfast, the three of you head back to your respective bedrooms to get dressed.

That's something else you adore, you and Aaron undressing and redressing together in the space in front of his closet, the intimacy of casual nudity, and the way his hand closes around your hip to move you out of the way of his shirts.

You're pretty much inseperable until you get to the car park. A firm believer in kids receiving as much love as they can from everybody, you offer Jack a hug before you part ways everytime. Sometimes he says yes, though most times he says, "Thank you, Miss Y/N, but my hug quota is full."

Today, he squeezes your waist really hard and says, "Have a good day bye," like it's one word.

"Have a good day, baby," you tell him, laughing as he jettisons into the passenger seat of Aaron's car.

Aaron usually gives you a swift kiss and goodbye like his son. Today, he brings his hand to your neck. You stare him straight in his dark eyes as he does, marvelling the shock of straight lashes outlining each one, and the permanent wrinkle between his brow from frowning.

Placing two hands on either shoulder, you use his frame to rise on tiptoes and kiss it.

"Don't frown too much today, okay, handsome? Have a good day."

He cups your face in both hands as your heels touch the ground. His hands are warm, kind as he pushes both palms over your cheeks and your ears. He covers them, and your heartbeat amplifies, a thumping sound fighting his skin. Then he slips his fingers behind your ears and the roaring fades.

"I love you," he says.

You beam at him. "Really?"

"Really. I love you, honey. Have a good day."

As if. If he thinks he can walk away after dropping that on you he's got another thing coming.

You throw your arms around his neck and all your weight into his front, almost barrelling him over. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your thighs around him, 'cause then he really might fall over.

You dig your face into his neck, searching for something, for the perfect place to rest your cheek. "I love you, Aaron."

There isn't a chance in hell he didn't already know it.

"I got you something," he says.

You laugh in surprise and tighten your hold on him. "Why? This is gift enough." He loves you. It bounces around in your chest.

"Because I'm not stupid enough to miss what I have right in front of me."

You lean back so you can kiss him, ignoring his hand as it reaches into his pocket.

"Baby," you say, a hair's width from his lips. You kiss him again for a second, thrilled, but curiosity pulls you back. "You have it now?"

He takes a step away from you and reveals the box in his pocket, long and thin. It clicks open on a silver hinge, and inside velveteen lies a simple chain.

"Is that a diamond?" you ask, breathless. The stone at the end of the chain shines like nothing you've ever seen before.

You don't know a thing about them other than that they're expensive. You can't see Aaron Hotchner of all people buying a fake.

"A small one," he says modestly.

Your eyes burn. You're happy to the point of tears but you refuse to cry.

"And it's for me?" you ask.

He laughs and you laugh too, the sound slightly sniffly.

"Of course. Do you want to wear it?"

"Now? Yes, more than anything," you say, smiling hard, cheeks appled and aching. "Are you serious?"

"More than anything."

Corny, you think desperately. Do not cry, that's so cheesy.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until my birthday?"

He gestures for you to turn around, the chain hanging from his finger. You turn, feel his hands brushing against your neck as he lays it across your chest and pulls it together behind your nape.

"Your birthday gift is better than this."

Better? You could burst.

The clasp closes and he rubs his hands down the backs of your shoulders.

You turn back around, face dipped to your chest in efforts to see the necklace. It's short but long enough to spot the diamond hanging under your collar.

"I've never had a diamond, before," you mumble, hands pressed to your chest. Your heart bumps under your hand.

"Thank you," you say, looking up, "baby, you didn't have to. You don't have to get me stuff like this, it's a lot."

"I don't think it's too much. You give gifts when you're grateful. I'm grateful to love you."

He's expecting you this time, unwavering when your arms slide over his shoulders. You breathe in the smell of his skin and he does the same, his face pressed to the top of your head.

Jack is late for school that day. You apologise to Aaron more times than you can count, and every time he only smiles and says, "It's okay. I love you."

Aaron misses your first anniversary.

It's a very important date to miss, and you have a right to be upset.

But.

You always knew from the very first date that this was something that could, unfortunately, happen. You'd been lucky to get him for your birthday, luckier still to see him on his own and treat him with the delights he deserved. You'd figured eventually something would happen to throw a spanner in the works.

What you aren't expecting is the lack of anger.

You aren't mad at him, not one bit. It would be okay if you were, even though it's not his fault, because this is so big. You're celebrating the best year of your life alone, and that's no fun. You and Aaron had planned to go away, two days in a fancy hotel, Jack with Jessica and no worries.

He can't ignore a bomb threat in the capital, and he wouldn't want to.

You know a missed anniversary is a lesser weight than innocent people dead. You know Aaron wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't go. You know he regrets leaving you on such an important day.

Maybe one day, you'll be angry with him. Today, you only miss him.

I love you. I'm sorry. I'll be back very soon. Happy anniversary.

He sends that after a grovelling, short phone call, in which you assure him that it's fine. Your voice is tight with tears, you miss him like crazy, and he hears it though you try to hide it.

I will make it up to you.

You don't have any doubts.

You feel a little sorry for yourself, and then you send him a text of your own.

I love you, so don't be sorry. Get back safe and sound and consider yourself forgiven. Happy anniversary, my love.

Followed with what's likely too many hearts for good measure.

Still, still, he doesn't believe it's okay. You know he's human, and he loves you, and that makes it easy to predict how he's feeling — worried that you're angry, worried that you'll leave him, worried this won't work for you.

And you're only human yourself. You can't say how you'll feel in another year, or two, or five. You can't imagine how depressing it might be to miss the holidays and birthdays and anniversaries with him year after year, but you want to be patient. You want to forgive him for the things he has no hand in, and you do.

You get a visitors pass for his office once you're cleared and take the elevator up, checking your text messages for the fifth time, just to make sure.

I'll be home in a couple of hours, the plane touches down in two. Love you. Sent 4.53PM.

