#^ echoing my words from last year.... (so far it seems not to have worked at all but please don't blame me i'm naught but one rodent)

[artist-rat]

🌟🌠 ratty (positive!) new years greetings from local rat. aggressively wishing for everything to get better immediately and forever

[gyuuberryy]

pushing on my buttons!

pairing: bodyguard!jay x rich ceo's daughter!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, tension

synopsis: after a kidnapping attempt, your father hires jay, a cold and infuriating bodyguard you can’t seem to get rid of. you push his buttons at every turn, but as danger closes in, the tension between you turns into something far more dangerous—an undeniable connection neither of you can ignore.

warnings: mentions of blood, a bit of fighting, kissing

note: i'm dropping smth two months later finallyy(i'm still in the middle of exams AGAIN). i feel like this is not my best work, i had a major writer's block with it and ended up making it basic? idk i haven't been feeling well recently with the insane amount of workload i have since the start of this year and the burn out shows in this ughh. i hope the fic isn't too bad TT enjoy!

word count 5.8k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the heavy oak doors of your father’s office loomed before you, their polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the hallway chandelier. you paused, your fingers hovering over your phone screen, scrolling through a feed of designer handbags you didn’t need but absolutely wanted. 

the text from your father had been curt, almost ominous: “my office. now.” 

you rolled your eyes. it was probably about the credit card statement again. you had a perfectly good excuse ready—charity auction, obviously. he’d buy it. he always did.

with a sigh, you pushed the doors open, not bothering to knock. “you rang?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the doorframe, still engrossed in your phone.

your father didn’t look up from his desk. “sit,” he commanded, his voice sharp enough to make you glance up.

you blinked. okay. not a good sign.

it was then that you noticed him. the man standing beside your father, a silent shadow in the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black—black tactical pants, black fitted shirt, black boots that looked like they could crush a skull without breaking a sweat. his arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but somehow radiating intensity. his face was all sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the room with a precision that made you feel like he’d already dissected every inch of it—and you along with it.

you straightened, your phone slipping into your pocket as you took a step forward. “who’s this?” you asked, your tone light but laced with suspicion.

your father gestured toward the man, his expression unyielding. “this is jay. your new bodyguard.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and absurd. then you laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed off the mahogany walls. “you’re joking.”

your father didn’t laugh. neither did jay. in fact, jay didn’t so much as twitch. his expression remained impassive, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

you turned back to your father, your laughter fading into a scoff. “this isn’t necessary. i’m not in danger. that whole kidnapping thing? a fluke. it’s been weeks and nothing’s happened.”

your father’s jaw tightened. “which is exactly why you need protection. we’re not taking any chances.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but jay beat you to it. his voice was low, calm, and infuriatingly even. “i’m not here to be liked, just to do my job.”

your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. excuse me?

he met your glare without flinching, his expression as unreadable as a stone wall. he didn’t care. not about your annoyance, not about your defiance, not about you. the realisation made your blood boil.

“congratulations on the worst job in existence,” you said coolly, tilting your head as you studied him. “because i’m not some damsel in distress.”

jay didn’t blink. “right. you handled the last situation so well.”

your jaw dropped. the audacity. “excuse you—”

“enough,” your father interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this entire conversation. “jay will be with you at all times. this isn’t up for discussion.”

you stared at him, then at jay, who was still standing there like some brooding statue, completely unfazed. your mind raced, already plotting ways to make his life a living hell. fine. if this was happening, you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

you flashed jay a sweet, taunting smile, the kind that usually made people nervous. “try and keep up.”

his lips twitched—just barely—but it wasn’t a smile. more like a challenge accepted. “i don’t plan on falling behind.”

oh, you already hated him. hated the way he looked at you like you were a problem to be solved, hated the way he stood there like he owned the room, hated the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. but most of all, you hated that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by you.

your father exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. “jay will start immediately. i expect you to cooperate.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you turned on your heel and strode toward the door, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. you could feel jay’s eyes on your back, tracking your every move, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. let him try to keep up. you were already planning your first escape.

as the doors swung shut behind you, you couldn’t help but smirk. this was going to be fun.

the first twenty-four hours with jay as your shadow were unbearable. it wasn’t just his constant presence—it’s the way he moves like he knows what you’re about to do before you do it, like some kind of infuriating psychic in tactical gear.

you woke up to find him standing right outside your bedroom door. arms crossed, eyes alert, posture straight. like a soldier. like a statue. like someone who had absolutely no life outside of making yours miserable.

you glare at him, silk robe slipping off your shoulder, hair a mess. “do you ever sleep? or do you just stand there like a creep all night?”

jay doesn’t react. not even a twitch. his gaze flicks over you, assessing, before looking away.

he didn’t react. not even a twitch. his dark eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before he looked away, his expression as blank as ever.

“good morning,” he said, his tone flat.

you rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face.

when you went to get coffee, he was already there, waiting. the barista gave him a once-over, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the faint scar that ran along his jawline. then they glanced at you, their eyebrows raised in a silent question: are you okay? do you need help?

you forced a smile. “he’s harmless,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie. jay didn’t so much as blink.

you grabbed your latte and stormed out, jay falling into step behind you like some kind of silent, brooding ghost. you could feel his eyes on your back, watching, always watching. it was suffocating.

in meetings, it was worse. you sat at the head of the conference table, your laptop open, your team discussing quarterly projections, and there he was—standing against the far wall, arms still crossed, his gaze sweeping the room like he was expecting an ambush at any moment. every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable.

you tried to ignore him. you really did. but his presence was like a thundercloud hovering over the room, dark and oppressive. by the time the meeting ended, you were ready to scream.

you had to get rid of him immediately.

attempt #1: the emergency exit 

it was simple, really. you waited until you were in the middle of a crowded lobby with jay, your phone pressed to your ear, your face the picture of distress. “no—no, stay right there, i’ll be there in five minutes,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. then you slipped out the back door, quick, smooth, victorious.

you couldn’t help but grin as you rounded the corner, your heart racing with the thrill of escape. finally, some freedom. finally, some—

jay was already there.

leaning against your car, arms still crossed, not even looking at you. like he’d been waiting for hours. like he’d known exactly where you’d go.

you froze, your smile slipping. “how the hell—”

he finally acknowledged you, tilting his head just slightly. his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

your fingers clenched into fists. oh. it was war.

attempt #2: the disappearing act

you waited until you were at a charity gala, the kind of event where everyone was too busy sipping champagne and gossipping to notice anything amiss. you slipped into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, your movements quick and deliberate. you ducked behind a potted plant, then made your way to the service entrance, your heart pounding with excitement.

you were almost there. almost free. and then—

“leaving so soon?”

you whirled around, your breath catching in your throat. jay stood in the doorway, his arms still crossed, his expression as calm as ever. he didn’t even look winded.

“how do you keep doing that?” you demanded, your voice rising.

he shrugged, the motion infuriatingly casual. “it’s my job.”

“your job is to annoy me to death?”

“if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yes.”

you glared at him, your chest heaving with frustration. he stared back, unflinching, his dark eyes boring into yours. for a moment, the air between you crackled with something electric, and you wanted to so badly give into it and just cause a tantrum. instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back into the gala, jay following close behind.

attempt #3: sensory overload

the mall was a chaotic symphony of chatter, clattering shopping bags, and the faint hum of pop music playing over the speakers. you strode through the bustling crowd, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, your eyes darting toward the exit signs. jay was a step behind you, his presence as unshakable as ever. his dark eyes scanned the crowd, his posture tense, like he was expecting a sniper to take a shot at any moment.

you rolled your eyes. “relax, rambo. it’s a mall, not a war zone.”

he didn’t respond. of course he didn’t. he just kept walking, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you hadn’t somehow vanished into thin air.

you gritted your teeth. this was supposed to be your day. you had a date with someone your mutual friend had set you up with. your father had forbidden you from going, but since when had you ever listened to him? and yet, here was jay, ruining everything like some overgrown shadow you couldn’t shake.

you bit back a sigh. if you wanted to shake him, you’d have to get creative.

spotting a perfume shop up ahead, you darted inside, the overwhelming scent of floral and citrus hitting you instantly. jay followed without hesitation, his towering frame making the narrow aisles feel even smaller.

“why are we here?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“to test some new scents,” you replied innocently, grabbing a random bottle and spraying it on your wrist. “you wouldn’t understand.”

jay raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

you tried a few more perfumes, using up the space on your wrists and arms. finally, you turned to him, holding up a bottle.

“hold out your arm.”

jay blinked. “what?”

“you’re supposed to test it on skin,” you said, your tone overly patient. “and i’m out of space. come on.”

reluctantly, he extended his arm. you sprayed the perfume lightly on his wrist and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

jay tensed under your touch, his muscles stiffening as your fingers brushed his skin. you glanced up, noticing the tightness in his jaw, but you didn’t comment.

“it’s not bad,” you said, tilting your head. “but maybe something lighter.”

you reached for another bottle, quickly spraying it on his other wrist. this time, you didn’t stop at one spray. you pressed the nozzle again and again, filling the air with an overpowering mix of scents.

jay sneezed once, then twice, stumbling back a step as he tried to clear his nose.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled between sneezes.

“just testing!” you said, holding up your hands in mock innocence. “you’re being dramatic.”

jay glared at you, but before he could recover, you dropped the perfume bottle and bolted, weaving through the crowded store and out into the mall. you didn’t look back. you didn’t need to. you could hear his footsteps behind you, heavy and determined.

your heart raced as you sprinted through the mall, dodging shoppers and strollers. you spotted a clothing store up ahead, its entrance tucked away in a quieter corner. perfect. you ducked inside, your breath coming in short gasps as you scanned the store. the dressing rooms. that was your best bet.

you darted toward them, slipping into the first stall you saw. you yanked the curtain closed, your chest heaving as you pressed your back against the wall. for a moment, there was silence. then you heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching the stall.

the curtain flew open, and there he was. jay. his chest was rising and falling slightly, his dark eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped into the stall, his body crowding yours as he pinned you against the wall. the curtain fell shut behind him, enclosing you in the small, dimly lit space.

you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. he was so close you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pulse jumped in his neck. his hands were braced on either side of your head, his body caging you in. the air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your stomach twist and your heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with running.

“you’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said, his voice low and rough.

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “and you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “try me.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue. his eyes dropped to your lips, just for a second, and something shifted between you. the air crackled with electricity, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body seemed to press closer without actually moving.

for a moment, neither of you moved. then jay stepped back, his expression shuttering as he regained control. “let’s go,” he said, his tone clipped.

you didn’t argue. for once, you didn’t have the words.

the party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint hum of a live jazz band. you stood near the centre of the room, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, a glass of champagne in hand. you laughed at something your friend said, the sound light and carefree, but your attention was elsewhere.

jay.

he was standing across the room, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. he wasn’t even trying to hide it. he was watching you like a hawk, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense enough to make your skin prickle.

your friend leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “he’s been looking at you all night.”

you shrugged, pretending not to care. “who? jay? he’s just doing his job.”

but the truth was, you did care. you were hyper-aware of him now, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. and it annoyed you. it annoyed you that he could stand there, so calm and collected, while you felt like you were unravelling.

so you decided to push him.

you flirted with everyone but him. you laughed a little too loudly at a joke a handsome stranger made. you let your hand linger on the arm of a guy who clearly had no idea what personal space was. you disappeared into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, pretending jay didn’t exist.

but he did. he always did.

suddenly, a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cocky grin—stepped into your space, his hand hovering near your waist as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. his breath smelled like whisky, the proximity way too close for your comfort. 

you froze, your smile faltering. before you could react, jay was there.

he moved like a shadow, swift and silent, stepping between you and the man with a presence that was impossible to ignore. his voice was cool but sharp, cutting through the noise of the party like a knife. “hands off.”

the man blinked, his grin faltering as he took in jay’s imposing figure. “whoa, man, i was just—”

“i don’t care what you were just doing,” jay said, his tone low and dangerous. “back off.”

the man hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and jay, before he finally raised his hands in surrender and slunk away. you stared after him, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest.

when you turned back to jay, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re doing.”

your breath caught. “what are you talking about?”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice rough and tinged with something that sounded almost like frustration. “flirting with strangers. disappearing into crowds. acting like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “i can take care of myself.”

“can you?” he asked, his tone challenging. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. he was close—too close—his body crowding yours, his heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of vanilla and something woodsy, and it made your head spin.

as the night wore on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, rough and low and so, so close. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, your heart skipping a beat every time your eyes met his.

oh.

so he did care.

it happens slowly. or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it’s been happening this whole time, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for you to notice. but now, you do.

you start noticing the way he moves. always a step ahead, always positioning himself between you and anything that could be a threat. his sleeves are always rolled up, revealing the veins that line his forearms, his hands steady and sure. you notice the way he watches you, his dark eyes scanning every room like he’s mapping out every possible danger, but it’s never just that. there’s something else in his gaze, something you can’t quite name.

and worse? you start feeling it.

the heat in your chest when his hand brushes yours as he passes you a coffee. the frustration that coils in your stomach when someone else looks at him for too long. the way your breath catches when he says your name instead of brat or princess or whatever sarcastic nickname he’s come up with that day.

this is a problem.

but you handle it the way you always do—by pushing him.

it’s late, with the city feeling quiet, almost peaceful, and the only light comes from the flickering neon sign of a 24-hour diner. you’re sitting in a booth by the window, picking at a plate of fries you didn’t really want but ordered anyway because you were too stubborn to admit you were hungry. jay sits across from you, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the nearly empty diner like it’s a potential battlefield.

you roll your eyes. “relax, jay. the only danger here is the cholesterol in these fries.”

he just takes a sip of his black coffee, his expression as unreadable as ever.

you lean back in the booth, crossing your arms over your chest. “you know, you don’t have to babysit me 24/7. i’m not a child.”

his eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him. “excuse me?”

he sets his coffee cup down, his voice low and even. “you act like rules don’t apply to you. like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

your jaw tightens. “and you act like you’re my dad. newsflash—you’re not.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the tension between you is thick, almost suffocating, and you can feel it building, building, building until it finally snaps.

“why do you even care so much?” you demand, your voice rising just enough to draw the attention of the tired-looking waitress behind the counter.

jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t get it, do you?”

your heartbeat stutters. “then explain it to me.”

for a second, he says nothing. he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure you out. then he stands, slow and deliberate, and slides into the booth beside you. he’s close now, closer than he’s ever let himself be, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you don’t back away.

his eyes flicker to your lips, and your breath catches. the air between you is so thin, so sharp you can almost taste it.

he leans in, his voice low and rough. “you have no idea what i’d do to keep you safe.”

your pulse is in your throat, waiting, waiting, waiting.

but before anything can happen—

the bell above the diner door jingles, and a group of loud, laughing teenagers spills inside, shattering the moment.

jay pulls back instantly, his jaw tightening as he slides out of the booth. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. he just walks to the counter, his posture rigid, like nothing happened.

like nothing almost happened.

but you know better.

you press a hand to your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it’s no use. your mind is racing, replaying the moment over and over again—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, the way your body had reacted to his nearness.

this is getting dangerous.

later, as you sit in the back of the car on the way home, you can’t stop thinking about it. jay is in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. you stare at the back of his head, your thoughts a tangled mess.

you think about the way he’d stepped between you and that guy at the party, his voice sharp and commanding. you think about the way he’d leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

and you think about the way he’d pulled away, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything.

but it did. you know it did.

you mentally groan, leaning your head against the window. this is a problem. a big problem. because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t deny it anymore.

you like him.

and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

you don’t talk about it.

the almost-kiss, the tension that stains every interaction now—it hangs between you like a live wire, sharp and charged. you find yourself watching him more, catching the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. his gaze lingers a little too long, his movements a little too deliberate, and it drives you insane.

but you don’t talk about it.

instead, you push. you push him, you push yourself, you push the boundaries of whatever this is between you. and he pushes back, always steady, always in control, until—

one day it happens fast. too fast.

you’re walking back to the car after an event, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. jay is a step behind you, his presence a constant, grounding force. you’re arguing about something stupid—something meaningless—because that’s what you do now. you bicker, you snipe, you push each other’s buttons, all while pretending the tension between you doesn’t exist.

and then, out of nowhere, it happens.

you don’t even see it coming. one moment, you’re stepping off the curb, and the next, jay is moving—swift, silent, and utterly precise. he shoves you out of the way, his body shielding yours as a figure lunges at you from the shadows.

there’s a flash of metal, a grunt of pain, and then the sound of footsteps retreating into the night.

you stumble, catching yourself against the car, your heart pounding in your chest. “jay—”

he’s already turning, his hand pressed to his side, his breathing steady despite the blood seeping through his fingers. “get in the car.”

you stare at him, your mind racing. “you’re bleeding. we need to go to the hospital—l”

“it’s nothing, just a scratch” he says, his voice calm, like this is just another day on the job. like he didn’t just take a knife for you.

but it’s not nothing. it’s not nothing because your hands are shaking as you reach for him, your fingers brushing against the warm, sticky blood staining his shirt. “jay—”

“get in the car,” he repeats, his tone sharper this time. “now.”

you don’t argue. you can’t. your mind is a blur as you climb into the passenger seat, your eyes never leaving him as he slides behind the wheel. his movements are steady, controlled, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel.

the drive home is silent, the air between you thick with unspoken words. you keep glancing at him, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. fear. guilt. something else.

when you finally arrive, you follow him inside, your hands still trembling. he heads straight for the bathroom, and you trail after him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“let me see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t argue this time. he just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt already half-off, revealing the deep gash along his side. it’s not fatal, not even close, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

you grab the first aid kit from under the sink and kneel in front of him, your hands shaking as you clean the wound. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and unreadable.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say, your voice breaking. “you shouldn’t have—”

“it’s my job,” he interrupts, his tone calm, like that explains everything.

but it doesn’t. not to you. not when your hands are stained with his blood, not when your chest feels like it’s about to collapse under the weight of everything you’re feeling.