It's the day after your anniversary, a Monday, and it's nearly 7PM. You smile at people you've seen in passing the few times you've visited his office before and don't bother trying to sit in Aaron's office, knowing it's locked while he's away. You travel the spare steps and sit at the top of the landing, hands clutching the neck of the bunch of flowers you're holding nervously. The cellophane crinkles.

You hadn't answered him. It was cruel to leave him hanging, but you didn't expect him to come home so soon. He's too damn good at his job.

The elevator doors open in the quiet. Barely anybody lingers now in the late hour, and the voices of the BAU echo.

Spencer sees you first. Morgan second. They stop at the beginning of the office.

Aaron sees you third.

You spring to stand up on your feet, and then you feel very tall and very seen and descend the steps rather than draw more attention.

"You said seven," you say, not sure what else to say, not with people watching you. "This is definitely closer to eight."

Aaron thankfully isn't too proud to speed walk to you. Your heart skips as you meet him, flowers crushed half to death as he gets his arm behind your neck, hooking your head in the crook of his elbow.

He kisses you roughly. Heat floods every inch of skin, your breath rushes out of your nose with a sigh.

He pulls back.

"Happy anniversary," you say quietly, smiling at the sheer relief in his eyes.

"It was yesterday," he says, quiet too.

"Happy one year and one day, then." You push him away from you gently. "Don't suffocate your roses."

"You got me flowers."

"You get people gifts when you're grateful," you parrot.

He takes a step back and accepts the flowers. On the message card, you've written, bashful and clumsy and adoring, I'm grateful to love you. One year and more.

He moves the bouquet into one hand and wraps you up in another huh, firm-armed, chin over the top of your head, though he intersperses his embrace with dainty kisses pecked from one temple to another.

"You aren't mad?" he asks, worried about the answer.

"No," you say honestly. "Not mad. Missed you like crazy yesterday, but I get you today. I can make it work."

When you break apart a second time, you both buckle under the weight of his colleagues watching.

"Thank you," Rossi speaks up, grand and wry, "we thought we'd have to endure his moping for at least a week. Your understanding spares us all."

"Nice, Dave," Aaron says.

"I've got your paperwork, Hotch," Morgan offers.

Aaron has the good sense to accept it before Morgan can change his mind. His friends say goodbye, and Aaron pulls you by the hand back to the elevator bank. You couldn't wipe the smile off of his face if you tried.

The elevator doors have barely closed when he's leaning down to kiss you again.

"Thank you," he says.

"You really don't have to say thank you," you murmur, bumping your shoulder with his. "You got home safe. That's all that matters."

His next kiss is bruising. The sound of cellophane crushed between you makes you laugh. He kisses you through it, his smile pressed feverishly to yours, over and over and over.

༺༻

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, i promise it makes a difference to me <3

Tags

aaron hotchner criminal minds aaron hotchner x reader aaron hotchner imagine criminal minds fanfic aaron hotchner fluff aaron hotchner x fem!reader aaron hotchner x female reader

⚕️Mornings with you

James Wilson x Gn!Reader

James has always been a morning person. He got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, brushed his teeth, blow-dried his hair, and then went off to work. You are not. But ever since you came into his life, he’s stayed in bed waiting for your eyes to flutter open so he can wake you up with kisses. It’s made you question your faith to the term ‘night owl’. He’s made sure you get up early enough to eat breakfast and get to work on time. To say he spoiled you was an understatement; he worshipped you. If he got up early enough, he loved to make you your favorite breakfast so he could surprise you with it in bed. He loved seeing the tired smile on your face when you woke up. Today was no different.

🔆

The sweet smell of pancakes and fresh fruit fills your lungs as you wake up. A small yawn escapes your mouth as you turn over, arms falling across your boyfriends chest. A sweet kiss is pressed to your temple in turn.

“Good morning my love.”

You groan, face buried in his chest, in response but make sure to kiss him back.

“I made us breakfast.”

“It smells good.” You mumble in a half-awake haze. James’s hands find themselves in your hair as he twirls on your beautiful locks. Despite how much you want to stay in bed with him all day, you realize you should probably get going. It was nice living with James; previously you had to set 15 dozen alarm clocks to make sure you get to the hospital on time, but now you had a live in one, one that awoke you with kisses and delicious gourmet food. You could get used to it.

One final groan pushes through your lips as you make your way off of him to go eat breakfast, your end target motivating you along with your boyfriend, who stood up with you and hugged you from behind as you walked through the house. Breakfasts for James usually meant scarfing down really whatever he could find before finishing his morning routine and leaving; but when you came into his life, his home, he wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. He made sure that you weren’t stuck with shitty food or nothing at all. When you came to live with him, breakfasts now meant him waking up early to make you only the best and eating with you as you cuddled up together and watched a bit of TV, listened to music, or just talked.

You walk into the living room and take a seat on the comfy couches, one of the many things you loved about his house. You grabbed a plate and plopped down, James following, and took a bite as you leaned into him.

“Holy shit— this is so good?!” You exclaimed. Sure, you were used to the food he made being good, but today it felt like it was made with extra love. He blushed a pink hue and you find it adorable that you can make him flustered with just a small compliment.

“Only the best for you.” He hums as he smiles, taking a bite himself as you continue.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like mornings,”

“Oh yea? Why’s that?”

“because I get to spend them with the best boyfriend in the world, who makes me the best pancakes ever.”

Tags

x reader fluff house md james wilson james wilson x reader Dr wilson

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annewashere

2 years ago

Sherlock being Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock undermines Y/N’s intelligence while helping out on a case.

Warnings: none

First attempt at writing for Sherlock hope you guys enjoy! 😊

MASTERLIST

---

"Shut up would you darling. You're about as sharp as a sack full of soup when it comes to these things-"

"Sherlock-"

"And sadly I don't have the time nor patience to draw a picture using crayons to explain it to you. So make yourself useful by leaving!" Sherlock knocked all the scattered books and papers that littered his desk in frustration, they weren't making any progress in the case they were working and they had hoped that the teacher could be of use but she also hit a block.

"Sherlock! Y/N you don't have to go, he didn’t mean that." John wanted to smack his friend upside his head for speaking to the one woman that meant something to him like she's some piece of garbage.

"He does." Turning on her heels, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door and down the steps, John briefly glared at Sherlock as he chased after her.

"Y/N wait!" She looked over at him as she slipped on her coat to leave. John paused on the second step trying to come up with the right things to say to get her to not walk out the door and quite potentially Sherlock's life.

"He's an ass and says things that shouldn't be said-"

"Like implying that my IQ level is in the bloody trenches, yeah I gathered that."

"He's just Sherlock being Sherlock."

"No, that's Sherlock being an outright twit that doesn't have a filter." Before he could squeeze another word out, Y/N stormed out the door slamming it shut behind her.

"You're wasting time John, she’s of no use to us with our case. We have so much to-" John turned to look at the curly haired man that stood on the landing.

"What the hell was that?! You didn’t have to call her an idiot like that for goodness sake Sherlock, she's an incredible woman. A woman that loves and cares for you, might I add and you're self destruction is surely going to push her away."

"Oh so what?" John rolled his eyes as he stomped his way back up the stairs to their shared flat.

"You are going to apologise and fix this with her because everyone knows that there isn’t going to be another woman to put up with you and your brash behaviour. I don't even know how she's put up with you for nine months." Sherlock hung his head low, his words finally catching up to him. He knows that he did have to rectify his mistake of yelling at her and making her out to be an idiot when in fact, she's remarkably intelligent.

"I'm serious Sherlock, as soon as we wrap this up you are going to fix this."

"No, nope I need to go after her right now."

"No, if you go after her that's only going to end badly for your face."

---

The rain was pouring down on all of London at eight forty-five at night and Sherlock's pace quickened in the direction of Y/N's home. He shook off the heavy water off of his coat as he took shelter beneath the awning over her front door.

Y/N placed her bookmark in the current novel she was reading and set it off to the side. The doorbell rung again and this time she willed herself from under her blanket and off the couch to go answer the door. It's raining cats and dogs outside so whoever was at her door had to have a good reason to be.

"Hello- oh, it's you."

"Hello, may I?" As much as she would rather not let him into her home it was cold and wet outside and by the looks of it, he had walked here in the pouring rain; and she didn't want him to catch a cold. She headed back up the stairs to her flat leaving Sherlock to let himself in and remove his coat as well as his shoes.

"Why are you here, Holmes? My level of intelligence is miniscule compared to yours and I'm sure you'd rather be in the company of someone that shares your level of competence." Sherlock watched quietly as she fastened her robe to her body to cover up herself. Y/N was still angry at him for earlier and he knew that. He stood in the middle of her living space, dripping water onto her hardwood flooring.

"You know where your clothes are go change, your creating a puddle." Y/N put the kettle on to make tea for the both of them, not like he deserved anything other than a proper slap across the face. While he was changing he tried to formulate the right way to handle this without shoving his foot in his mouth.

"Could we sit down dear?"

"Nope, I'm good right where I am in the kitchen, you could stay all the way over there."

"Don't want me close to you?"

"Unless you want to be bashed in the head with this kettle I think it's best if you stay far away from me." Sherlock brushed off her bluff, closing the distance between them with his long strides. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared into the pair of blue eyes she's grown to love as he stood mere centimeters away from her.

"I'm sorry."

"For what exactly?"

"For losing my temper, yelling and for saying something I didn't mean. I didn't mean it when I called you useless or made a comment on your intellect, it was the spur of the moment. I was frustrated and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help." Sherlock brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she instinctively leaned into his touch bringing a smile to his face.

"I get that you were frustrated but that isn't a valid excuse Sherlock. You called me darling and a useless idiot in the same breath."

"I know darling and I promise it'll never happen again. Allow me to make it up to you." The towering man kissed the crown of her head, cheek and bridge of her nose making her heart flutter at his affection.

"You've got your work cut out for you Mr. Holmes because I'm not going to make it easy for you and your astonishing brilliance."

"I do love a challenge."

"I know." Sherlock finally pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss which was cut short by her kneeling him in the groin. He grunted in pain and stumbled back, holding his crotch in pain. Y/N smiled watching as he doubled over still groaning in agony.

"I deserved that."

---

Honestly don't know if I'll keep writing for Sherlock but we'll see.

Honorary tags:

@sketch-and-write-lover @blackcat420

Tags

bbc sherlock sherlock holmes x reader sherlock x reader sherlock holmes imagine

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annewashere

2 years ago

Cocoon

Anakin Skywalker x senator!reader

Summary: you get cold and Anakin won't let it continue

Warnings: none

I'm sorry this is another short one

_______________________________________

Why did Hoth have to be so cold? Even indoors you could be found shivering. You'd think with all the layers you were wearing, you wouldn't feel the nip in the air but here we are. Though your outfit for today wasn't as alibrit as usual, it didn't mean it wasn't dense. Anakin looked rather relaxed in his Jedi robes. Lucky him. It makes sense though, he had the temperature of a furnace. And since he did... can't he share the warmth?

Approaching him you simply said, "Let me in."

"Excuse me?" He said cocking a brow.

You grabbed the front of his cloak, "Its freezing, please let me in."

"Oh," he said, a small smile growing on his face. "Of course, my angel," and with that he opened up his cloak to you. You didn't hesitate in wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest. He closed his cloak around you both, placing a kiss to your head. You felt his hand rub small circles on your back, he always knew just what you needed.

You could stay in there for eternity. The scent of not only him, but the polished leather was intoxicating. Your head rested right between his two leather panels, where his front was softer. His heartbeat drummed to relaxing beat and you synchronized your breathing with his.