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “don’t do that again.”

he looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see it—the crack in his armour. the flicker of something raw, something real.

“you don’t get it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “i’d do it again. every time.”

your breath catches, your hands still pressed against his side. “why?”

he doesn’t answer. not with words, at least. instead, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it makes your chest ache.

and that’s it. that’s the breaking point.

you don’t think. you don’t hesitate. you just pull him in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and relief. for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and you’re terrified you’ve made a mistake.

but then his hands are in your hair, his mouth moving against yours, and it’s like the world stops. the tension, the anger, the fear, it all melts away, leaving nothing but the two of you.

the room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead light. jay’s hands are still tangled in your hair, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where your hand rests against his chest, and it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s as affected by this as you are.

but then he pulls back, his expression shuttering as he regains control. “we shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and rough.

you blink, your chest tightening at his words. “why not?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he stands, his movements stiff as he turns away from you. “because it complicates things.”

you stare at him, your heart sinking. “complicates things? jay, you just took a knife for me. i think things are already complicated.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand.”

“then explain it to me,” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “because i’m tired of pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist.”

he turns to look at you, his dark eyes blazing with something you can’t quite name. “you think i don’t feel it too? you think i don’t want—” he cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “it doesn’t matter what i want. my job is to keep you safe. that’s it.”

you step closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “and what if i don’t want you to just be my bodyguard? what if i want more?”

he doesn’t respond. not with words, at least. but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. for a moment, you think he might give in, might finally let himself feel something.

but then he steps back, his expression hardening. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “don’t i? because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re the one who’s scared.”

his eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you’ve pushed him too far. but then he exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “you’re right. i am scared. because if something happens to you—if i let myself care too much and i can’t protect you—” he cuts himself off, his voice breaking. “i can’t lose you.”

your breath catches, your chest tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. “jay—”

he doesn’t let you finish. instead, he steps forward, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again. this time, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you. and you let him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pull him closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “i can’t promise this will be easy,” he says, his voice low and rough. “but i can promise i’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

you swallow, your throat tight with emotion. “that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

you don’t talk about it for a full twenty-four hours.

not because you regret it. god, no. if anything, the memory of his hands on you, his lips against yours, plays on a loop in your mind, leaving you breathless every time. but now, there’s no going back. no pretending this isn’t real. no pretending you don’t feel the way his presence sets your skin on fire, or the way your heart races when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

jay is still jay. still overprotective, still infuriating, still the same stoic bodyguard who drives you up the wall. but now?

now, every argument ends with him pulling you in by the waist, his voice low and rough as he murmurs, “you’re impossible,” before silencing you with a kiss.

now, every lingering stare actually leads to something—a brush of his hand against yours, a heated glance that makes your stomach flip, a moment where the tension between you becomes too much to ignore.

and now, your father figures it out almost immediately.

it happens during a family dinner, of all things. you’re sitting at the table, picking at your food while jay sits in his usual spot by you. your father is at the head of the table, his sharp gaze flicking between you and jay with a calculating look that makes your stomach sink.

you try to act normal. you really do. but when jay’s hand brushes against yours as he passes you a glass of water, and you catch yourself smiling at him without thinking, your father clears his throat.

“so,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “when were you planning on telling me?”

you freeze, your fork halfway to your mouth. “telling you what?”

your father raises an eyebrow, gesturing between you and jay. “about this.”

you feel your face heat, your heart pounding in your chest. “i—what are you talking about?”

your father sighs, rubbing his temples like he’s already done with this conversation. “at least it’s him.”

jay freezes, his posture stiffening as he looks at your father. you gape, your mind racing. “excuse me?”

your father shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “you were always a handful, but he can handle it.”

you stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. this is not the reaction you were expecting. not even close. you were prepared for yelling, for threats, for jay to be fired on the spot. but this? this casual acceptance? it’s almost worse.

you turn to jay, still reeling. “is this really happening?”

jay looks equally disturbed, his jaw tight as he meets your father’s gaze. “sir, i—”

your father holds up a hand, cutting him off. “don’t. just… keep her out of trouble. that’s all i ask.”

and just like that, the conversation is over. your father goes back to his meal like nothing happened, leaving you and jay to exchange a stunned look.

later, when you’re alone in your room, jay leans against the door, his arms crossed as he watches you pace back and forth. “well,” he says, his voice dry, “that could’ve gone worse.”

you stop pacing, turning to glare at him. “worse? he basically gave us his blessing. that’s not worse. that’s… i don’t even know what that is.”

jay shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “guess you’re stuck with me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away when he steps closer, his hands settling on your waist. “lucky me,” you mutter, though the way your heart skips a beat betrays your words.

jay’s smirk softens into something warmer, his eyes searching yours. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you don’t respond. not with words, at least. instead, you lean into him, your hands resting against his chest as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

he chuckles, the sound low and warm, before leaning down to kiss you. and as his lips brush against yours, you realise something.

maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to pull away.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, captivity, fantasy lore, abuse, murder mention, suggestive (?)

"You seem to be upset."

He's leaning against the window not too far away from you. Not too close as well - just far enough for you to feel at ease.

"Aren't you a mind - reader." You respond under your breath, trying to focus on the book you're currently reading - but the letters are escaping you, and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time. He sighs, much like a disappointed father, before stepping towards you. And if you flinch just slightly, he doesn't pretend to notice or care.

"What is wrong, my flower?" The man gestures theatrically, soft velvet voice unbecoming of the monster he is flowing easily into the open air. You don't know what to say, really. It's been two years - or so you think, there is no way to keep track of time in this kingdom, not that time goes the same way in the elfen world as it does in the human, yet the part of you still capable of logical thought seems to think so. Two years, and there is very little you haven't already said. Very little left to be said, so your conversations are mostly rehearsed repetitions of what you already know. What you already fear - that you're going to die here. Or even worse. That you've become incapable of aging, so very consumed by this foreign land you detest that you've given up death for a life of boring, purposeless immortality.

"Don't I shower you with lavish gifts?" The noble moves closer, stalking towards you - observing you as if you're a butterfly pinned to a wooden frame under a microscope. "Don't I buy you the shiniest jewels? Not even the queen herself owns such sparkling emeralds." He scoffs, painfully used to your lack of response. You clear your throat, turning a new page - having little to recall about the last. It's completely meaningless just like all the other pages in all the other books you read. How funny, you think. In that distant, dreamy past of yours you were too busy to read - busy with work, busy with family, busy with friends. Busy with life. Now nothing gets in the way of your reading, you have all the time in the world - but there's no one to share the knowledge with. No one to spoil the ending. No time limits. No goal to it all, no final destination. So you read, and you soak the pages with salty tears not remembering a word.

"I am grateful for all the treasures you give me, my Lord." You answer nonchalantly, keeping your pointer at the end of the paper in a desperate attempt to find the sentence exactly where you left it off. You can feel him move closer to you - and the only indication of your growing fear are the shivers that travel down your spine with the beat of your violently full, thumping heart.

"Don't I provide you with all the entertainment your little human heart could possibly bear?" The duke clicks his long sharp nails together once against the other - an ugly metallic sound echoes deep into the ceiling reminiscent of a dying forest clow. "There has never been a lack of wine or music or dance in my court. I've gifted you more golden dresses than you can wear in this life. I've written you more poems than you can read." He keeps going, describing every little thing he's done for you, despite the fact that you've never asked for any of it.

"I admire your taste for indulgence, my Lord." You repeat almost automatically, the praises sitting on your tongue just waiting to be spilt from parted honey lips. Your eyes are glued to the book, but you've given up on reading long ago. Now you're simply trying not to cry - focusing your eyes at one word at a time and blinking repeatedly, manically, feeling as if the world with end the moment you let him see your weakness. You can't believe you still have so much pain in you - enough to feel loss and anger and, what's even worse, hope. Hope that one day you'll be free again.

"And tell me, flower—" His fist wraps around your low ponytail, forcing you to look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time tonight. What's staring back at you might as well be the bottom of the ocean itself, misty and dark, cold and unknown. Human eyes convey so much affection - so much care that you can never mistake it for anything else. With elves it's different - you can spend centuries looking for a hint of kindness, and you'll only get lost in those beatiful bottomless pits. Shiny and sparkling and completely empty. "Don't I give you love? Don't I embrace you tightly every night?" His voice lowers dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand what more you could possibly want. Should I prove myself to you? Should I slay a dragon for you? Perhaps I could tie the heads of your enemies with a pretty bow and give them to you as a wedding gift, hmm?" He's babbling incoherently, nails digging into your scalp with unyealding grip. "Would that finally, finally make you happy, beloved?"

"No, no, please let go." You cry out in agony, wriggling out of his hold - but he's too strong, too massive to move. "I'm happy, I'm—" You sob pitifully, weakly pushing at his chest. "I'm happy with you. Please, you make me so happy, just please let go. And please don't hurt anyone."

He slowly pulls away, chest heaving in and out wildly. The scariest part is always his face. It remains unbothered - cold and defined like a statue of a god, his true feelings hidden by a mask of barely contained rage.

"You're happy with me?" He raises an eyebrow, foot stomping on the ground impatiently. You nod hesitantly, too shaken up to comprehend what you're even agreeing to. "Then prove it. Show me just how happy I make you." He grabs your wrist, pulling you face-first into his hard chest. "Do it, and I might reconsider my other more... inhumane methods of courtship." His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "And may the Gods help you."

As you sink to your knees you try to think of what book to read next - but no title comes to mind.

[writingbluerose]

「 His Butler, Magic Twisted 」

✦ MASTERLIST | ✦ taglist ( if you want to be tagged, leave a comment or leave your request in the ask box ) : @lulu--lala19 @kiki-kuku @nyuu7 @bleh09 @moonwatcher2005 @toxicm0cha @boredwithlifeatthispoint @mewchiili @1nserturlhere @analiee6 @hheerrmmiitt @acersandterminal @citrine-everhart @paleocarcharias

1 . AT NIGHT : unknown arrival

✦ summary : the meeting was horrible and your butler's attempts at calming you down seemed to fall on deaf years. Unfortunately for you, another problem will soon rise, and this time it seems like not even your loyal butler could get you out of it

The loud sound of heels clicking against the stone path echoed through the empty streets in a forgotten city in London. It was the dead of night, and you were far from happy. You'd say you were displeased and the last drop of patience you had was long gone. “Damn men and damn company” Trailing behind you, and yet not too far, was your ever so loyal butler Sebastian Michaelis. His eyes scanned your figure, a mix of pity and amusement in his gaze. He quickly made his way next to you and gave you a reassuring smile “Now, now. My lady, you know stress and anger don't do good for you, how about you start to calm yourself hm?” How honeyed his voice sounded, every woman who'd hear such reassuring and considerate words would fumble immediately, unfortunately for Sebastian, you were stubborn, you've been so since the day you've made the futile mistake of summoning him, so therefore, his words fell on deaf ears as usual. Fingers clenched into fist and one angry pout on your mouth you continued to look ahead of you, ignoring Sebastian and still cursing the company under your breath

Ah yes, the company you worked under. Lunara Vogue. A fashion company which you love more than anything. Your talent and ideas have given you a good spot in one of the highest positions, with great colleagues and great opportunities. But, one thing you hated about it was the executive team which unfortunately for you, was made all of men. Men who you wouldn't have a problem with IF they would actually listen to you and your opinions. There weren't many women working in the company and you had told Sebastian this with a very disappointed look on your face while the butler found it most amusing, this modern world and its standards did nothing but confuse him. Coming back, the executive team wasn't really one you would put in charge of such a popular company, they were too full of themselves and thought that they could do no wrong, Sebastian saw it himself on one of the days you released a new line of clothing. And my, they were a troublesome bunch

The sound of your steps suddenly stopped making their way to his ears, and he stopped, looking at you and waiting for your next move. You stopped before a crosswalk to take a deep breath, your eyes making contact with Sebastian's,“I'm sorry Sebastian, I'm so tired it's hard not to get angry at the littlest things” He gave a light chuckle and moved his hand to put your hair behind your ear “Nothing to worry about, little lady. I'll prepare you a bath and a warm meal so you'll rest well tonight” He gave you a charming smile before gesturing at the crosswalk, motioning for you to walk. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you slowly started walking, the villa you had managed to buy with your money was only one out of the four you had outside of the city, and fortunately, it wasn't far, you could almost feel the softness of your bed and the comfortable pillows

But while dreaming, you were oblivious to Sebastian's body language : his shoulders tensed and his eyes scanned the surroundings. Something was going to happen, and he knew it, he knew something was wrong, or perhaps something was...out of place ; He heard it before he saw it : a carriage approaching you two, and fast, too fast and way too close. The man did not waste any time, he grabbed your waist and tried pulling you out of harm's way “My lady watch out!” You barely registered Sebastian's words and touch before you heard a loud *CRASH!* and your consciousness was suddenly cut short

. . .

“...l...dy...m....” huh? is someone calling me? I can't see or feel anything... where am I? “my l...y” ...that voice? Is it...?? “ughhh...Sebastian?” “My lady! Are you feeling alright? Do you have any injuries?” “No, no I'm okay...where...are we though?” “That I'm afraid I can't answer. Strangely enough, I myself lost consciousness and woke up moments before you. Though you probably feel, we're in a quite cramped place” “hm...” Your hands came to feel around you, knocking on the walls that engulfed both you and Sebastian “It's wood...where the hell are we? Moreover, can you get us out?” You felt him nod his head against your cheek “It shouldn't be a problem, but first, do I get your permission to try and listen to any sounds coming from outside?” “You can” You felt him shift slightly so he could be in your place, his hands were tight on your waist and the only thing you could make out of his form were his glowing red eyes that, for the very first time in your life, you saw having a tint of uncertainty in them. You couldn't blame him, when you heard he also lost consciousness it was clear something weird was going on. If this was enough to give Sebastian a hard time, then you fucked up real bad. You felt him shift again : “I can barely hear anything. I have no choice but to break it” “H-hold on now! What if there are people outside?!” Your hand grabbed his arm in a tight grip and you heard him chuckle, low and amused “Come now little lady — his hand came to rest on yours — when have you heard of me being outnumbered? Did you forget? I'm your butler. And if I'll let something bad happen to you then I'm not worth my salt at all” Your eyes narrowed, though you couldn't see, you practically felt his smug smile directed at you “ughh...fine! But don't be a brute! ...for now at least...” Sebastian laughed “As you wish, my lady” You tried backing up against the wall behind you to shield yourself from the impact. You felt Sebastian's elbow right next to your cheek before a very loud smash, and the front of the cramped room fell on the floor

“What is this?!” Sebastian's voice rang through your ears before stepping next to him. The place before you was grand. A dark room with big windows, in the middle of it was a small fountain and on top of it rested a huge mirror, dark and empty. But the weirdest thing in this room was the floating coffins that were surrounding the walls and the many people wearing robes watching from the end of it. “Coffins...Were we in a coffin just now?! What- hey! Where are we?!” Coming closer to Sebastian, his whole body shielded you to prevent any unexpected attacks. His eyes scanned the room, but outside the shiny windows, not one glimpse was familiar to him “Already out of your coffins? My, you two must be some impatient gals” Standing before you, a black haired man with a bird-like mask was looking at you both with a curious yet neutral face, “Who the hell are you?!” Trying to get closer to the mysterious person, he took a step back while Sebastian grabbed your arm in an attempt to hold you back “Calm yourself — his lips came close to your ears, whispering in a commanding tone — we can't take action until we know for sure where are we and who are these people” Looking at you trough narrowed eyes, Sebastian managed to make you stay put, and angrily sighing trough your nose, you took a step back. “Forgive my lady's poor manners. If you don't mind answering, would you tell us where exactly we are? And why?” The man blinked twice, surprised by the butler's gentle and calm tone opposed to the one he used earlier but answered anyway : “Why? Well that's an easy answer! — his lips formed a giddy smile — You both are here because you were chosen!” Tilting his head in confusion, Sebastian looked at the man signaling him to continue and satisfy the rest of his questions “You are at the very prestigious Arcane Academy Night Raven Collage! A collage where talented mages from all around come to learn and control their magic!”

The surprise on your face wasn't missed “... magic?? L-like the-the characters from books? Magic??” The masked man nodded eagerly “You're here because the dark mirror has recognized both of your talents for magic! Has a carriage not come to pick you up and transport you here?” Sebastian's eyes widded for a slight moment before meeting yours, all of what happened suddenly making sense. You stepped from the spot behind him and tried to reason “But this doesn't make any sense! We can't be here! Not one of us...not one of us can use magic! We're just normal people!” “...But that's simply not possible!...” Along with the masked voice, murmurs erupted from all around, clearly what you call 'normal' as in 'you have no magic' was considered anything but in this place. Sebastian's voice made its way over all the chatter “Could you please send us back? We need to go back home” “Oh of course of course! — the masked man hurriedly came to guide you in front of the giant mirror — I don't know how the dark mirror could make such a mistake!” He stopped in front of it and raised his hands against it “O Dark Mirror! Please guide these souls back to where they belong!” Silence. You and Sebastian looked into the dark mirror and then at each other. Moments passed and a face appeared into it, making you stumble back in surprise. The face looked at both of your expressions, then — “Nowhere. There is nowhere where these souls belong. There's no place for the soul who is guided by hunger, the soul that has no purpose, the one who has not allegiance to life nor death, born by curse and bind by contract. There is no place for the soul that was once clean and now binds the mark of a darkness unknown, a soul that is slowly consumed by the emptiness surrounding it. There is no place where these souls shall return!”

Silence. Nowhere...? You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out of it. The murmurs stopped, no one moved, yet before anyone said anything you still were the one to break the ice : “W-wait a second now...this doesn't make any sense! If that place doesn't exist then how in the world could that carriage find us in the first place?!” “Then may I ask what place you come from exactly?” Before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your shoulders, “London, we come from a place called London” The masked man put a finger on his chin, thinking “London...I've never heard of such a place” “!?...” “You two, are you perhaps lying to me?” “No of course not! Why would we lie- ” “MYAHAHA HERE I COME!” Before you gave another try at reasoning, one of the grand windows broke, revealing a little creature who got inside. A gray fluffy creature, its eyes were blue, and accompanying the color of them was also the strong and bright blue flames coming out of its ears. The tail also having an odd form, a pitchfork, darker than the color of the gray fur and white tummy. “I heard everything you said out there! And if they can't come to this school then I'll take their place instead!” “How cute, he has a little bow attached to him” A light chuckle was heard from next to you, Sebastian's cheeks had a slight blush to them...ah, he's already lost... “I am the great Grim! And I'm here to take a place at this school and become the greatest mage in the world!” At the monster's words, laughter from all around was heard. Oh? Could he not do that? You felt a bit sorry for him“Q-quit laughing you! If that's how you'll act then so be it! I'll show you what I'm capable of!” “H-hold on there! First you crash our ceremony then-” But the masked man didn't get to finish his sentence, for before he could say anything else, the little beast inhaled hard and let out a big wall of blue fire engulfing the whole room“Careful my lady!” Sebastian jumped back to a safer place holding you tight, but then suddenly your vision got blurry, the screams of the people rushing outside to escape the flames and Sebastian's figure were incomprehensive. Feeling your form getting lighter on his side, Sebastian took a glance at you, his reaction instantaneous“My lady! What's wrong?!” But you barely heard those words. Black and white little spots filled your vision, and for a moment you couldn't hear anything. Then all of a sudden—

. . .

“GRAAAAAHHHHHH!!!” There was a roar, one so strong it shook the earth. Ruins were all around. The windows, all broken, the floor was all cracked, black and sticky ooze coming out of it, as if waiting for an opportunity to strike and corrupt you. The majesty that was once this room was gone, replaced by a dreadful sight, a wasteland with no way to save it. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw were the flames. No corner of this room remained untouched by them, the one who did it had truly no pity. Looking closer, you saw them, a pair of eyes, that at first look seemed so full of anger, but you saw it, there deep in them, a sense of hesitance and fear. These eyes belonged to a beast, such a large beast that even if you'd tilt your head up you'd have no success in seeing all of it. He roared again and for a split second you saw something with the corner of your eye before you were blown back. People. People in black robes, the faces they bore could not be seen, as they were cloaked by a dark hood. And the robes... surrounded by all these ruins they remained untouched, brand new. You wonder if these people would be able to save it. They shout, something, but you couldn't make anything of it. You couldn't see them anymore, you couldn't see anything nor could you hear, no more shouting and no more roaring, only whispers, tiny ones : ... don't let go... don't let go...take it...take the hand...take it... don't let go...

Time was short, make it longer, save them, don't let go, take it... DO NOT LET GO OF THAT HAND!

. . .

“My lady! Can you hear me?” The first thing you heard was his voice, you blinked, once, twice, the third time was the first time you tried to escape, but a strong hold held you from moving “My lady. Relax, it's me! I'm not trying to hurt you” Your rapid breathing didn't go unnoticed by your butler, and he was quick to help you calm down. Your senses slowly came back, and before you knew it, the fire disappeared, and in its place, the beast who once caused it stood on the floor, a beautiful and elegant heart shaped collar adorning his neck. In front of him stood a boy, his robe was untouched, as if he didn't walk through those flames at all. He pointed something that seemed like a pen at the beast : “Interrupting our ceremony and then making a mess of the Mirror Chamber? Such a rule breaker has no place here!” “My, my would you look at that? You could always count on Riddle-san to make a good show” “*yawn* Yeah, yeah I just want this to be over so I can take a nap” “Really now, is that all you think about? How unbecoming of a housewarden” The voices you heard were muffled, still recovering from earlier, you barely could register the red haired boy coming closer to you. Sebastian's hand was steady on your side, straightening up, he looked the boy in the eye, waiting for him to see what he would do. He came and pointed his pen at the butler “And you two! Getting out of your coffins earlier then disturbing the ceremony is unacceptable! I'll have your heads as punishment! OFF WITH—” “Now now Mr. Rosehearts, let's calm ourselves” The masked man quickly came to put a reassuring hand on the boy “I will see to these two, so could you please go and handle our furry friend over there?” The boy's lips turned into a pout and he frowned, clearly displeased, but obeyed anyway “Yes, headmage” And turning on his heels, he disappeared. “Now that that's been taken care of. What shall we do with you?” “Excuse my boldness, but may I perhaps ask if you are so kind to see us to a place where we can rest? My lady doesn't feel really well and she needs to sleep to get her energy back” Taken aback by Sebastian's request, the headmage blinked and smiled graciously “Why yes of course! And I have the perfect place where you can stay! After all I am but so kind! Come along!” Before following the headmage's steps, Sebastian looked at you, “Can you walk?” You nodded tiredly and let the butler guide you after the man's steps

After a while of walking, all three of you were in front of an old and rusty gate, and behind the gate, rested a building that could be called a ruin with the state it was in “It has quite the... character” The masked man took Sebastian's words as a compliment and nodded eagerly “Isn't it? Come now let's get inside, I can feel the raindrops starting to fall” By the time you got inside, you could hear the droplets of rain gently hitting the windows inside the lounge “Now I know it's not the prettiest building but it can shelter you from the rain and wind just fine” Sebastian bowed in gratitude “It is more than enough, thank you” Your eyes darted to the space around you, not failing to notice the moldy wall corners and the dusty old furniture that looked like it hasn't been used in centuries. And that damned laugh— wait...laugh? ...hehe...hehe...hehe... The sinister laugh sounded from all around before you noticed a light circling you, and before you knew it, it took a physical form “Welcome to our castle!” and it disappeared “Wha- huh??? What was that??” “Ah yes I forgot to tell you : in this dorm some ghosts have taken residence” “A what now????” Looking above you at the ceiling, two more lights in addition to the first one circled around before taking the form of three ghosts in all shapes and forms “Welcome welcome you two! We haven't had visitors in such a long time” “We hope you'll make yourself at home” The ghost started laughing and playing all about in hopes of spooking you, Sebastian, quickly realizing their plan, chuckled himself “Why thank you gentlemen. We do hope we won't bother you much with our presence” The ghost's shenanigans came to a stop when they realized they couldn't shake Sebastian, so they tipped their hat and disappeared into the walls “Well now that those are gone, Sebastian! Get to clean—” “Now hold on I'm not done talking” “Aren't you?” “While I do intend to let you stay here free of charge I won't allow one of you to slack off while I'll research a way to get you both home. You'll have to earn money for your food and clothes after all, no?” “But how are we supposed to do that? Our belongings disappeared into thin air!” “I'm sure there's something you can have us do — Sebastian's hands crossed on his chest — can't you think about something?” The man put a hand on his chin thinking, then, as if a lightbulb appeared on his head, his eyes lit up. He must've found a solution “I have just the thing! How about you do odd jobs around the campus? For every thing you do I will pay you money! How does that sound?” Before you could give the rotten bird a piece of his mind Sebastian opened his mouth before you “That sounds perfect Mr...hm..., I don't think we got your name, did we?” “Ah! Where are my manners! With all that was going on I completely forgot! I am the headmage of this school, my name is Dire Crowley. And you gentlemen are?” Before you could get a sound out, Sebastian pulled you closer and whispered into your ear : “I do not recommend you telling your real name my lady. We do not know anything about these people, saying your real name could cause problems” You gave him a hesitant look before sighing “My name is...Yuu, the name's Yuu. And this is my personal butler, Sebastian. It's nice to meet you, headmage” “The pleasure is all mine, Yuu, Sebastian! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to go back to the mirror chamber, I'll see you tomorrow, I bid you two goodnight!” He waved you merrily and before you knew it you were left alone in the run-down building

Later that night, you and Sebastian ditched your jackets, leaving them on a chair, leaving him in his waist coat and shirt and you in your shirt only, while the pants were uncomfortable to sleep in, it was better than nothing. “This was literally the last thing I needed! One second I walk on a crosswalk to my own home and the next I'm being transported into another world! How ridiculous!” Sebastian chuckled at your complaint while pouring tea in a new tea set found by the ghosts in the dorm's kitchen. He turned to you and handed you the cup “Such negative thinking. Well, look at the bright side, at least this dorm is more organized than the apartment I found you in when you summoned me” You rolled your eyes at his smirk and drank the tea

After drinking it, you sat on the bed looking at the ceiling before your eyes darted at the butler, watching him cleaning the tea set “I can feel you staring. Can't you sleep?” A slight blush coated your cheeks “...no” He chuckled at you before turning and coming to sit at the edge of the bed, his hand finding its way into your hair, petting it gently “A grown woman and yet you still need me to do this in order for you to fall asleep. How troublesome” You scoffed and rolled over, his hand still petting you “Stay here until I fall asleep... it's an order” “Well, if my lady wishes me to do so I shall comply” You concentrated on the feeling of him petting you, and the last thing you heard before falling asleep was him blowing out the candles

Sebastian looked down at you. What a soft expression you bare, you feel safe with him here don't you? Such a troublesome and dangerous decision you made now, it almost made him laugh out loud. You're so relaxed with him here, in an unknown world full of strangers and yet if it wasn't for that covenant you wore he won't think twice about taking your soul, your soul that shined so bright all for him. Yet he smiled, what was he to do with you? He will admit he was curious about the mysteries of this unknown world and perhaps he'll get something at the end of this too. He turned his head to the window, the moonlight illuminating his face through the drape gaps, eyes glowing red with satisfaction, he smiled,

He can't wait for tomorrow

© writingbluerose 2025

[dovesdreaming]

Beyond the scrubs

Summary: Alex karev is dating an attending (reader) in secret until he can’t take the hiding anymore.

A/n: I’ve forgot to say on my other posts but thank you for 300 followers (now more) <3

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: talk of injuries

-

It started as a fling-no promises, no complications, just a way to blow off steam during the long, grueling hours at Seattle Grace. Alex Karev wasn’t the type to settle down, and you weren’t the type to let yourself get caught up in messy entanglements. You were both driven, ambitious, and in control. At least, that’s what you told yourselves. The on-call room was your safe haven, the place where you could steal moments together, away from prying eyes and the judgmental whispers that filled the hospital corridors. Late at night, when the rest of the world was sleeping, you’d find each other in the dimly lit room, the only sounds being the hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of scrubs.

“Hey, you” you whispered as you slipped into the room, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. Alex was already there, leaning against the wall with that familiar smirk that always made your stomach flutter. “Hey yourself” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “Long night?”. “Isn’t it always?” You sighed, walking over to him. The stress of the day seemed to melt away the moment you were in his arms, your bodies fitting together perfectly. You kissed, slowly at first, savoring the few minutes you had together. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was part of it. There was something more between you both, something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit.

As you pulled away, you looked into Alex’s eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. “We need to be careful” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “If anyone finds out…” “I know” Alex cut you off, his tone more serious now. “But I don’t want to stop”. “Neither do I” you admitted, your resolve wavering. “But we both know how it’ll look. I’m an attending, and you’re… well, you”. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor”. Alex quipped, his smirk returning, but there was a tension in his jaw that you didn’t miss. Your expression softened, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re a damn good doctor, Alex. One of the best. But people talk, and the last thing I want is for anyone to think you’re getting special treatment because of… this”.

Alex’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I know I’ve earned my place here. And so do you”. His words sent a warmth through you and you found herself smiling despite the situation. “You’re right” you said softly. “We’ll just have to be smart about it”. “Yeah, smart” Alex echoed, though there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he was already planning on breaking that rule.

As the weeks went by, you managed to keep your relationship under wraps. You were careful. No stolen glances during rounds, no lingering touches in the halls. But there were moments when the facade almost slipped, when Alex’s hand would brush against yours, or when you would catch yourself watching him a little too intently as he worked.

It was during a particularly stressful day in the ER that you had your first real scare. A trauma case had come in, a young boy, barely ten, with a gunshot wound to the chest. It was all hands on deck, and the pressure was palpable as the team worked to stabilize him. Alex was in the thick of it, his hands steady as he assisted Dr. Bailey with the surgery. You watched from the sidelines, your heart in her throat as you fought to save the boy’s life. When it was finally over, and the boy was stable, the tension broke like a dam, relief flooding the room. “Good work, Karev” Bailey said gruffly, her way of acknowledging a job well done. Alex nodded, pulling off his gloves and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. As he turned to leave, he caught your eye. For a split second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, the intensity of the moment pulling them together like a magnet. Without thinking, Alex reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture that was too familiar, too intimate for the public setting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly pulled away, your eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Dr. Bailey’s sharp gaze was on you both, and you felt a pang of panic. But before she could say anything, Bailey turned away, muttering something about paperwork and leaving the room.