Not long after you were comfortable, you let your eyes calmly drift closed, feeling safe in Anakins hold. He rocked you both slowly side to side, just shifting both of yalls weight back and forth. It didn't take long for you to grow warm. But you'd rather die then part from Anakins grasp at the moment.

Eventually you found yourself drifting off still wrapped in his embrace letting your body drape onto Anakins. You already had been leaning on him so you thought he wouldn't that much of a weight difference, but like always he did.

After patting your back a little with a smile softly he said, "As much as I'd love to sleep too, we still must be somewhat alert Y/n."

Letting out a groggy, "Oh yeah, sorry." You pulled out from him knowing the cold would wake you up better.

"No need to apologize," he said laughing a little and pulling you back into his arms. Hate for you to get cold again right?

Tags

anakin skywalker x reader anakin fluff anakin imagine

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annewashere

1 year ago

Painting practice with Dr. Medical Malpractice

Tags

art gregory house house md house md fanart hate crimes md

1K notes View Post

annewashere

1 year ago

That Girl - Austin Ames

Pairing: Austin Ames x Reader

Characters: Austin Ames

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 476

Author: Hannah

Keep reading

Tags

a cinderella story Austin Ames Austin Ames One Shot Austin Ames Imagine A Cinderella Story Imagine

325 notes View Post

annewashere

2 years ago

Bitches be like “I dont have a type.”

Its me...im bitches.

Tags

anime a silent voice unordinary i love yoo kousuke hirahara UnOrdinary Arlo webtoon i love yoo

332 notes View Post

annewashere

9 months ago

BACK TO YOU — CHISHIYA X FEM!READER

MAJOR AIB SPOILERS !!

SUMMARY — you win the games and wake up in the hospital. remembering everything that happened in the borderlands and not knowing if chishiya made it.

your mouth was dry and it tasted like blood. your eyes opened slowly, getting used to the bright lights of the hospital room and you hissed when your hand landed on your temples. you had some cuts on your face, covered with gauzes and medical tapes, and some bruises too, especially around your eyes and on your cheekbones.

you looked around the room and you could see your mom's purse next to your bed, but she wasn't in the room. somethings never change, not even when you are at the hospital after having been dead for a few seconds. once you tried to sit on the bed, you felt a stabbing pain in your lower abdomen and then on your forearm. your hand went directly where it hurt in your belly and you realized that you were wearing a bigger gauze there and another of the same size on your arm, and at that moment a wave of memories hit you making you feel dizzy. the beach. the next level. the king of spades. chishiya.

chishiya.

you gasped and forced yourself to remember when was the last time that you saw him. niragi's gun was pointing at you when he suddenly stepped in the middle of your body and the bullet with your name written in it.

"why would you do it?" you asked him with tears in your eyes. chishiya just showed you a smirk. you told him that he needed to resist, that there were only two games left and everything will be over. a little smile remained on chishiya’s lips as he nodded slowly. he knew that by the time you completed the games he wouldn't be there. you wanted to stay by his side but usagi and arisu dragged you out of there when the zeppelin of the king of spades appeared.

the last thing you remember from that day was lying next to kuina and ann on the cold ground. your back hurt and your wounds didn't stop bleeding as you watched the fireworks and listened to what you were being asked. "i decline." you finally answered, with tears in the corners of your eyes.

you got up from the hospital bed and noticed that you were sharing a room with someone else. that someone in the room with you was separated from your side with a curtain. with small steps and with a hand on your belly, right where your wound was, you approached the curtain, and being extremely careful, you had a quick peek to the other side. you took a sharp breath after you recognized the boy on the other side. his thick brown hair was stuck to his forehead, and just like you, he had some gauzes on his face. he gave a small jump on the bed when he noticed that someone was staring at him from a small opening in the curtain, but his frown relaxed once he recognized you.

"y/n?" he asked, still a bit confused.

"arisu." you removed the curtain completely and his eyes opened wide. he removed the blanket from himself and turned his body to let his legs hang from the bed, ready to get up from the moment he saw you. you were quicker than him and hugged him, maybe a little too hard because you both hissed when your bodies collided. you stayed like that for a few seconds more and then he asked you if you were okay, and how long had been since you woke up.

"a minute?" you asked him. your head hurt. "everything- everything happened in a minute. all the games, all the deaths? in a minute?"

arisu nodded. you gulped. all the things you lived with chishiya happened in sixty seconds. you felt like you could throw up. you shook your head and decided to talk about anything else. "did usagi make it?"

"yes. she was with me when we finished the last game."

you nodded, glad to hear that your friend was alive. "kuina and ann also made it. i think i heard aguni and akane too but i can't remember well."

arisu then understood. you knew that all of your friends made it but not if he did. "i'm sure- i'm sure he's here. i'm sure chishiya got out."

you shook your head with your eyes closed. arisu didn't know that. when the king of spades appeared and him and usagi separated you from chishiya, his white jacket was already soaked in blood. the first bullet hit him in a noncritical area, but the second one, the one that should've got you, went directly into his chest. you didn't need to be a med student to know that that was bad.

"come on. let's go for a walk." arisu got up from the bed and kissed your forehead after noticing how sad your eyes were. you hooked your arm in his. every now and then arisu would stop to check up on you, if you were breathing well, if you were too tired to continue but you assured him every time that you were fine.

you saw aguni in the icu. the doctors that came out of the room were pointing out how that man being alive was practically a medical miracle. akane was on a wheelchair looking at him through the glass. the girl was very pleased to see you both again. she asked about your injuries and she thanked arisu in a subtle way for winning the last game. she didn't know if you were ready to talk openly about what happened. she didn't even know if she was.

you tried to run and arisu had to hold you so you wouldn't fall down the moment that you saw kuina. her face glowed and she had to blink a couple of times to believe her eyes. kuina was kneeling in front of a woman in a wheelchair, a man was standing next to the two of them, and you guessed that they were her parents. she was quick to stand up, her father had to help her to get to you and arisu, and then you hugged her tightly. you were careful though, you saw how bad her injuries were. you remember the king of spades on top of her, stabbing multiple times her stomach, blood coming out of her mouth and you immobile lying on the ground after being shot by him.