“Close call” Alex murmured as you walked out of the OR, his voice laced with a mix of relief and amusement. “Too close” you replied, your pulse still racing. “We have to be more careful, Alex. If Bailey had said something..” “But she didn’t,” Alex interrupted, his expression serious. “Look, I get it. We have to keep this quiet. But I’m not going to act like I don’t care about you. Not in here” he gestured to the hallway around them, “and not out there”. You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had to keep your distance, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a determination there, a certainty that you couldn’t deny. So instead, you nodded, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

It was a few weeks later when everything came to a head. You’d been playing the game for so long, sneaking around, keeping your relationship hidden, that it was starting to wear on both of you. Alex was growing more frustrated, his usual bravado masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface. You too were feeling the strain, the constant fear of being discovered gnawing at your nerves. The final straw came during a particularly hectic day in the clinic. Alex had been working nonstop, dealing with a never ending stream of patients, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. You wanted to reach out, to offer him a moment of comfort, but there were too many eyes, too many people who could see.

And then it happened.

One of the other attendings, Dr. Stevens, made a comment, a casual remark about how Alex was getting all the best cases, how he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. It was said in jest, but the implication was clear: favoritism. You felt your stomach drop, the color draining from your face as the words hung in the air. You waited for Alex to brush it off, to let it slide like he usually did. But instead, he snapped.

“Maybe I get the best cases because I’m a damn good doctor” Alex retorted, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Or is that too hard for you to believe?”. The room went silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. You could see the shock on everyone’s faces, the way they exchanged glances, as if suddenly realizing there was more going on than they’d thought. Dr. Stevens opened his mouth to respond, but Alex didn’t give him the chance. “You know what? Screw this. Yeah, I’m seeing Dr. Y/L/N We’ve been together for a while now. And it’s got nothing to do with my work. So if anyone’s got a problem with that, say it now”.

Your heart stopped, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just done. Alex had just blown your cover, exposed your relationship to the entire room. But as you looked at him, standing there with that defiant look in his eyes, you realised something. You didn’t care. You weren’t ashamed of what you had, and you weren’t going to let anyone make you feel like you should be. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your voice steady as you spoke. “Alex is right. Our relationship is personal, and it has no bearing on the work we do here. If anyone has a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

There was a murmur of surprise, but no one challenged you. Dr. Stevens, for his part, looked chastened, muttering an apology under his breath. As the room slowly returned to its usual hum of activity, Alex turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Yeah” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m sure”.

And just like that, the secret was out. It wasn’t easy, and there were still challenges to face. Whispers in the halls, disapproving looks from some of your colleagues but you faced it together, no longer hiding, no longer pretending. Because in the end, it wasn’t about what anyone else thought. It was about the connection you shared, the trust you had in each other. And that was something worth owning, something worth fighting for.

-

Thank you for reading <3

[holybibly]

ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 |𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔫 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯| 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ

♡ Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ♡ Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ♡ Word Count: 6.6k ♡ Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ ♡ WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. ♡A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide. 

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling. 

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before. 

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside. 

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds. 

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left.   "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom. 

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you. 

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome." 

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ❧ ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ

[rivalsispunk]

Driving Miss Crazy (Chapter 3 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mentions of male orgasm, pussy pronouns, Tony being a grot, more warnings added per chapter.

Word count: 5.5k !!!

Chapter summary: Working alongside you proves far more difficult for Declan than he anticipated and you're noticing that your handsome, moustached boss is getting a bit antsy.

A/N: This is a chonky chapter!! But hopefully it is well worth the wait. I am livingggggg for tortured Declan and him not being able to keep himself together. As usual, proofread but can't promise clean edits. Enjoy!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Three: Driving Miss Crazy

Your Vauxhall Cavalier’s steering wheel is slick with sweat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t end up with blisters on your palms from how tight you’re gripping the leather as you make the short drive from your flat to Corinium for your first day as Declan’s assistant. You hadn’t laid eyes on him since you fled the hot tub several days ago, save for watching his show on Thursday evening, brittle embarrassment nestled in your bones after your late-night encounter. Though Taggie’s snoring subsided when you both returned to bed, you were kept awake for hours at the thought of another O’Hara. The finger of whiskey you’d downed buzzed through your veins. Still, Declan’s bourbon-brown eyes boring into yours over the glass seemed to have intoxicated you further to the point where you were unable to close your eyes without seeing his moustache quivering over a miniscule smile. 

Though you were up before the birds the following morning, Declan had already made for Corinium, his Mini Clubman Estate already gone from the drive. It was purposeful, his early leave. After you’d escaped back upstairs with his daughter the night before, he’d made his way to his office, polished off his bottle of whiskey and shamelessly fucked his hand to the image of your lithe legs stretched over the hot tub, and the echo of you promising him you could handle it. The moment he spilled himself over his fist was the moment the mortification consumed him. Mortified at himself for disrespecting his albeit fragmented marriage like that. For disrespecting you like that, and he couldn’t bear to run into you in The Priory’s kitchen the next day and pretend like he hadn’t done so. Luckily for him, you didn’t cross paths all weekend either, thanks to being off shopping for workwear with Taggie, just as he’d requested. Being privy to your usual everyday attire and how uncomfortable you seemed in Maud’s clothing was the only thing keeping Declan from pulling the plug on your hiring. He knew you’d opt for something no-fuss. Conservative, even. Something that would keep his regretful, wandering eye at bay. He just didn’t expect you to make conservative look so fucking sexy.

“Knock, knock,” you greet him, materialising in his office’s doorway. You’re dressed head-to-toe in black: black wide-leg trousers, matching blazer and black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt stamped with the band’s trademark logo. Your hair falls in loose waves, and you’ve accessorised with black pumps, and a megawatt smile lined with crimson red lipstick.

Declan’s breathing hitches. He never stood a bloody chance.

Despite the awkward note you ended your last encounter on, you bury the uneasy feeling as you step into your new boss’ quarters. “Is that mine?” You gesture to where Declan had Seb set up a desk for you in the far corner. He naively thought it would be more efficient to have you work from his office than out on the floor with the rest of the staff, but his cock throbbing against the inside of his zipper now said otherwise.

“Er, no,” Declan says, scrubbing at his freshly shaven jaw. “That’s just—it’s not… I was just trying something out. Redecorating, or something.”

He keeps bumbling excuses while he ushers you out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a desk that clearly belongs to someone else, littered with spreadsheet papers stained with coffee cup rings.

“You can set up here. I’ll have a couple tasks for you soon. I just need to take care of a few things first,” Declan snipes, stalking back to his office before you can get a word in. You tail him, his pert arse in his slacks barely a blip on your radar.

“Are you alright?” you question, your mind straying to the hot tub.

“Yeah, fine. Just grand,” Declan feigns, refusing to meet your eye while he pretends to busy himself with tidying his desk.

“Can I get you anything?” 

A new assistant. “Just a coffee. Black, one sugar. Thanks.”

You can hear Tony Baddingham’s scaly laugh all the way down the hall as you return to Declan’s office. The Corinium director is sprawled out in his chair while his star talent leans against the window frame, cigarette hanging idly from his lips.

“Ah, hello again,” Tony croons your name and you recoil at the sound of it on his tongue. You can feel his eyes trained on your body as you cross the room and place Declan’s coffee beside him on the window sill. He doesn’t thank you, just grunts around his durry. It pisses you off. If he’s uncomfortable around you after what happened at The Priory, so be it. But you’re being professional. Would it kill him to do the same?

You turn your attention back to Tony. “Lord Baddingham. How are you?”

“Better now,” he confesses, rising from Declan’s seat. His stature is imposing as he moves around the desk towards you until you have to tip your head back to look up at him. “It’s good to see Declan made the right decision with his assistant. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you’d wear something a little more like what you had on the last time we met.” He edges closer to Declan, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow like they’re sharing an inside joke. “A little less Boy George, if you know what I’m saying?” Tony chuckles like he’s just cracked the world’s most hilarious one liner. Your tongue burns to scold him. If it were a grimy git at the local pub who had tried that, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him where to shove it. While Tony Baddingham was a grimy git and then some, he was also the one to sign off on your future paychecks. So, an obligatory smile will have to do.

Declan isn’t as forgiving. “It’s not a fucking fashion show, Tony,” he snaps.  “She’s here to do research, not walk a bloody runway.” 

“And I don’t disagree with you, Declan, but this is my station, she’s my staff and I’m telling her to wear something more appealing. Just like what you wore to your interview. Now, that,” he leers down at you, and you wonder if he can see the fury buzzing through you. “That was something.” 

“Alright, Tony, that’s enough.” Declan flicks his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and steps between you and Baddingham. He keeps his eyes on you over Declan’s shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Declan squares his shoulders, jutting his head toward the door — a silent instruction to his superior. “I’ll see to her, okay?”

As Tony moves out of your immediate vicinity, his gaze rolls down your entire frame before huffing a one syllable laugh. “I’m sure you will,” he tells Declan, then: “My office. Five minutes. Cameron has some evil genius plan for ratings.”

You spend the better part of the morning waiting, making yourself a coffee, then waiting again for Declan to reappear from Tony’s office. He’s yet to return by half-eleven, at which point you stalk back into his office to make yourself at least somewhat busy. You begin emptying his ashtray and clearing his desk of empty coffee cups (and the occasional whiskey glass) before making a start on organising the tree of papers scattered across the rich timber. Half word-processed, the majority strewn with Declan’s skittish handwriting. At the bottom of the mess is some semblance of a to-do list with bullet points in no rational order.

Research agriculture.

Follow up Rupert Campbell-Black wife.

Lunch. Sinister.

Details. Westland. Michael Heseltine.

You doubt Declan has time to even touch any of those tasks with him being MIA all morning, so you park yourself in his desk chair and get to work.

“If I didn’t love this bloody job so much, I’d have half the mind to quit.” The string of Irish twang startles you from your notepad, and Declan appears equally as surprised to see you perched in his place. With a furrow in his brow, he scans the room. “You cleaned up?” He can’t recall a time his office had been as tidy.

“Thought I’d better make myself busy,” you tell him, popping up from the leather seat with your notes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a few calls based on your to-do list. No answer from the former Mrs Campbell-Black but I might’ve got somewhere with the Westland research.” You tilt the yellow paper pad in Declan’s direction, thrusting it into his hands despite the scepticism that paints his face. You chew the inside of your cheek while he reviews your notes, only stopping when he looks at you blankly. You can’t tell whether he’s going to thank you for your patience or fire you for sifting through his things.

“You did this? Today?”

You nod.

“Christ almighty. What on earth have I done without you all this time?” 

You grin, warmth flooding through you with the inadvertent praise. “Suffered?” you jest.

“I’m afraid suffering is part and parcel of the job,” Declan counters, not mentioning how much suffering is ahead for him with you now a part of his team. “You should head home. It’s getting late.” He looks at the window, where the late winter sun has set.

“I was always told to never leave before your boss.” “Darlin’, if that was the case, you’d be here ‘til morning. So, go on,” he swats at your arm with the notepad. “Get home.”

Without another word, you gather up your things — not much, a water bottle and small assortment of pens scattered across Declan’s desk — and throw a small bye in your boss’ direction.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” Declan calls after you. “He was bang out of order.”

You swivel, lean up against the doorframe.“And if he barges in again demanding I wear something more likely to land me on the cover of Playboy?”

A glimmer of you in black garters and barely there lingerie snaps through Declan’s brain. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Your arms fold across you. You had a point, and Declan knew it. Tony would have every woman in this office under the age of forty strutting around in nothing but heels and a thong if he could. 

“I’ll deal with him,” the Irishman settles on. He’s rather you covered up for him than dressed down for someone else. “You have my word.”

You bid Declan goodnight with one final, tight-lipped smile, offering the same to Deirdre and Daisy on your way to the elevator.

Outside, the sky is littered with stars, though their brightness is dulled by the stadium-worthy fluorescent lights beaming down on the carpark. There are far fewer cars left in the lot than there were this morning, so you make a beeline across the concrete to where your plum-coloured Vauxhall is sat on the outskirts. You savour the tiny bit of warmth the cab has preserved over the day as you shove the key into the ignition and—

Nothing.

You turn the key over again and get nothing but a singular clank from somewhere under the hood in return.

You try three more times only to get the same result.

Shit. 

You scan the carpark for someone who might be able to help but at this time of night, the chances are slim. Sliding out from your seat, you round the front of your car and unclip the hood, though you have zero clue what exactly it is you’re looking at. You didn’t grow up with a father who’d taught you how to refill your oil or check for leaks. You don’t think you ever saw him with a tool in his hand once. Your parents always sent away for things to get fixed and now, you were cursing them for not imparting an integral practical life skill on you.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Jesus Christ!” Your hand flies to your heart as Declan falls into position next to you. “You really need to stop doing that.”

A chuckle wracks through him, his shoulder jostling up against yours. “Car troubles?”

“I think it’s carked it. The ignition won’t turn over.”

“Shove over.” He motions for you to step aside, handing you his briefcase as you comply. A few minutes pass as Declan jostles metal pipes and knocks his knuckles against others, black grease working its way onto his skin. Eventually he steps back and pushes the hood closed with a clatter.

“Yeah, she’s knackered,” he declares, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Grab your things. I’ll drive you home tonight.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking favours on my first day,” you mutter, thanking Declan for what feels like the tenth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting in his Clubman.

“You’re not askin’. I’m offerin’,” he tells you without taking his eyes off the road. You study him as he drives, all stoic and permanently etched with determination. His knuckles are white as large hands grip the steering wheel, silver wedding band glinting under the streetlights. In the small confines of the car, Declan’s overwhelmed by the soft jasmine scent of your perfume. It reminds him of a breeze through a sunlit garden in summer — fresh, but warm. Inviting, even, making him want to pull over and nuzzle into the crook of your neck so he drowns in it. He clears his throat as the need sets in, filing through his thoughts for something to distract him.

“Your family visit you much?” is what he decides on when he realises he knows little to nothing about you.

“Not at all,” you tell him, a sad laugh tumbling out after your admission. “My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a psychologist, so they don’t really get much time away. When they do, they’d rather jet off to Spain or Greece or somewhere equally as picturesque.”

“You’re joking.” Declan’s disbelief tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You, coming from the likes of Baddingham and Co?” He had a hard time placing you within the wealth of the city. You were just so humble. So grounded.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, kind of.” “Don’t hold it against me.”

Hold your parents against you? No. Though there were other things that could tempt Declan if he just let himself go.

“But you’re so…” He steals a peek at you, then back to the road, considering his words.

“Go on, I can take it,” you say, anticipating a verbal blow.

I bet you can, he shamelessly admits to himself. Then, out loud: “You’re just not an arsehole, that’s all. Rich folk are usually right pricks.”

You can attest to that. Your parents easily fall into that category. “That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And you don’t have a boyfriend? No uppity intellectual waiting for ya back in the city?” Declan doesn’t know why he asks. You’ve not sent away for anybody, not that he would’ve noticed, but he was sure he’d have heard about a boyfriend in all the hours you spent at The Priory.

“Not anymore.” You say quietly, trilling over the dry skin peeling away at your thumb. Not anymore. Your admission shouldn’t send Declan’s pulse galloping like a racehorse. 

You continue to divulge about Samuel, who you’d met in your second year media law lecture at university.. “His ego didn’t allow for two smart people in the relationship. You know, he told me that my intelligence is what drew him to me in the first place, but turns out he couldn’t handle it in the long run. Everything became a competition and it rotted our relationship from the inside out.”

“Hope you sent him packing.”

You shake your head. “He cut me loose, can you believe it? Got the shits when I got the internship at The Times over him.” As you roll over the hill leading to the village, the Clubman splutters when Declan changes gear, masking the fucking idiot that falls from his lips. How could any man not want you? The notion was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Boys never know what they want,” Declan imparts.

A scoff scratches your throat. “What, and men do?”

You have Declan on that one. He glances at you in the passenger seat, then thinks of the years’ old snapshot of Maud that lives in his wallet.

No, no they don’t.

“I’m just up here on the left.” You gesture to the strip of shops on the left a few moments later. Declan pulls the Clubman to the curb and flicks the engine off. He arches over the steering wheel to get a look at your building through the windscreen, scepticism colouring his features. 

“You live in the butcher’s?”

“I live above the butcher’s.”

“Must smell like a slaughterhouse in there.” 

“Sometimes. It’s not all bad. The man who runs it, Mr Green, gives me a discount on meat. Chucks in a few extra sausages free of charge.”

“Free sausages, eh? Living the life.”

“Well, they’re Lincolnshire, so I’ll say.” That earns a chuckle from your boss, followed by a too right in agreement. You click off your seatbelt and gather your bag in your lap. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate it, Declan.”

“No bother. I’ll swing past in the morning and pick you up.”

You rear back at his offer. “You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi. Catch the bus.”

“The buses around here are as late as a pregnant woman’s period. Taxi will cost you a small fortune. I’ll pick you up.” There’s no room for discussion or pushback as the Clubman roars back to life. “Seven forty-five, alright?”

Declan wasn’t expecting to have a heart attack before eight AM the following morning, nor was he expecting you to heed Tony’s suggestion, when you step out from your flat in a skirt that cuts mid-thigh, sheer tights and a skin-tight red turtleneck sweater, paired with knee-high black boots. You won’t lie: complying with Tony’s request made your skin itch, but you had a job to do, and you couldn’t do it with Tony constantly breathing down your neck. Declan’s eyes trail over the sheen of your thighs when you slide into the Mini, mouth going dry at the view. He’s about to chide you, make a comment about you already bowing down to the big boss. Then you bring up Michael Heseltine and the Westland notes again, offering your thoughts, and he’s taken again by how fucking clever you are. He can practically hear the cogs in your brain working as he drives you both to Corinium. You sing along to Paul Simon and Heart between ideas, your manicured nails thrumming on your knee in time to the music. 

Declan tells you he’s organised for your car to be towed and fixed up by a local mechanic — a friend who owes me a favour, he says when you protest — and that the work will take a couple of weeks. And so, Tuesday marks the first time in a long time that Declan consistently leaves the office at a reasonable hour, and driving you quickly becomes his favourite part of his days. The pair of you chat about everything under the sun, from your upbringings — you in upper class London and he in backwoods Ireland — to your favourite musicians — George Michael for you, Nat King Cole for him. You don’t ask about Maud and Declan makes no mention of her either, diverting the conversation when anything rears too close to their relationship. He’d much rather talk about his kids; complimenting Taggie’s cooking and homeliness, repeating some crazy story he’d heard from Caitlin when she’d called from boarding school, or bragging about Patrick’s accolades at university. While he was certainly stubborn and sometimes cold, Declan’s love for his children pared all of that back, revealing a proud and honest father. It was one of, if not, your favourite thing about him.

The two weeks your car was in the shop went by too fast for either of your liking, the drives to and from Corinium just not quite feeling right without the other. Your perfume lingers in the Mini, the result of your constant presence, every bit of you woven into the fabric of the seats. If Declan just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, it’s like you’re still right there next to him, humming along to the radio or trying to pitch him wild guests for his show. You miss his dorky dad jokes, and Declan misses you giggling at them, your laugh a melody that warmed him from the inside out. You were still at The Priory often enough, helping Taggie prepare catering or the two of you lounging about watching Four Men Went To Mow, but it wasn’t the same for Declan. He much preferred having you to himself. 

While you became more comfortable with each other outside of hours, you and Declan also settled into a rhythm in the office. You fed off one another’s creativity, bolstering ideas and show notes until they were airtight. It only took a week for Declan to relent and set you up at the spare desk. It was easier having you nearby rather than constantly moving between his office whenever you had something to add to your findings. You’d also kept up your more put-together wardrobe; tight skirts, and blouses, and high heels. Not that Declan was complaining, but it made his life just that little bit harder, made him more than a little hot under the collar, whenever you bent over to retrieve a box of files or leaned over his desk to show him some of your findings.

There was a lot you loved about your job — the ability to ogle Declan across his office being up there — but you lived for Thursday nights when Declan’s show aired. Watching it from home on your TV set was one thing, but seeing it unfold live in the studio was beyond your imagination. It was incredible seeing your work behind the scenes put into action, and it was made all the better by Declan; always charismatic, stern and unwavering when the time called for it. He was magic, and no matter how hard you tried, you never could seem to wipe the grin off your face while you stood watching on the sidelines, and Declan loved to see it whenever he glanced in your direction. 

It was rare, unheard of, even, for someone to receive praise from Declan, the journalist’s standards so high that he rarely found anyone who could meet them. But somehow, you did. Your research was thorough, always annotated with further notes and references. You weren’t afraid to get on the phones and track down sources. His show, already a success, was made infinitely better by your addition. Not to mention, your coffee was fantastic. Not even in twenty years of marriage had Maud managed to perfect his preference. Still, he rarely raised his satisfaction with you, a simple good or thanks sufficing. No, he saved his satisfaction for moments he was alone. He’d officially given up willing his throbbing cock to flaccidity when thoughts of you creeped in during the quiet hours, allowing himself the quick gratification before the shame set in.

About a month into your tenure at Corinium, Declan was in a foul pit of a mood. He’d barged into his office already on the warpath. He barked orders at you and spent the better part of the morning criticising an upcoming guest, when he’d spent the previous day praising him. He even had you remake his coffee four times after complaints that it was too sweet or too cold or some other ridiculous excuse, despite making it the same way you did everyday. By the time four PM rolled around, you could count on one hand the times Declan had actually looked at you, each time egged on by a scowl. In your short time at the company, and with Taggie’s advice, you’d learned to let your boss be when the stress of the job got to him. Even if you’d built enough rapport to tell him to pull his head in.

It wasn’t until you were leaving for the day that Declan spoke to you without a growl in his voice. “You did grand today,” he says, the comment shocking you as you stood up from your seat. “I know I’ve been an arse all day. I’m sorry. You did a fantastic job, really.” His dark features were soft as he peered up at you from his desk.

“Mr O’Hara, are you paying me a compliment?” You feign shock, hand flush against your chest as you pretend to be scandalised.

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells you, a smile ghosting over his lips. He turns back to his notes,  but unbeknownst to you, he’s unable to read the muddled words on the page, his brain fixated on the way you cooed Mr O’Hara. All breathy and innocent and unintentionally sultry. You made his name yours.

He hates how much he loves it.

When Declan pulls up to The Priory that night, your Vauxhall is in the drive, and his one thought is that he can’t do this tonight. Can’t do you tonight. It’s late, already half-ten by the time he’s slugging through the door, temples throbbing with a Baddingham-induced headache only made worse by the Duran Duran blasting through the house. 

“Taggie!” he booms, dumping his briefcase and corduroy jacket on a chair by the staircase. All he wants is a shower and a whiskey, maybe a cigar, in bed, and he’ll be damned if he does it with the walls of his home rattling to the soundtrack of his daughter’s mixtape. Declan trudges upstairs, lethargy weighing his legs down as he stalks down the hall towards Taggie’s bedroom. Light pours out of the half-open door, followed by your laughter. “Taggie, Jesus fucking Christ, can you turn that bloody racket—”

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when you step into view, your back to the door. The black dress you’d worn to the office is discarded on the floor, the full expanse of your body of full display, safe for a plain black bra and matching high-waisted underwear.

“I don’t know, Tag,” Declan hears you say over the music. “Red or black?” You stretch your arm out of sight to retrieve two short dresses that you then hold up against your body. Freddie Jones had invited all of the neighbouring families and friends to Bar Sinister on Friday night for drinks and karaoke, and you were struggling to decide what to wear. Your usual jeans and tee getups were too casual, and your work attire was too, well, work. The stereo clicks, swapping out Rio for Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat. 

“I love this song!” you announce, pipping up and down to the beat. Your back arches slightly with each little leap, the ripple of your muscles accentuated every time you hit the creaking floorboards. He feels like a creep, lurking in the shadows, continuing to watch you through the ajar door as you dance around the room in nothing but your underwear, but he can’t tear his eyes from you. Declan worries his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your legs, looking impossibly longer now without clothing, and where they stretch into the sweep of your arse. He wants to take you into his mouth, bite down on your supple flesh, hard, before soothing the inevitable red mark with a sloppy kiss. His cock rouses at the temptation, the feeling of his pulsating tip pushing against his trousers making it difficult for him not to march straight into Taggie’s room and swoop you away to his own so he can show you what he thinks about all day while you’re across his office. 

Reality wracks the back of Declan’s mind. What the fuck is he doing? He if had a pound for every time he caught himself leering at you, feeling that heat coil in him until there was nothing left to do but steal himself away to privacy and relieve himself like a sex-obsessed teenager, he’d have enough to pay of his family’s London leaving debt and then some.

Sometime later, once Declan had gathered enough sense, enough strength, to tear himself away from his post outside Taggie’s door, the music in her room recedes low enough that you and your friend can hear each other without yelling.

“I’m going to head home,” you tell Taggie, sluffing out of the robe she let you borrow and back into the ribbed black dress you’d picked out that morning. “Early morning tomorrow and I do not want to catch your dad in another one of his moods again.”

“Fair enough,” your friend relents, passing you the outfits you’d narrowed your options down to. You shove them into your bag, which is already busy with notepads and teabags you bring from home, and tug Taggie into a hug, whispering a farewell into her mess of tawny hair. You slip into the hall and pull her door shut, the walkway enveloped in darkness aside from the small flood of yellow light beaming around the corner. As you head towards the stairs, you notice the light is coming from Declan’s bedroom, where he was probably reading one of those many memoirs or pouring over notes for his show tomorrow night, during which he’d interview the Bishop of London, Right Reverend Graham Leonard. He definitely had a whiskey in hand or by his bedside, and you’re put in mind again of that night the pair of you were in the yard. The memory elicits goosebumps as you pass through the sliver of light and by Declan’s quarters. It’s not until you’re nearing the top of the staircase that you hear a grunt that halts.

What was that?

The noise rouses again, though this time it’s more like a groan, echoing from the room you just passed. You backtrack a few steps — you know you should just be on your way, but you can’t help yourself — and peer into Declan’s room through the slight crack in the door. He’s turned away from you, bracing himself against the dresser by the window. He’s shirtless, and far more tanned than you’d expect for somebody living in England, his back all corded muscle and shoulder blades that pinch together with rigorous movement. His trousers hang low on his hips, low enough that the top of his arse is visible over the waistband, a sparse trail of coarse black hair blooming on his lower back. Under the light, sweat prickles on the back of his neck, and another moan slips from him as he pumps his right arm up and down. It’s only then that you realise what you’ve stumbled upon.

Declan’s none the wiser that you’re watching him the same way he’d done to you not much earlier. His eyes are clamped shut, shielding you from the anguish and pure filth they’re laden with while he lets desire run its course. His breathing is turning almost whimper-like with his frantic movements, while yours shakes deep in your stomach. Saliva pools around your dumb tongue, mouth lax as you observe Declan fist himself with so much savagery his whole body is shaking. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t look away from. A delicious, sordid trainwreck hurtling towards an explosive end.

Then you hear it. Only just. Your name slips from his lips so quietly you wonder if you made it up. 

It’s not the first time Declan has allowed you ownership over him as he tugs himself raw. He’d tried to deny it, tried to morph your image in his mind into Maud’s but it was no use. He was stupid for you. If it’s just him, his hand and his mind, who is it hurting? Nobody has to know. 

But now you do. You know what Declan looks like coming undone, and it’s abundantly clear that it’s you spurring on his animalistic display. An odd sort of pride shoots through you, heat blooming at your core, pussy clenching around nothing as Declan seethes oh, fuck, your name flying out his mouth amid a string of obscenities as he comes. Hot, white ropes spurt over his fist and down his aching length, and his heart bucks against his ribcage as his climax rolls through him, vision flanked white from the intensity of his orgasm. It takes Declan a few moments to gather himself, to come down from his high. He has to squint once he opens his eyes, the well-lit room a stark contrast to the dark corners of his mind. His back burns, as if someone’s stare is boring into him, and his attention snaps to where he foolishly left his door ajar. But the hallway is empty, and he hears your car chug to life in the driveway, followed by the unmistakable crunch of gravel under its tyres.

Eeeeeeeeek, now we're getting somewhere! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog if you loved this chapter as much as I did writing it hehe

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface

[fictionismyreality3]

Take a Break

Warnings: hints at smut no actual smut, romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: every so often the need for this man will just suddenly pop up like gOD LET ME LIVE

The fingers you were clenching around your pen were beginning to hurt. Trying to write this essay was making you feel more like a wide eyed freshman than someone aiming to finish senior year at the top of their class. You stared aimlessly at your laptop, your eyes burning from how long you’d been looking over the work you had so far.

Which was only the title.

Just 2 more months. 2 months and then you could graduate, and you’d have your degree, and you could have your dream job and not be cramming book after book in your head, hoping you’d pick up the knowledge when really all it did was make you feel like punching your-

“Darlin’? You doing okay with your homework?” The honeyed voice of your boyfriend echoed around your dorm you, a light breeze the only warning you were given as he appeared randomly behind you.

“Yeah, Jasper. M’fine.” But just looking at his unfairly gorgeous face made you want to punch him instead of your TA.

It wasn’t fair. He got to be stupidly handsome and smart and he could easily ace your classes, probably finishing your degree in a few days with his stupid fucking vampire memory, and everything was so easy for him that you- “Honey, you’re frownin’ at me.” Jasper’s words drew you out of your little thought spiral.

“Yeah, I know, I know.. I’m sorry, I just..” You took a deep breath. “This is making want to rip my hair out.”

Jasper’s face now wore a frown mirroring your own, his gaze ever attentive, searching your face like he was looking for some hidden solution you couldn’t see. He ran his hand through your hair soothingly, his thumb brushing away the crease between your brows. The frustration and self-loathing that was radiating off you had hit him like a thick summer heat, pulling him up to your dorm in an instant.

He didn’t like to see his pretty little mate upset.

You were supposed to be happy. It was the last few months of school and he should have been feeling waves of glee and satisfaction dripping from your pores. Not this. And so, Jasper made up his mind. It wasn’t often that he used his abilities on you, it was something you’d discussed early into your relationship, something you insisted could only be a last resort kind of thing.

But the tears welling in your big eyes made his heart clench, and he found himself layering calm and relaxation over you like a blanket. “Why don’t you take a break, darlin’?”

Your head went all fuzzy, the cotton candy filling your skull making the words on your computer screen seem irrelevant. Blinking slowly, it took you a second to realize what was happening.

“No, no Jas, I have to finish this.” The words of protest sounded funny in your ears, the idea of doing anything but slumping back in your chair seemed exhausting. “No, you need to rest. You work so hard, honey.” Coaxing hands pushed you back in your seat, a sense of lethargy filling your bones as you hazily made out Jasper kneeling in front of you.

“Can’t.. I hav’to.. have..”

A Cheshire grin curled over Jaspers lips as he watched your body grow lax and pliant. Sure, adding little bouts of arousal between the relaxation would be breaking the rules you’d set, but he couldn’t have his mate overworking herself. Ghosting his hands up your legs, he pushed a little bit more bliss into you, enjoying the little whimper that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, darlin, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

[cumonstevie]

Home Sweet Home Part 3

Summary: "It's good to be home," you think as you arrive back in Hawkins, Indiana; not only three years older, but also as a mother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Just a shit ton of fluff

A/N: This took 8 consecutive hours to write so I hope you guys like it!! It's 3.8k words 😬 my back hurts from slouching over my laptop for so long so I'll edit this later.

A year and a half later

You and Steve have been doing so well at co-parenting for Penelope thus far. You had slowly eased Steve into her life, and she happily accepted him. It took her a while to comfortably call him ‘dad’ but once she started, that’s practically all she could say.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day when she confidently called him ‘dad’ without him or you having to tell her.

It was late at night- well, it was late for Penelope to still be awake, and you were trying everything to put her to sleep but she wouldn’t stop crying.

“Shhh, Penny, it’s okay.” You try to comfort her in your arms.

Her cries echo off your newly purchased apartment and you groan, rocking the toddler to try and calm her down.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

“Baby, please calm down-”

“I want daddy!” She cries louder and you halt your movements.

“What?”

“I want daddy!” Penelope sobs in your arms.

“I-” You’re stunned for a moment because this was the first-time hearing Penelope call Steve ‘daddy’ on her own without you or him coaxing her to say it. “Daddy will come over tomorrow, okay? But you need to go-”

“No!” She yelled, “I want daddy now!”

It didn’t seem like she was going to let up any time soon, so you walk over to the phone and hastily dial Steve’s number. It was only 8 o’clock so you knew he’d still be up- hopefully.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

“Steve,” you breathed. “Thank god you’re still awake. Listen, I know it’s kinda last minute but Penelope won’t go to sleep and she keeps crying and asking for you so do you think you could maybe-”

“I’ll be there in a bit. Leave the door unlocked for me, yeah?” You could hear him moving around at his place, probably putting his shoes on.