"have you seen him? do you know if he made it out?" you held kuina's cheeks. defeated, you let out a sigh after seeing kuina's confused expression. she shook her head to both of your questions. kuina told you that the last time that she saw chishiya was when the king of spades attacked for the first time, and then each of you followed a different path and she never saw him again after that. but when she met arisu again, he said that chishiya was fine.

you slowly turned to look at arisu with raised eyebrows, and the boy just shrugged his shoulders. on second thought, you were sure that arisu didn't do it with bad intentions. you had to explain to her that niragi shot him twice. kuina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. you told her that the second time niragi was aiming at you but chishiya stood in the middle. that did not come as a surprise to her. she knew him longer than you did. they were already at the beach when you arrived there with arisu and usagi, and as long as she had known him, chishiya had always acted unbothered. he wasn't a big fan of showing affection. he was selfish, arrogant, and really self-centered. but kuina knew that he would take a bullet for you.

she insisted on joining you and arisu on your walk. you three recognized some people who were in the games with you: people from the beach, that kid usagi fought so hard to save, people you tried to kill, and people that tried to kill you.

"excuse me?"

the hospital reception was chaotic, and you barely heard the woman at the other side of the counter humming to your question.

"i'm- i'm looking for someone."

"name?"

you blinked a few times at her sudden question. you played with your fingers nervously. she raised her eyebrows waiting for an answer. "chishiya shuntarō."

you shouldn't have ask. you should have waited for him to find you. what if the woman told you what you didn't want to hear? no. no. no. you should've waited, or had arisu to ask for you. but now you were waiting for that woman to finish typing on the computer and maybe to tell you that he was dea-

"third floor, room 301."

"oh." you said in a sigh. you could feel all your body relaxing, your hands stopped trambling, your legs didn't feel like giving up anymore. but you could also feel your heart beating in your throat, and your chest slowly heaving. the woman raised her eyebrows at you again.

"do you need anything else?"

you gulped, shaking your head softly and coming back to you. "hm?oh. no, thank you."

you turned around and walked towards arisu and kuina, your eyes locked on the floor. your two friends arched their brows worried, by your face both of them expected the worse. kuina could feel that familiar lump that forms in your throat moments before bursting into tears. arisu approached you and his hands gripped your shoulders. your eyes connected with his.

"y/n-"

"he's on the third floor."

arisu sighed in relief. kuina also let out a sigh and she wiped away some tears off her cheeks before you could see her. she approached the woman and asked for an and she told kuina that she was in the operating room, which was also a strong relief.

time passed slowly, and the way to the third floor was the longest you could remember. not when you were walking to the control room with him and kuina, escaping from the militants, not when you were heading to a game, not even when you ran to him after niragi shot him. the elevator was too slow for you.

arisu was checking up on you, kuina was too deep in her thoughts. once the elevator stopped and the doors opened, you gulped and looked at arisu. he nodded for you to be the first one out of the elevator. what you didn't expect was to see chishiya in the middle of the hallway, his body slightly curved and one of his hands pressing his lower abdomen. he was talking to his doctor, probably asking a million questions like why he had put him on that medication instead of the other one, and trying to convince him why the other one was better.

"chishiya."

the boy quickly turned to see who was calling him and his eyes opened wide in surprise. "y/n." chishiya soon forgot about the doctor. one of his arms wrapped around your waist, the other one hugged your upper body, resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you closer to him. he hid his face into the crook of your neck.

it was weird having him in between your arms in the real world. once you two were completely healed you'd go back to your normal life but you'll have each other. you were going to have to get used to his twenty-four hours shift as a doctor, and he was going to get used to hugs and kisses every day. but now, with his arms wrapped around you and after gone through that much, he thought that he could get used to that easily.

"i knew that you would make it." chishiya said with a small smile on his lips. one of his hands pushed your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear. the other one held your chin up trying to see through the gauzes on your face what type of injuries you had.

arisu and kuina were standing behind you. chishiya shared a glance with both of them. arisu was smirking, kuina was biting her nails with tears in her eyes, probably waiting for her turn to greet her friend but not wanting to separate you. you rested your head on his chest, careful to not touch where he was shot. your lower lip trembled, tears started forming in your eyes.

"i thought that you-"

someone talked before chishiya could. "that could never happen, you know what they say, only the good ones die young."

"you bastard." you looked over chishiya's shoulders and tried to move away from him the moment that you saw niragi at the end of the hallway, approaching the group from behind chishiya. he was quick to hold you tighter against him, to prevent you from hurting yourself even more by hitting niragi.

niragi was smiling. even though half of his body was covered with bandages you could see that disgusting smirk on his lips.

"i'm gonna kill you," you stated. niragi laughed at you. you couldn't see it but chishiya smirked, his arms still hugging you and not letting you part from him.

"it's not that big of a deal, honey. he's is alive and i got to shoot him. we both won."

chishiya could stop you but he didn't have enough arms to stop kuina. the girl passed by your side like a fury. arisu tried to grab her arm but she was mad. her fists were already clenched before she was even close to niragi, and arisu called her name in a last attempt of stopping her. niragi looked down at her with a smile on his lips. he knew what was coming. he had seen that face on kuina before.

her fist closed tighter and with all the strength in her body, she punched niragi. his mouth and nose started bleeding right after but he didn't stop laughing. she had her fist ready again but arisu grabbed her waist from behind pulling her away from him.

"better?" chishiya asked after feeling your breathing slowing down. you nodded and you both looked at kuina kicking in the arms of arisu. chishiya raised his brows looking at the doctors coming to assist niragi. "well, he deserved it." you rolled your eyes at him.

"you have to tell me a lot of things, i guess." chishiya said referring to your bruised face. you nodded, he was going to believe everything that happened between the time he was shot until arisu and usagi won the last game.