“Okay, thank you so much.” You let out a sigh of relief.

Penelope’s cries get louder and you think Steve can hear her because he murmurs, “My poor baby…” You hear his car keys jingling soon after. “I’m on my way.”

A few minutes go by and Steve knocks two times before coming in. You know he probably sped all the way over and you make a mental note to scold him after Penelope goes to sleep.

“I’m here,” he huffed out, seemingly out of breath.

Upon hearing Steve’s voice, Penelope lifts her head from your shoulder and turns to her father all teary-eyed. “Daddy!” She cried, leaning out of your arms and toward him.

He visibly freezes at her words and his eyes pan over to you, wide. “Did she just-” he’s cut off by your daughter's cries of ‘daddy’ as she tries to grab him. “Come here, baby. Daddy’s here, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He rubs her back soothingly and she slowly lays her head on his shoulder, doing the little hiccup-sob combination as she starts to calm down.

“Daddy…” She cried, “Stay.”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He hushes. “Daddy’s not going anywhere, alright?”

This seems to ease her mind because a few minutes later, she’s fully asleep in his arms. You silently guide him to her room where you watch as he puts her down and tucks her in. She stirs a bit but Steve gently pats her chest and she stills.

Once the both of you were sure she wasn’t going to wake up, you exit her room and walk back to the living room. The moment you enter the room, Steve pulls you into a hug.

“She called me daddy.” He beamed happily. “She fucking called me daddy, oh my god I feel like my heart is gonna burst open, I’m so happy right now.”

You hug him back, giggling a bit. “Yeah, it surprised me too.”

The both of you stay like that for a bit before he tears himself away from you and checks the time.

“It’s getting late, I should head home.” He says with a bit of a frown. “I can come by tomorrow if it’s alright with you?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. “You promised your daughter that you’d stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

You tell him he can take your room and you’ll sleep on the couch, but he refuses and says he’ll sleep on the couch instead. You protest but he shuts it down and you let out a huff but say ‘okay’ before going to get him a spare pillow and blanket for the night. You had started easing Steve into Penelope’s life little by little, starting with him visiting her at your place whenever he could (which he made sure to visit every single day no matter what). After she was comfortable with him being around, you segued into him taking her out, whether it be to the park, or to get ice cream (you also tagged along so that she was more comfortable). From that, he started taking her out, just him and her and not too long after, she started staying the night at his house.

He had done up a spare bedroom at his place just for her and she loved it so much. He pulled out all the stops for his little girl. Telling his parents about Penelope was a bit rough. He told you that they were a bit skeptical about him being the father but when Steve whipped a picture of little Penelope out of his wallet and showed them, they went silent.

From there, they were disappointed that he was so careless that it resulted in a child. He told them that they could be mad at him all they want but that he has a daughter now and he’s stepping up and although he doesn’t have a great relationship with them, he would love it if Penelope did.

They were obviously a bit hesitant but after meeting Penelope, they let their guards down. It made Steve happy that they showered her with love and affection but it also made him a bit upset because he never really experienced that from them.

He felt like this was a turning point for them, though. A good turning point.

Today was Penelope’s 4th birthday party and Steve insisted that it should be at his house. You didn’t fight him on it. You figured his house would be better suited for a birthday party than your little apartment.

A knock on the door alerts your ears and you quickly glance into the backyard, seeing Steve run around with Penelope, before opening the front door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie huffs out, “the band stayed and performed late and I didn’t get home till way later and then when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I put Pen’s gift so this whole morning I was tearing up my place looking for it.” He then shows you a poorly wrapped gift box with a smile. “But I found it.”

You giggle. “You didn’t miss much, Penny’s just been playing with the kids and Steve so far.”

“Thank god.” Eddie sighs. “Where do I put this?”

“We have a table outside for gifts. Come on.” You beckon him to follow you.

Eddie sets the gift on the table then makes his rounds saying hi to everyone. Steve is chasing Penelope around the yard and he lets out a playful roar as he picks her up and catches her. She screams and he laughs, giving her a kiss before setting her down carefully.

It was then that she spotted one of her favorite Uncle’s. “Uncle Eds!!”

The little girl runs over to Eddie as fast as she could, her pink tutu that she insisted on wearing even though it was cold outside, flowing about.

“Pen!” The curly-haired musician exclaimed as he knelt down and captured her in a hug. “How’s my favorite birthday girl?”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle Eds, I’m the only birthday girl!”

“You’re right.” He smiles before giving her a big kiss. “You’re getting so big, Pen. Don’t go growing up on me too fast.”

“Ima grow bigger and faster!”

“No! Don’t say that, I’ll cry!” Eddie pulls a dramatic frowny face which makes Penelope laugh.

Steve walks up beside you with his hands on his hips; a typical Steve Harrington pose. “Please tell her to stop saying that, she tells me all the time that she’s a big girl and it breaks my heart.”

Steve pouts at his daughter and she giggles in Eddie’s arms. “Daddy don’t be sad, when I get bigger ima take care of you!”

Steve’s eyebrow quirks up and he points a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that, little lady.”

“She’s not getting bigger, not on my watch.” Eddie says as he squishes her in a hug. “I’m gonna squeeze you in a little box so you stay little forever!”

Penelope gasps. “No!”

“Yes!”

Penelope wiggles out of Eddie's grip and starts running away from him. “No! Never ever ever!”

Eddie runs after her, telling her that he’ll never let her grow up. You giggle, watching the two and Steve turns to you.

“Everyone here?” He asks.

“Yeah, Eds was the last one to show up.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I say we let her play for a little while longer then sing happy birthday?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Harrington.”

He points to his head, then to yours and says, “Great minds think alike, Y/L/N.”

It was fairly easy to slip back into your friendship with Steve. After the awkwardness of him finding out that Penelope was his, the two of you acted as if no time had passed. It was refreshing and you didn’t realize how much you missed being around him.

To say your feelings for Steve were gone, would be a lie. Your feelings for Steve never really went away. Even if you tried so very hard to leave them behind, they only grew more when Steve would play with Penelope or spend time with her in general. He adapted to his role as a father rather quickly and you weren’t going to lie, it was attractive.

You would never tell him, though. You didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that the two of you had. Everything, so far, was good.

You had tried going on a date a while back but it fell through once you told the guy that you had a child. Steve was very upset about it. The date had lasted less than an hour. You were having a good time, asking questions about each other when you mentioned you had a daughter. The guy’s demeanor changed quickly and he closed himself off. It was awkward after that. He confirmed that you had a daughter once more and when you said yes, he cleared his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry but I don’t think this is going to work out.” He says. “You’re a great girl but-”

“But me having a kid is a problem.” You finish his sentence in a mono-tone pitch.

“No!” The guys exclaimed. “It’s just- It’s kind of-”

He stumbles over his words, trying to save face but you shake your head and pull out money for your meal, placing it on the table.

“It’s fine. I know me having a child isn’t ideal but maybe you should try to at least be an adult about it.”

The guy scoffs. “I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “Grow up.” You say before walking out.

You understand that dating someone who has a child could be a bit scary but he didn’t even give it a chance! He closed off the minute you mentioned Penelope.

You pull up to Steve’s house and slam your door shut in annoyance.

‘I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid’

Get real.

You knock on the door and patiently wait for Steve to open it.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you on the other side. “Why are you here so early? I thought you had a date?”

“I did.” He can sense the annoyance in your voice and he moves aside to let you in. You put your purse down on his table and turn to face him. “He wasn’t too keen on the fact that I have a kid.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he’s about to ask what the dude said but it’s like you read his mind because you tell him.

“Said he’s not about to play step-daddy to a kid that’s somebody else’s.”

“What the hell?” He has a look of disgust flushed across his face.

“Yeah,” you nod. “He didn’t even wait a few minutes before he was telling me that it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ between us! The minute I mentioned Penny, he shut down.” You huff out, running your fingers through your now messy hair.

“What a dick!” Steve is visibly baffled. “Welcome to the real world! There’s a chance that you might date someone who has a kid!”

“Right?” You agree. “Like I get it, I’m young and I have a toddler and yeah that’s kind of scary but he didn’t even give it a chance!”

Steve’s hands are on his hips as he shakes his head. “God, what an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “Probably dodged a bullet anyway.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m never gonna date again. I’m gonna be lonely forever!” You groan.

“No you won’t,” Steve reassures as he pats your shoulder. “There’s someone out there who will want to be with you and doesn’t mind that you have a kid.”

“Suuuuuure,” you mumble. “When you find him, let me know, alright?”

Steve chuckled. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Penelope comes running into the room shortly after, practically leaping into your arms and you cradle her to you. She tells you that her and Steve are gonna watch movies all night long but both you and Steve know she’s most likely going to fall asleep in the middle of the first movie.

She asks if you’re going to stay and watch movies with them and Steve encourages you to do so.

“What, you’re gonna go home and sulk about what a crappy date this was? Nuh uh. Stay and watch movies with your family.” He tells you.

“Yeah!” Penelope adds. “Watch movies with family! Daddy got the movie with the kitties!”

Aristocats has been Penelope’s favorite movie recently.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay.”

Penelope is happy and the three of you move to the couch. Steve puts the movie in and Penny sits in between the two of you, knocking out exactly midway into the film.

Steve puts her in her room then comes back out, coaxing you to stay for another movie. It works and he pops in ‘Just One Of The Guys’. You two enjoy each other's company and toward the end of the movie, you and Steve are fast asleep on the couch.

You gathered everyone around the table that held the cake as Penelope climbed on top of the chair. Steve puts a pink birthday hat on her little head and she insists that both you and him put one on as well.

You oblige with her wishes and put a pink hat on. Jonathan wastes no time with taking pictures of the three of you. He’d develop them as soon as he could and give them to you.

Penelope’s eyes scanned the yard as she beamed happily at everyone. Both yours and Steve’s parents were there, the Party, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan- all in attendance for your daughter's fourth birthday party. Your heart swelled knowing all the people that were present loved your daughter just as much as you and Steve did.

You all sang happy birthday to Penelope and she blew out the candles, causing everyone to cheer.

“Wait!” She shouts with her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m still wishing!”

“Oh! Sorry, sweet girl. Everyone shhh!” Steve says.

Everyone quiets down and Penelope is heard murmuring underneath her breath but no one can make out what she’s saying. After a bit, she opens her eyes and smiles.

“I’m done!”

Everyone cheers again and you cut the cake and plate it while Steve hands them out. When Penelope’s done eating her slice of cake, you start opening the gifts.

“Okay, this one is from Uncle Dusty.” You hand her the gift and she tears it open excitedly.

“A tea party!!” She yells out happily, turning to her father. “Daddy, we can play tea party! Thank you, Uncle Dusty! You’re my favorite!”

Dustin tells the four-year-old that she’s welcome as he beamed at her words. Eddie, however, wasn’t taking it too well.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “What about me? I was your favorite earlier!”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle dusty gave me a tea party so he’s my favorite now!”

Eddie sulks as she continues to open her gifts and Dustin sticks his tongue out at the musician in a mocking manner. Not too long after, however, Penelope opens Eddie’s gift.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She enunciated every word. “It’s a guitar!! Uncle Eds, it looks like the one you have!! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!!”

Although it was a toy guitar, you and Steve knew you would never know what silence felt like after this moment.

Steve rubs his face with his hands when he sees the gift. “Oh no…”

Penelope had been obsessed with Eddie’s guitar from the moment she saw it. She always wanted Eddie to play it and she always wanted to touch it. Eddie would tell you she was a musical prodigy in the making.

You and Steve give each other the same look before you say, “Say goodbye to the peacefulness.”

Steve groans while Penelope jumps up and down happily. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re my favorite now, Uncle Eds! We can play guitar together!!”

“Any time you want, Pen.” Eddie smiles at his niece before locking eyes with Dustin who stared at him with a blank face. Eddie mouths, “In your face!”

You finish up the gifts and the kids play with Penny for a little bit before you can tell that she’s beginning to get tired. You and Steve end the birthday party, thanking everyone for coming as they left. Once they were gone, Steve put Penelope down for a very much needed nap while you started picking up.

Steve joins you not too long after and when you’ve finished cleaning up, the pair of you slump down on the couch, exhausted.

“Penelope’s fourth birthday party was a success. Nice work, Y/L/N.” He raises his hand for a high-five, and you meet him halfway.

“Can’t take all the credit. You did most of the work.” You tell him.

“Yeah, but you gave birth to her. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here celebrating her turning four.” He smiles at you affectionately before his smile drops. “Oh my god, she’s four. My baby’s four.”

“Yep,” you nod. “And she’ll only get older from here.”

“Don’t remind me.” He pouts. “I want her to stay little forever.”

You laugh as he sulks for a bit. The two of you sit in silence and you close your eyes for a little before you feel Steve shift in his seat.

“Y/N?” He says and you open your eyes to find him facing you.

“Yeah?”

Steve bites his lip and his fingers tap against his jean-covered thigh. His habit every time he’s nervous.

“Um,” he starts. “We’ve been doing good, right? I mean, co-parenting and all.”

“Yeah…” You have no clue where this conversation is headed.

“And our relationship with each other is good. We don’t fight or argue or anything-”

“Steve,” you cut him off. “Spit it out already.”

You start to think he’s trying to ease into telling you that he was seeing someone, and you were preparing yourself to hear it, but his next words threw you off.

“I have feelings for you.” He says quickly and your eyebrows furrow as you sit up to look at him more clearly. “Well, I’ve always had feelings for you. They never went away. I just never said anything because you said you weren’t ready to revisit us romantically but, I don’t know, today just-” He sighs deeply, his fingers combing through his hair. “You look so beautiful today- well, you look beautiful every day and we work so well together that it got me thinking about what life would be like if we were, you know, together. As a couple.”

“Steve…”

“I know, okay? I know I fucked up back then and I know you’re hesitant but god, Y/N, you take up so much space in my head. You and Penny. That’s all I care about. That’s all I want and that’s all I’ll ever need. Ever since you walked out of my house almost five years ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I haven’t been on a date since- well, since I was with Nancy because I didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want us to be a family, officially. Me, you, and Penny in a big house. I wanna come home from work and know that I hit the jackpot because I get to see my two favorite girls every single day of my life. I want-” He takes a minute to breathe before he takes your hand softly. “I want you.”

He’s looking into your eyes and you just know that he means every word that he’s said just now.

You don’t know if it’s butterflies in your stomach or if you’re gonna throw up.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

“Please say you feel the same way.” He says softly. “If you don’t, that’s okay and we can just go back to how we were before I confessed all of this but if there’s even a slight chance that you feel the same way, please give me the chance to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

A smile makes its way to your lips and your eyebrow quirks up. “For the rest of my life, huh?”

“Mmm Hmm,” he hums. “For the rest of your life, for the rest of my life, for the rest of our lives… I’m in it for the long run.”

“Steve,” you say softly. You watch as the boy in front of you hangs on to your every word, anticipating what you’ll say next. He looks nervous and scared, but also hopeful. You lean in and kiss his cheek softly. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling. “You’re in luck because I feel the same way.”

His eyes snap open and they sparkle in the light. “Really?”

“Really.” You giggle. “My feelings never went away either.”

“Oh my god.” He breathed out, pulling you into a hug.

You stay like that for a bit before pulling away. “I want to take this slow, though. I wanna do this right, I don’t want to rush things, Steve.”

He looks at you affectionately, rubbing the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N, as long as I get to be with you in the end.”

Tags:

@solarbxby @nojamsonmytoast @amberpanda99 @marrowfrog00 @ladygrey03 @ok-boke @browneyedgirly93 @munsonzgf @capswife @livsters @brinleighsstuff @imstevesnailedbat @theworldscalamity @marveloustylesthings @hazydespair @octoazzy @keeryverse @yvonne-dump @kjaxm @smoshyourheadin @eddiessweetheart86 @valhallavalkyrie9 @moneyy-21 @fhsbsvy @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @keerysfolklore @ahgrace6 @millercontracting @dangeratthebeach @baileebear @kinokomoonshine @mysticalstar30 @nanvxs @raineshua @ajeff855 @trln @flameo @spiderman-stilinski @daisy-munson @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @ali-r3n @itsnotsophiasworld @micheledawn1975 @empath-bunny

[lynnie-ee]

Day 6; Intimidation.

╰┈➤"Being stared at by one of the Leech Twins could scare anyone at Night Raven College, even you, especially if there's no apparent reason behind it. Jade, on the other hand, believes his plan to hint his feelings for you is working greatly."

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1.4k words.

╰► Character: Jade Leech.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

⤿

Jade Leech has got his eyes on you for two weeks now.

At first, it only happened when you were in the hallways, but you didn't think much of it because, there were a lot of students, why would he be looking at you?

Then it was at the cafeteria when you were surrounded by your first-year friends, but that meant nothing because they were pretty loud, there were a lot of reasons why he could be staring.

But then it happened at the library when it was just Grim and you, which was weird, but perhaps he was looking at your little friend, maybe finding ways to blackmail him into working at Mostro Lounge again.

You've made a lot of excuses about it, thinking that it'd be narcissistic to believe he was solely staring at you, but now, as you are seated at one of the few benches that were around the Botanical Garden, with Jade only a few meters away, you could feel his gaze piercing you.

And it was fucking scary.

He worked casually on some annotations as he looked at a few mushrooms in the area, which made you wonder how seemed to be deeply focused on it while still managing to feel like he was staring at your soul.

'I was just looking for a peaceful place to study, Great Seven.'

You sighed, already tired of such attention upon you, which only fuelled the frustration you already felt due to that damn alchemy assignment you couldn't do properly.

Once again doing the assignment incorrectly, you turned towards where your pencil case was lying, looking for an eraser.

"You did the third step wrongly."

The voice of vicehousewarden echoed through the garden, as you lifted your face to observe him, realising he was staring at the mushrooms instead of you, making you wonder how he was even able to see your notebook from so far.

“Thank you, I’ll correct it when I get back to my dorm.” You answered trying to be polite, an awkward smile on your expression, as you grabbed your pencil case to start packing up your things, instead of just grabbing the eraser. You had enough of that psychological torture already.

“A pity that you’re leaving so soon, Prefect.” He commented as you got up from your seat.

“Yeah, I’ve to run some errands today. Goodbye, Jade.”

“Goodbye, good luck with your errands.” The vicehousewarden spoke with his usual mischievous smile, as if he knew you’d go home straight away after leaving the Botanical Garden, away from his prying eyes.

What the hell was wrong with him…?

⤿

⤿

You wished that was the last time you were under the petrifying gaze of Jade Leech, but as usual for your luck, it wasn’t. In fact, you already had started to get used to it. This was Night Raven College, having a second-year student stare at you like a predator to his prey probably wasn’t even on your top five of the strangest things you’ve gone through ever since you arrived.

"Do you think Trein's going to put the class of this week into the next test?" Deuce questioned, as you walked along him, Ace walking behind with Grim. All of the classes of the day were already finished, and Deuce offered his room to finish one of the group homework that Crewel assigned last week.

"I think he said he would." Ace answered, balancing Grim on one of his shoulders.

"You both talk like you'll study for the test, how cute." You commented, chuckling softly, your laugh stopping immediately as out of nowhere, Jade appeared in front of you.

"Prefect, it's nice to see you." The vicehousewarden greeted, ignoring the panicked expression of the Heartslabyul first-years beside you. "I was wondering if you'd come to Mostro Lounge tomorrow, after class." He questioned politely.

"Tomorrow...? At Mostro Lounge?" The question escaped your lips, as your mind wondered what he could want from you.

"Yes, that's what I said." He reassured, his smile more insistent than usual.

"Yeah, sure..." You answered, mostly out of uneasiness, considering how widely known was around the school about the terrors of those who made the Leech Twins get annoyed.

"Wonderful, I'll wait for you, please be punctual." The second-year remarked, before turning around to continue his walk.

...

"Prefect, did you get into a deal with Azul?!"

"What the hell did you do wrong?! Messing with Octavinelle is awful, man...You're probably working at Mostro Lounge for at least 2 months."

"But I didn't do anything!" You excused yourself immediately.

"You didn't...? Then why did Jade ask you to go to Mostro Lounge?"

"I've got no idea..." You mumbled, sighing in exasperation. First the stares, and now this...

"Maybe you did something without noticing." Deuce suggested with a nervous tone.

"If that's the case, you're screwed, Prefect. Good luck with that, we'll visit you at your shifts at Mostro Lounge."

"Thanks for the support, boys." You commented sarcastically.

⤿

⤿

This was it, the moment of truth.

You walked through the doors of Mostro Lounge, your expression as confident as you could, even if you were behind scared. You wondered all day what exactly you did to be stalked by Jade Leech and then asked to come to his dorm, because there surely was an explanation for it. Still, when it came to Octavinelle's vicehousewarden, you knew it was safer to wonder rather than be involved with him.

"You arrived perfectly on time." Was the first comment from the second-year student as soon as they arrived. "Please follow me." He indicated the way towards a more secluded room of the Mostro Lounge, which you followed without complaint. You were already there, might as well you could try your best not to bother him.

As he stood in front of you, you wondered once again why could he ask you to come talk to him, perhaps it was Grim who got into a problem, maybe he wanted to blackmail you, or he even could want to persuade you into making a deal with-

"I asked you to come because I had a question for you, so I apologize if it was inconvenient for you at all." He started, your body getting stiff, as if getting ready for a fight. "I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to go on a hike with me this weekend?"

...

"A hike, you say?" You asked, startled, as he nodded. "You mean, just the two of us?" That was bad, wasn't it? What if he wanted to take you to a lonely place to make you disappear or something of the sort?

"Yes, just the two of us." He replied. "Or at least, that was what the book suggested-"

"What book?" You questioned, confused.

"Ah, just a book I read about human custom. It said humans usually liked dates on open spaces, or where they could do activities outdoors. Perhaps you aren't the kind of person that likes them? I could come up with other kinds of ideas indoors, if you'd like." The vicehousewarden explained, his voice steady as usual.

'Did he say date...?'

"No, I do like being outside and all of that, it's just that...You asked me to come here to ask me out?"

"Yes. My previous plans didn't seem to be working, so I figured it'd be best to approach you directly."

"What previous plans?"

"Well, the book explained that humans usually express interest through eye contact, is that correct?" The second-year questioned with a genuine expression that almost seemed adorable.

"Eye-contact...? Well, uhm..." You mumbled, wondering when you ever made eye contact with Jade at all. Wait. "You mean, like the times when you stared at me in class?"

"Indeed, was it effective?"

"It certainly caught my attention, for sure..." You mumbled, relieved to learn that his intentions seemed to be way less dangerous than you thought at first.

"I'm glad to hear that. Then, would you like to join me for a hike?"

You considered his words for a second, wondering whether it'd be a good idea or not. But after so much time being chased by his gaze, and so many hours thinking about the reason behind it, you considered a date wouldn't hurt, wouldn't it? He had perseverance, at least.

"I'd love to join you, Jade."

"I'm glad to hear that." He chuckled softly, surprising you with how cute he actually looked when he didn't stalk you through school hours.

"Jade."

"Yes?"

"From now on, if you want to learn about human customs, just ask me, okay?"

"In that case, I'll be more than pleased to be your student, Prefect." He replied, the small smile still on his face as he looked at you with his mismatched eyes.

Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind being the one staring at him now.

⤿

⤿

[beomiracles]

𝓚𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features.  You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 3k ་༘࿐

𝓹airings reaper/entity!taehyun x gn!reader (written with fem in mind) 𝔀arnings angst, major character death, lots of crying, kissing.

#serene adds ✎.. HAPPY TAEHYUN DAY !! except this is not a happy fic because I seem to struggle with anything positive.. anyhow :3

“Please help me.” 

Silence. Nothing but an eerie stillness of silence followed your pleading words. You want to scoff, your eyes twitching as they fight to remain closed. There was no way this was actually going to work. You had been a fool to even consider the idea, much more actually try it. But in spite of your foolishness you were also utterly desperate. 

Just as you were about to give up, to slump back against the hard floor boards and accept defeat; just then, there was a shift in the air. A cold, ghost-like exhale. It hits your face hard, like that of a slap. Your brows furrow, your still shut eyes scrunching together. A shiver runs down your spine, and you do not dare move. — He had come. He’d heard your call and he’d actually answered. You could hardly believe it. 

The creak of a floorboard makes your eyes jerk open, your head snapping in its direction. From the salt spread in a messy circle, to the lit candle in the center, your gaze travels along the open book, over to the far corner of your room. — There, in the shadows, submerged in darkness but still definitely there. 

You swallow, the gulp echoing through the desolate air. “Please…” Your voice is hoarse, on the verge of cracking as you shift on the floor, your body twisting as you turn his way. Once again, your hands rub together as you beg him. — “Help me…” 

He takes a step forward, revealing his tall frame as it emerges from the shadows. God, he was beautiful. So it was true then. All of it had been true. — His face, sickeningly pale yet so alive, ethereal almost. His eyes are dark, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place, something out of this world. The brows on his forehead twist, if only for a moment. 

Dressed in all black, a long cloak draped over his body as it sways by his feet. He looms over you, his presence demanding and stoic. You do not dare get up from your position on the floor, even as your knees burn and ache for relief. You would be sure to stay put. 

It seems as though he expects you to speak, his expression unreadable as he remains quiet. With a deep inhale you gather courage. “It’s…It’s my mother, she..” Your voice trembles, on the verge of tears you shake your head, blinking the pain away. “She is very ill — I can’t… Please, I need more time with her.” 

At first he doesn't say anything as he merely watches you with the same brooding expression. Your face falls, worry consuming you as you fear that he might disappear once more. He was your last chance, your last sliver of hope. — “Please, I’ll do anything!” Your hands reach for the cloak he wore, fingers curling around the fabric as you cling to him. 

A low, breathy sound, almost a laughter, is pulled from his chest. You freeze when his warm hand places on the back of your head, his touch firm but not forceful. “Time”, he drawls, and he sounds as though he hadn’t spoken in years, yet you find yourself entranced by the mere word. 

“Time can never be brought back. You cannot ask such a thing of the universe.” 

His words make your eyes widen tenfold. What was that supposed to mean, would he not grant you your wish? Would he refuse you, would he leave again, leave you with nothing but the despair of the day to come, and the agony of those that were. 

“Please! You have to help me, I already told you I’m willing to do whatever it takes!” Tears were streaming freely down your face now, ugly sobs rolling off your tongue, meddling with your speech. — He’s silent, quietly observing your weeping form from above. His hand leaves the back of your head, the almost soothing touch gone with it. 

He hums, a low and still sound. “You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

His words make your eyes light up, and you crane your neck in order to peer toward him. “Yes! Please yes, I’ll do it.” You were beyond hesitation now, far too desperate to even think about the consequences of your own actions. To give, that’s what you wanted. You wanted to give your mother time, time to spend with you, to do what she loved. That was what’s important, right? 

The man nods, and you find yourself immediately missing the warmth he provided when he takes a step back. “Very well. You shall have time.” As the words leave his lips an icy feeling shot through your chest, it makes you fall forward, barely catching yourself on two hands as you pant. 

It did not hurt, but it was cold, so very cold. 

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone in your dark house, with nothing but a ring of salt, a candle and a book to show. 

But after that things changed. Your mother, once bedridden and ill, was now up and about. It was a miracle, that’s what everyone had said. The way she tended to her garden, made home cooked meals and even picked up crocheting again. — But most importantly, she smiled more. There was a different light to her face, a different joy to her laugh and a whole other woman within her body. 

Doctors said she wouldn’t make it another three months. But those months turned into a year, and then another one, and another one. Five years pass within the blink of an eye. Just as quickly as they had begun they had ended again. You would like to think that those were the best years of your life, you had everything you could have ever wished for right by your side. 

So why was it that you felt so cold? No matter how many hot showers you took, how many hours you spent under the sun or how long you wrapped yourself in your mother’s warm embrace you couldn’t seem to shake the icy feeling looming over you. — It has been that way since… You shudder at the thought of him, of his sickeningly beautiful face. You try to ignore it, you try to shake the uncanny feeling that something is wrong, very wrong. 

The dread that fills you, the sense of impending doom. Everyday you worry for your mother’s health, for her life, in spite of the way she radiated. You feared that it would all one day diminish into nothing. That just as quickly as it had come, it would be gone again. And as your worries grew larger, the cold seemed to strike harsher. 

Ice had frozen your chest by this point. It made no room for love in your now lonesome heart. You could not enjoy your time with your mother, for you feared that your own was running out. 

It was then, on the day that would mark the sixth year, that he returned. And just like he had back then, did he emerge from the shadows. 

The night was warm, but you could not feel it, for you had not felt warmth in a very long time. With trembling hands you tug at the blanket, wrapping yourself up in it as you try to create some sense of comfort. You would delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, you would try to ignore the pestering cold. But it never seemed to quite work. 

And there it is, that subtle creak of a floorboard, ripping through the still air. You don’t have to sit up, nor do you have to turn your head to know who has come. His presence is just as demanding as it had been all those years ago. Back then, when you hadn’t understood the full extent of his words, their true meaning. 

“You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

And you had. You had given your mother time, you had shared whatever you had left for yourself, in turn trading places with her. Realization struck as his beautiful face came into view once more. He had not changed, for he was timeless, he seemed to be the only thing unreachable by the ever ticking clock that decides your fate. 

He takes a step forward, then another one and another one. Soon he stops by the edge of your bed, dark eyes peering down at your shivering form. — You swallow, “I don’t want to die.” It was the truth, you did not fear death, but you did fear the end of your existence. Your throat feels thick, tears building in your eyes as you shake your head. Perhaps you thought that begging him once more would prove successful. 

But he only hums, a soft almost melancholy sound. It makes your chest churn, the ice around you feels heavy. You could not die, not right now and not like this. How would your mother suffice without you by her side? She would be heartbroken. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It wasn’t right… 

“Please I can’t-” He interrupts you by raising a pale hand, and you immediately fall silent. His face, once unreadable and stoic, now looks solemn. His gaze roams your trembling figure, the tips of his fingers brushing along your cold arm. 

“Can’t you see?” He says, his hand traveling to your chest, his palm flat against your heart. “You are already dead.” 

The words hit you like that of a wave crashing against shore. Dead? No. You weren’t dead, you were… You were… 

Your eyes drop to your hands, grey and lifeless as they clutch the blanket tightly. The biting cold made the tips of your fingers an almost pale blue hue. Suddenly it all made sense. Your vision blurs as you bring your hands to your face, studying them closer. The cold, it wouldn’t leave because it was all there was. Your lifeless self, a shell of who you were, walking amongst the living, an imposter. 

Your heart was not frozen, it was unbeating. Dead. You were dead. You had been since that night, all those years ago. With a shaky exhale you glance up to meet his dark unyielding gaze. It was impossible to read his expression. — “Why?” You croak, the question barely making it past your choked up throat. “Why now?” 

Why had he waited, why had he let you roam this earth for so long. — The man doesn’t answer, instead he extends his hand for you to take. You regard his pale and long fingers, waiting for you to lace yours within his. It was an invitation, one that would carry you to a world outside this one. You wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“I can’t…” The whisper slips past your lips without second thought, the realization weighing heavy on your shoulders. You shake your head, the first droplet of tears rolling down your cold cheek. 

His eyes narrow, brows pulling together on his perfect face. “Your time is up.” It’s all he says, his voice suddenly sounding monotone yet commanding. You continue to shake your head, scooting away from him as your back hits the headboard, the blanket sliding off your body. “No.” 

“Y-You tricked…” You hiccup, feeling the sudden onslaught of tears throughout your entire body. “You never told me I would… That I…” — The man doesn’t say anything, his hand has dropped back to rest by his side, and for a moment you think he might turn back around to leave. But he doesn’t. 

“You willingly gave her your time.” He states as a matter-of-factly, his features remaining stoic as he regards your sobbing frame. You knew that he was right, that you had willingly brought this fate upon yourself, as naive and unknowing as you may have been. This was all your doing. And though you had gotten another couple of years with your mother, you could not bear the thought of parting from her again. 

The cold was worse now, worse than it had ever been before. It consumed you wholeheartedly. Even if he was to let you continue on like this, what life would you get? You were dead already. There was nothing left for you. Nothing but the inevitable grief you were to bring forth on your mother. 

With trembling hands you wipe your tear stained face. Your breath is jagged, like a broken record, playing the same part on repeat over and over. Through bleary eyes, you manage to find him in the darkness. The pale moonlight casts his face in an eerie glow, one that made him appear ethereal. It was then and there you realized that your time was indeed running out. This would be your last conscious moment. 