"i haven't seen banda and yaba."

chishiya smiled at your innocent. "i'm sure that they are fine but i'm also sure that they decided to stay." you already thought about that. you nodded understanding. what a shame because they were nice to you during the jack of hearts game, and they promised you that you'll see each other again. chishiya knew by your face that you didn't listen when he said that banda was a murderer and yaba was a scammer. people like that could only live freely in the borderlands.

not people like you two tho

Tags

Chishiya alice in borderland chishiya shuntaro chishiya x reader alice in boderland x reader chishiya x fem!reader chishiya x you chishiya imagine chishiya angst chishiya fluff alice in borderland fluff alice in borderland angst chishiya x y/n

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annewashere

2 years ago

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 + 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲! 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞! ♡

“Yah! You’re billowing dust all over me!” You giggle as Su-Hyeok all but shakes the fabric of the infirmary beds excessively, sending unwanted particles in straight descension your way following the height difference slope between you two. He smiles at you cheekily over where he was currently holding onto the corners of the white linen, repeating the motion once more to send your hair flying into a mess.

He finally stops long enough for you both to fold the sheets nicely and stretch it taut over the very last cot in the room. Taking a step back, you eye the result of your hard work for the past few hours as you scan the now pristine room, each bed surface without a wrinkle in sight.

Most other students would disagree with you that cleaning duties was their favorite of the student requirements at Hyosan High, but you found it to be therapeutic in a way. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely considering your career choice for the future, you were in your element with anything and everything even remotely close in relation to the medical field. Or, it could be the fact that Su-Hyeok would always try to sign up as your cleaning partner before anyone else has even had a chance to look over the room assignments for the week—all that just to spend more time with you.

You dramatically slide your hands back and forth across each other, dusting them off. Nodding your head in satisfaction as you survey the surroundings, you proudly exclaim, “Look! Isn’t this just perfection, Su-Hyeok?” As you’re smiling at the end product, you don’t catch him gazing at you fondly.

“Yeah, more than perfect,” he mumbles to himself. With only the two of you in the room, it’s hard to miss, though you don’t register the full meaning behind his words.

Holding up your hand for a high five, he returns it, intertwining your fingers together to tug you towards him, the movement practically sending you crashing into his chest. Flustered, you opt to tease him instead to ease the tension you always feel around him. “Yo–You’re too close. I can smell your feet from here, Su-Hyeok.”

“Bear with me for a second,” he chuckles as he pulls you nearer. You can’t bring yourself to look up into his face as he smooths down your hair—entirely his fault from beating the sheets against your head earlier instead of the posts in the room that serve an obvious purpose. Except, you don’t have to worry about that as once he’s finished, he lets go of your hand and bends down to your level, making direct eye contact as he pats your head playfully. “Now, you’re presentable.”

You scoff, mock offended, finally stepping away from his personal space in hopes that the blush on your face isn’t as visible as you imagine it to be. “Are you saying I wasn’t before?” Su-Hyeok puts both hands up in defense, countenance teasing, before flopping unceremoniously onto the nearest bed.

“Aish!” You reproach. “We just made them!” He ultimately springs back up in fear of your relentless whacks to his chest. Glancing at the clock, it was already well into early evening, so you decide to call it a day. “Let’s go! Hopefully we can catch up with the others outside on our way to the entrance!”

“Race you there!” Su-Hyeok dashes out of the room without so much as a second glance, leaving you dumbfounded as you chase after him, dodging other students in the halls also on their way home.

When you finally make it outside, you and Su-Hyeok both spot Gyeong-Su and Cheong-San in the distance. Decidedly heading there together, you deliberately bump shoulders, trying to make the other fall over to no avail. Lightly kicking him in the shin as petty revenge for having sprung a race on you earlier, you sprint off toward your friends in front before Su-Hyeok has time to react.

You don’t give Cheong-San any indication of your presence until you jump on his back, arms around his neck. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall as Gyeong-Su whips around in surprise before seeing it’s you. He laughs at Cheong-San’s struggles as you finally let go. “It’s your little sister from a different mister!”

Growing up together and being the only child in your respective families, you, Cheong-San, and Su-Hyeok have always been close enough to the point that showing up at one another’s residences became commonplace. Mr. and Mrs. Lee never fail to bring up the fact that you’re the daughter they always wanted but never had to pull their son’s leg whenever you come around. Actually, now that you think about it, even when you’re not, they still do so out of habit, resulting in you getting an earful from Cheong-San the day after about how his parents’ affections are prioritized in the wrong order. You frequently laugh it off, but deep down, you’re grateful that the whole family is so protective of you, particularly Cheong-San, almost as if he was your brother by blood.

Though exasperated, when you cutely open your arms for a hug, Cheong-San rolls his eyes and gives in. “One day, you and On-Jo are going to annoy me to death,” he says as you guys let go.

“What an honorable death that would be for you,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Don’t I get a friendly hug too, Y/N?” Gyeong-Su asks before pulling you into one.

“All this tenderness is making me want to throw up,” Cheong-San says as Su-Hyeok reaches the group.

“I think that’s been long enough,” Su-Hyeok warns, jealous.

“Nope,” Gyeong-Su refutes, not letting you go to make a point, causing you to laugh. He releases you soon after though, before Cheong-San has a chance to scold him.

“I get a kick in the shin and they get hugs?” Su-Hyeok grumbles, nearly sulking.

“If you wanted one so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“No flirting before dinner, guys. I’ll lose my appetite.” Gyeong-Su puts an arm around Cheong-San’s shoulder, amused at the scene in front of him.

As Su-Hyeok spreads his arms wide, you mirror him, before handing over your backpack, heavy with beginner’s medical textbooks. “Free hug for you from my lovely backpack.” Gyeong-Su cackles at the priceless expression on Su-Hyeok’s face while Cheong-San just shakes his head, tired of the familiar behavior between the two of you he’s had to witness against his will over the years as the eternal third wheel.

You wave as you see On-Jo and I-Sak approaching, the former shoving Cheong-San’s shoulder so hard, he drops his phone on the ground, rattling against the gravel from impact.

“My phone!” He scrambles to pick it up.

“Hey, gopher. Let’s go have some fried chicken,” On-Jo says, jutting out her backpack.

Regardless of their endless bickering, he doesn’t hesitate in taking the bag from her, though you’re not really surprised. You’ve known about Cheong-San’s massive longtime crush on On-Jo before he even knew it himself. To this day, you’re still waiting for him to make something happen, though you expect to be waiting forever.

“It hasn’t opened yet,” Cheong-San says, peeved.

“Yeah, it has. Your mom said she’s testing out a new recipe today,” On-Jo counters as Gyeong-Su hits Cheong-San, somewhat affronted. You assume they’ve already been over this once before the girls arrived. On-Jo and I-Sak pull you to their side, linking their arms through yours as everyone confirms their attendance to the impromptu chicken dinner invite.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Gyeong-Su drawls excitedly. “Is this a triple date?”

“Mwoya? How annoying.” I-Sak couldn’t be more disgusted as she drags you and On-Jo away speedily towards the school’s entrance, leaving the boys trailing behind to Gyeong-Su’s happy whistle rendition of Auld Lang Syne, extra backpacks and all.

»»————-————-————-————-————-————-————-—««

“There’s the cute couple!” Cheong-San’s mom bellows, referring to you and Su-Hyeok, handing over the largest platter of fried chicken you’ve seen in your life. She immediately embraces you before you even get a chance to sit down.

The boys convene on one side while you and the girls take seats opposite them, somehow paired up as Gyeong-Su had hoped for.

“Mrs. Lee, we’re not together,” you correct as you dig into the plate in front of you, the mouthwatering smell of freshly fried chicken wafting through the vicinity.

“Do we get extra fried chicken if we are?” Su-Hyeok inquires, genuinely curious. You kick him under the table and Mrs. Lee looks on, entertained.

Somehow, the lighthearted conversation as your little group eats shifts to more serious matters when Mrs. Lee heads back to the kitchen to reevaluate the briny recipe with her husband after taking everyone’s feedback into consideration.

“Ah, right. Did you guys catch wind of what’s circulating around school about Mr. Lee? I-Sak starts.

“What about him?” Cheong-San questions, as everyone turns their attention towards I-Sak, wondering what the latest gossip was.

“He emits the odor of a rotting corpse.”

Cheong-San sighs. “Na-Yeon’s the one who spread that rumor, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Knowing her, of course she did.”

All five pairs of eyes turn towards you, scandalized. “Wow, this is the first time that you, the nicest person in the world, have clearly expressed your dislike for someone,” Gyeong-Su states to everyone’s agreement. “Our own future doctor and resident angel with a pure heart full of compassion finally has one person on her hit list,” he teases.

“Pshh, stop it you guys. Refrain from giving me these grand nicknames I can’t live up to. An angel, seriously?” You deny, slightly embarrassed at them putting you in such high regards.

“Su-Hyeok surely thinks so, in a literal sense—" The person in question elbows Gyeong-Su forcefully, on the brink of sending him toppling over in his chair. Everyone laughs as Su-Hyeok shoves a drumstick into Gyeong-Su’s mouth to shut him up.

“Don’t force it, Gyeong-Su. I think he likes Nam-Ra.” As the words leave your mouth, everyone snaps their head your way, staring unbelievably, almost comically so.

On-Jo recovers first. “So, you’re saying he likes someone smart, kind, and beautiful. Hmm, sounds like someone we all know,” she stares right at you.

“Yah, Y/N, you’re supposed to be the smartest one out of all of us here, including almost the entirety of the school. How are you so dense?” Cheong-San clucks his tongue, frustrated.

“Excuse you? I can feel him burning a hole through the side of my face trying to get a glimpse of her in class,” you defend. Up until now, Su-Hyeok hasn’t said a word, though he resorts to beating his forehead lightly and repetitively against the table.

“Care to remind me who’s beside Nam-Ra and sits in the aisle seat?” I-Sak looks at you pointedly.

“It’s me, obviously, that’s how I can tell.” Gyeong-Su ends up choking on his chicken as he snorts while the others just give up.

“Anyway,” On-Jo moves on, circling back on the conversation. “What I-Sak says is true! Mr. Lee was absent for a short while after his son went missing, then showed up one day to class with a deathly smell.”

“How would Na-Yeon know the smell of a cadaver? It’s not like she has any experience being in close contact with one; I doubt the majority of us have.” Cheong-San criticizes.

“No idea, but if it’s the only one she’s not accustomed to, she can’t be wrong about the unidentified scent. He did act exponentially bizarre in the aftermath of what happened to his son,” On-Jo clarifies.

“Poor Jin-Su was an outcast from what I remember. I heard he got bullied severely.” I-Sak looks down at her plate, pitying the boy.

“I feel sorry for him, and Mr. Lee as well. Can you imagine knowing your child getting mistreated but not being able to do anything about it? I wouldn’t be able to bear it, much less fathom what his thought process was at the time,” On-Jo pauses before bringing up another matter. “Do you guys recall him leaving class last week all of a sudden?”

“He had written all these biological terms in English, madly, in some sort of craze on the blackboard,” you detail. “The sound of the chalk was eerie when it scraped so wildly across the board’s surface.” Everyone nods as Gyeong-Su asks you what Mr. Lee had written, with your history of having studied abroad before entering high school. “I’m not quite sure what they meant. It was just a bunch of complex information about parasites, viruses, and cells. But the thing is, his writing wasn’t complete. Those notes seemed like it was solely for him to comprehend,” you deduce.

“He’s known around the school to have been a genius in his prime.” I-Sak stops before adding as an afterthought. “Though, I guess he’s still considered a genius now.”

“Geniuses often go crazy,” On-Jo murmurs.

“You may accumulate a hundred problems, but for the rest of your life, I suppose you’ll never have to worry about that being one of them,” Cheong-San says wittily.

Gyeong-Su laughs as On-Jo scolds him. “Are you looking down on me? Grades aren’t everything.”

“Be careful, Y/N. You might go crazy one day,” Su-Hyeok jokes.

“If I do, I’ll bite you first.”

Gyeong-Su taps your empty plate with his chicken bone, tone fake reprimanding. “Now, now, my dear Y/N—that’s not very school appropriate.”

Before you can get back at him, I-Sak’s rushed reminder sends everyone fleeing from the table, clearly running late to their English academy. After all of your hasty goodbyes to Cheong-San’s parents, Gyeong-Su is the first one out the door, afraid of your wrath-filled kicks if he were to stay any longer. He knows better than to mess too seriously with a black-belt.

You and Su-Hyeok don’t attend the same academy—well he just doesn’t attend one at all—so you two have fallen into a routine of him walking you home everyday after school even though your house is next door to his.

As you walk, the back of your hands keeps brushing against each other’s, close enough to touch but not enough to hold. That is, until Su-Hyeok boldly reaches over to clasp them together without hesitation, always making sure you’re on the inner side of the sidewalk.

A few blocks later, you shiver against the cold, realizing you should’ve heeded your mom’s advice this morning about putting an extra layer on top of your thin green cardigan. Su-Hyeok takes off his black blazer for you to wear, disappointed in having to let go of your hand for you to put it on properly. The only problem was it’s completely too large on you, the sleeves dangling in a funny way and the length almost a dress, but it serves its purpose and smells entirely like Su-Hyeok.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You ask him, fretting, despite how touched you are by his actions.

He entwines your hands again and drags you closer to his side. “Not really.” He glances down at you. “I think I’m warm enough.” It’s hard to suppress your smile as you huddle a tiny bit closer, his red name tag lined up with your heart.

When the door of your house comes into view, you reluctantly draw your hand away from his, proceeding to take off his jacket, intending to return it. Before you can so much as get it past your shoulders, he stops you.

“Give it back to me tomorrow,” he smiles shyly at you.

“Alright, thanks.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly at a loss on what to say. When did things become so awkward? “Well, this is me,” you point to your gate as if he didn’t already know. “It’s getting late, you should go.”

“Not until I see you inside first.”

Your heart is warm as you turn around to head in. When you lock the gateway behind you, he calls to you through the opening between each metal post.

“It’s not Nam-Ra that I like.”

The statement is entirely too random until you remember the conversation at Cheong-San’s family restaurant.

“Then, who? Do I know her?”

“You do—very well.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I’ll let you know before the end of tomorrow.”

“Then, see you tomorrow, Su-Hyeok.”

“Always.”

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

Tags

x reader all of us are dead aouad x reader suhyeok x reader su hyeok x reader lee su hyeok x reader suhyeok fanfic lee su hyeok fanfic

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annewashere

2 years ago

“You promised you wouldn’t forget me” + ambrose please?

+ “I wished every day to hold you once more”

I haven’t written Ambrose yet so I hope this is somewhat good!!

Ambrose’s house arrest was a touchy subject. He had his family, of course. He could act like that was enough, but he craved more. He would feign indifference.

He often remembers his life outside of the Spellman household, the people he met, the lovers he had. He remembers, but wishes he could forget. There is nothing worse than those memories. The memories taunt him in his dreams. Y/N haunts him in those dreams.

The bed was suffocating as he attempted to unwrap his body from the sheets. The dreams, again. The same face he’s seen every night for 75 years in this house. He rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of the thought, but he can’t drop it. Y/N. They had lost contact after everything that happened with the Vatican. He’s tried to find traces, but to no avail. You did not want to be found. The feeling of betrayal was the only thing he had left from you.

“How long has it been, Ambrose? 70 years?” A voice from across the room made him scramble in his bed.

“Who’s there?” He was never one to be scared, but the voice was hauntingly familiar. It was just there, in his dreams. Was he still dreaming?

The room is dark, he’s unable to see a thing. “You promised you wouldn’t forget me.” The voice teased, bouncing of the walls from every side. It itched at him as he stood up from the bed, hating the way the voice taunted him. This was all too familiar. He fumbles around the room for his light, flicking it on.

Ambrose meets the same face he’s seen every night for 75 years and he’s positive he’s dreaming. Except, the hair is different, the eyes aren’t as bright, but that’s the same seductive smile from years ago. Not a single word seems to be able to escape his mouth, even though there’s a million of them swarming his thoughts. “Y/N.” Is all he can say, eyes wide. “You’re not real.”

“Why would you say that?” You questioned, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He responds instantly, leaning into your touch. It feels like you never left. “It’s me, Ambrose.” You reassure him.

He searches for something that would tell him otherwise, but he finds nothing. It has to be you. “I wished every day to hold you once more.” He confesses, eyes pleading with your own. He’s never felt so vulnerable, yet so complete at the same time. “Why did you leave?” He finally questions, but doesn’t pull away, too scared you’ll disappear.

You open your mouth to answer, but Sabrina bursts into his room. She looks frightened, but stops in her tracks when she sees the scene in front of her. She steps forward tentatively, reaching a hand out to Ambrose. “Ambrose…” She trails off, eyes apologetic as she touches his arm. “There’s a sleep demon in the house, this…” She glances at your figure. “This isn’t real.”

Ambrose turns to meet your eyes again, wondering if what his cousin is saying is true, but you’re gone. He can still feel your hand on his cheek. He was simply reliving all the other dreams he’s had for the past 75 years. The real torture is waking up, the real torture was him believing you’d ever come back.

“You have to wake up, Ambrose.”

Tags

ambrose spellman ambrose spellman x reader ambrose spellman imagine chilling adventures of sabrina imagine

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