“Please..” Your voice is low, nothing but a mere whisper. Yet it garners his attention as his dark eyes flicker over to yours. “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features. 

You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?” Your words hang in the still air, flashing before your eyes in menacing quality. You had not thought the request through, not once. All you knew was that you wanted to feel something, anything, one last time. 

His expression remains unmoving, he looked almost statue-like as he stood by the edge of your bed. — Your hands had returned to the blanket, now by your knees, and your fingers twist uncomfortably in the fabric. The silence is so loud it rings in your ears, causing an almost screeching noise. 

But then, without as much as a word, he takes a step forward. The mattress dips under the weight of him as one of his knees sink into the soft cushion. His spotless face, now mere inches from yours make your eyes widen in surprise. — He doesn’t say anything, nor does he hesitate when he presses his lips against yours. 

He’s warm. 

For six years, two thousand one hundred and ninety days, you had been cold, terribly so. Nothing could bring you comfort, nothing could make the icy feeling go away. Nothing but him. The small touch of his skin against yours set your body aflame, and for the first time in so long, you felt alive again, even if only for a moment. 

His lips are unmoving against your own, warm and soft. You don’t dare open your eyes, instead you remain equally still, almost frozen in place. And when five seconds have passed you think he might pull away, demanding you come with him to wherever awaited, but he doesn’t. 

You kiss him, you kiss him in the way you would those you longed for, those you lusted after. But not those you loved, for you don’t think you had ever loved anyone like that. Without stopping to think, your cold hand reaches for his face, trembling as your palm comes to rest against his cheek. 

You want to hold on forever, never letting this moment go. He must feel your nails digging into his shoulder now, your hand on his face pulling him closer. But even then, he remains unfazed. For a second you think he might actually kiss you back, that he might reciprocate that feeling of life that you so longed for. He doesn’t. 

He pulls back only when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a guarded expression on his otherwise melancholy face. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a soft redness to his warm skin, one that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Though his soft breaths are hardly matching your near panting ones. 

Your hand falls from his face and you swallow. “I don’t want to die.” It didn’t matter if you were already dead, that was not the same as what you were about to face. An end to your time on earth, a cease in your existence. You want to think about your mother, you want to remember her face even in death, and you want to hear her voice even as the ground swallows you whole. 

But you can’t look away from him, from his beautiful and nearly expressionless face. You had never imagined the face of death to be beautiful, for it had always been described as a painful and sorrowful experience. It is permanent, with no way to ever go back. 

Tears spill down your wet cheeks, an ugly sob ripping from your thick throat. Your body trembles, but not from the cold. — “I’m scared…” The admission is a mere breath, one so silent only he could hear. 

He shakes his head, the movement slow and soft. “Don’t be.” Is all he says, and for some reason you find solace in his words. 

Then he presses his lips against yours, briefly startling you as your eyes widen. That same feeling of warmth embraces you once again, and you feel the ice around you slowly melting. He kisses you just like you had him a mere moment ago. Except his kiss holds love. A love that felt almost sacred, like you were undeserving of it. 

Your body feels numb, and you could feel yourself becoming almost drowsy. It doesn’t hurt, none of it does. In fact you can barely feel anything but his lips on yours. 

Death wasn’t painful, nor was it agonizing. It was beautiful. The man before you was the epitome of it, and you did not fear him. You did not fear what would come after, and you did not fear that nothing would come at all. 

Your soul died that night, but it died warm.

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[holysmokesblog25]

The Gray Reunion

Vi x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Violence, mentions of illness, blood, slightly spicy kisses ;)

Summary: In the midst of the chaos, you struggle to help the people of the Lanes. The truth behind the disaster sparks a confrontation that will test your bonds

Note:English is not my first language, sorry

In the past few hours, your modest apartment had turned into chaos. At least a dozen people had knocked on your door seeking help, intoxicated by something you hadn’t seen in years.

They could barely fit into the small living room, which also served as your kitchen and bedroom, waiting for you to help them, coughing out toxic fumes. Everyone expected you, just as your father had done in the past, to help or offer a solution, but you were completely lost, fumbling with medical supplies that had been stored away for years.

"The gray," murmured an older woman who was holding her husband as he struggled to breathe.

"That’s impossible," you replied. "We haven’t had problems with that in years, the ventilation system..."

"Then there must be a leak," she interrupted, raising her voice before a violent cough cut her off. You watched as her hand was splattered with blood. She inhaled deeply before continuing, "I’ve been through this before, but we don’t have the years on us anymore. Your father treated it countless times. Doesn’t he have notes somewhere?"

You sighed in defeat. "I’ve lost most of Dad’s things over the years. All I have left is what you see." You placed the stethoscope on a child’s back to listen to his breathing. "There’s nothing I can do. We just have to wait for the lungs to clean themselves... and stay far from the leak."

A collective groan arose from the people packed into your small space. "And how are we supposed to do that? We live there! Where can we go?" Various complaints began to rise.

"I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t. We just have to wait until they repair the leak."

"They’re not going to fix it! It’s those damn enforcers! They’re killing us to get to Jinx!" Another wave of murmurs rippled through the room.

You tried to remain calm. Could that be true? Were the people above really capable of poisoning everyone just to catch Jinx? Those above had taken so much from you already that it seemed entirely plausible. But then an image came to mind—Violet. She was in Piltover now, and she would never let this happen, not to the place that had been her home for so many years and still was yours. Right?

You continued your work, trying to calm the rebellion brewing in your living room, tending to the most severe cases of nosebleeds and eye hemorrhages. But there wasn’t much more you could do. Around three in the morning, the last person finally left.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto your bed, utterly defeated. Chances were, all the patients you’d seen today would return tomorrow with new symptoms. It was impossible to recover from the gray while constantly exposed to it. You knew that if it was a crack, it would take years to fix. And if it was intentional, if they were hunting Jinx... that would also take time. There was no way they’d catch her.

A knock on the door kept you from falling completely asleep. You cursed under your breath—new patients. Your father’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you how he wouldn’t rest until he’d helped the last person who needed him. You repeated the phrase to yourself before getting up to answer the door, only to be met with a great surprise.

Vi stood there, but the most shocking thing was her outfit. She was dressed as a full-fledged officer, an enforcer. You couldn’t suppress a gasp of utter disbelief. You had spent years of your life together; you knew her story as well as your own, and never would you have imagined the possibility of her wearing something like that—not even as a joke.

"I’m truly surprised," you murmured. She scoffed in irritation. You stepped aside to let her in, and she dropped her new, heavy gloves onto your floor. You bit your lip to keep from scolding her.

The past few days had been madness: Vi’s return, the search for Jinx, and your responsibilities trying to honor your father’s legacy had left you with barely a moment to breathe.

"Lots of patients?" she asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Too many," you replied, collapsing onto the bed again. She still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "You can lie down if you want... Unless you’re scared of dirtying that pretty uniform." She let out a short laugh before lying down next to you.

"I’ve barely seen you since you came back... I don’t think I ever got to tell you how happy I am that you’re here... Despite everything."

"Yeah, I suppose the first hug you gave me said it all."

"I mean it, Vi," you said, turning to face her. "Everything got so hard, but now you’re here, and I feel like things will get better."

She smiled faintly. "Yeah, we just have to fix a few things, and everything will improve." She propped herself up to sit beside you. "You look really pretty," she added. "Those dark circles suit you."

You couldn’t help but laugh. For just a moment, all the bad things disappeared. It was just the two of you in your small apartment—no Jinx, no gray, no problems in the Lanes. Just you two. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. She froze for a moment.

"I thought you missed me," she teased.

"I did."

"That’s not a reunion kiss. This is." Without warning, she leaned over and kissed you deeply. You welcomed her eagerly—it was like a breath of fresh air, something rare where you’d grown up. The kisses grew more intense, and your hands wandered over her torso and back. Vi positioned herself on top of you, using her hand for support on your pillow. But she quickly pulled it back.

"What’s this?" she asked.

You looked to the side, confused, and saw a large bloodstain. You hadn’t even noticed it. You sighed. "I’m really sorry." You sat up slightly, but Vi didn’t move off you. You grabbed the pillow and threw it to the other side of the room. "It’s been such a complicated day with the ventilation cracks."

"Yeah, don’t worry. I’m not at my best, either."

"Doesn’t seem like it." You kissed her intensely again, and she adjusted immediately.

"When all this is over, we should go on a real date. Like dinner and all that cheesy stuff."

You laughed against her lips at her failed attempt at romance. "I just hope it’s soon."

"It will be," she declared confidently. "Once they catch Jinx, everything will get better, and life in the Lanes will change—just like Vander always wanted."

Vi’s hands slipped under your shirt as you shared another passionate kiss, but her words lingered in your mind.

"Wait, wait, no," you said, pushing her slightly so she moved off you.

"Oh, do you want to take control, doll?" she teased.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" She looked confused, so you pushed her again to sit beside you. "The gas? Was it you?"

Vi stayed silent, hesitant to answer.

"Is this some kind of joke? You’re poisoning us just to catch your sister?" you shouted, furious.

"Hey, hey, it’s not like that... I mean, yes, but not how you think."

"You bitch," you spat, jumping out of bed. "Do you even understand the damage you’ve caused?"

"Listen to me. We used the gray to clear the streets, to keep people safe," she tried to explain.

"Used? Who’s ‘we’? You and your new enforcer friends? Well, you didn’t protect anyone!" You exploded. "Do you have any idea how many people you hurt? At least fifty came here today!"

"She’s a murderer! She killed half the council, she—"

"She’s not a traitor," you cut her off sharply.

The room fell silent as you watched Vi clench her fists in anger. You’d struck a nerve.

"Did you really do this for her? Or did your new enforcer friend convince you?" you spat, unable to hide your disgust.

"Don’t call her that!" Vi’s hands grabbed the collar of your shirt, pushing you against the wall.

You stayed inches apart for what felt like ten seconds before she let go, though she didn’t step back. Her heavy breathing mixed with yours, and you could smell the perfume from her uniform—a scent impossible to find down here.

"Get out of my house," you whispered.

"You have to understand—"

"Get out!"

Vi sighed loudly, grabbed her heavy gloves from the floor, and walked to the door. You opened it for her, stepping aside. She crossed the threshold without meeting your gaze but stopped in the doorway.

"I hope your new friend is worth it." She didn’t turn around, just kept walking down the dark street, away from your home.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

What had you expected? Nothing had stayed the same over the years.

You locked the door before collapsing into bed. Tomorrow would be another hard day in the Lanes.

[celuere]

Sprinkled heavy Arlejuno into this but can be read from an x reader perspective!

The door creaked as it was pushed open before slowly falling back into its locks. Yet no one seemed to have entered.

Until Arlecchino dared to bend herself a little over the desk to spot a pair of blue-crossed eyes staring up at her with a pair of glasses that seemed too big for her face. Her two small hands holding a paper with suspiciously familiar figures scribbled onto it, her father‘s eyes focused on the black lines covering the skin up to the forearms like her own. So far it only appears as some kind of birthmark.

„Elide, what did I tell you about knocking?“, her voice was stern were it not for the softness rounding up the edges of her words. Little taps against the wood echoed through the otherwise quiet office as Elide rounded her desk. „‘m sorry, Papa… I drew you something…“, the white curls on her head bounced with each of her steps until she reached her father‘s chair before she held up her little artwork for her dad‘s inspection.

With now all of her attention fixed on her five year old daughter, Arlecchino set her pen down, temporarily forgetting about the important documents scattered over the wood, „Hm? My… is that supposed to be me, my flower?“, a gentle smile tugged on the corners of her lips as she took the painting from her hands.

„Yes… you and mama…“

„…why am I spewing fire, Elide?“, she lowered the paper to slightly narrow her eyes in obvious confusion, „and why does your Mother have me on a leash?“, the Knave wasn‘t often left in bewilderment. But Elide humbled her ever so often.

„I-It‘s your wing, Papa… and you listen to everything mommy says…!“

Wow. What a way to describe the relationship to her wife. She‘d never live the humiliation down if her wife got her hands on this… masterpiece.

Arlecchino couldn’t help the sigh escaping her lips as she turned the painting around and tapped the lower left corner with her fingertip, „and this dog with the piercing blue eyes is supposed to be Uncle Childe then?“, at first, it was supposed to be a joke.

„Yes!“, just where did she get these ideas fro- „you called him one last time!“, well, that explains a lot.

„You know what Elide, this… absolutely gorgeous work of art is way too beautiful for our wall in the kitchen… I would love to keep this one right here on my desk.“, her hand came down on her head to let her fingers run through the snowy locks, a few thick strands of black sprinkled here and there. It secretly pained her that her baby has grown up so much already. Not that she‘d ever admit it.

„Mhm! Please, Papa-!“, completely overjoyed by her father‘s suggestion, two way too small arms wrapped themselves around her waist- at least they tried as she pressed her face into her stomach, the glasses on her nose slipping slightly out of place.

It was moments like these that reminded Arlecchino of her humanity. That she wasn‘t as horrible as she always thought. That she was better than mother. Not perfect. Never perfect. But better. And that was all she needed. Knowing that her children had someone they knew was going to protect them at all costs, even if their affiliation with the Fatui won’t always allow it, was something that healed a little part inside of her heart. A heart that was forced to harden too quickly. She won’t allow it with her children.

„Papa…?“, her soft voice came out muffled against the fabric before she looked up at her through the sweetest eyes she may have ever looked at.

„What is it, dearest?“, a cursed hand came down to carefully fix the position of her glasses and put some lost hair strands out of her face. My, she truly was a beautiful girl, just like her mother.

„Can I have sweets…?“, to some degree are all children the exact same. She even had the courage to shove her lower lip out, like a lost puppy looking for a new home.

„Elide… did you ask your mother beforehand?“, and in almost an instant- her small hands came up to cover up those pointy ears of hers. A little… „lie“ told by her mother. Anytime she is being untruthful, her ears would start wiggling. Which of course was nothing more than a little hack to outsmart the girl. And so far it‘s been working out every single time.

„M-Mama said yes…!“, and if it weren’t for those covered ears, the Harbinger maybe would have believed her daughter. Yet, she merely crossed her arms in front of her chest, a finger tapping over her biceps as she stared down into that hopeful face before her.

„You know how I feel about lying, Elide. If your mother said no, then it’s a no.“, Arlecchino wore the leash around her neck on that damn painting with pride.

„Hmpf…“, the grip around her ears loosened before she let go of them completely, the shells now slowly flopping downwards at her defeat.

Just how could she tell?

Her walk of shame back to the door was dreadful. Accompanied by one last look back over her shoulder, big eyes on display, a pout playing around her lips. Her last triumph card.

„Sweetheart. I‘m sure one of your siblings will find the time to play with you. Go on.“, she fell for the face of sorrow and grief way too many times, but not today. Today, Arlecchino will be strong. Even tho her hand twitched on the table for the candies stored in the drawer next to her as she watched her daughter leave through the door like a kicked puppy.

Parenthood will always test her like no other hardship in the world.

[auraxins]

notes: sunday x gn!reader, angst, post-penacony story (inc. spoilers)

vomited this out at 4am with no edits and no attention to coherency you're welcome goodnight

When you're granted access to visit Sunday, a part of you wishes that The Family had told you no.

His cell is imposing, far larger than he has any need for, with elaborate chains keeping his arms shackled above his head. There is something about the droop to his frame, the aversion of his gaze, his closed eyes, that tightens your chest.

He looks small.

He looks lonely.

(You're hurt, you remind yourself. In his endeavours to rid his world of the ardors of survival, Sunday had hurt you. He had hurt so many of the people you cared about.)

And yet there is a pain etched deep into his face when he finally looks up at you. Those golden eyes are tarnished, tired, but most importantly they are surprised. (Whether it's because he sees you, or that he's been warranted a visitor in the first place, you remain unsure.)

You take a tentative step forward. The guards outside move back into formation as the cell door falls shut.

Sunday doesn't speak. You don't think you want him to. He simply watches, with those pained eyes, as you decide what to do.

"I haven't forgiven you," you speak at last, choking down your nerves. "You know that, don't you?"

Dry lips part, then close. He opts instead to nod.

You take another step, and another, til a mere stretch of your arm separates you from the silken feathers around his head. (A distant, echoing voice at the back of your mind lists off all you might be capable of from this distance. Another cries out to flee.)

"I trusted you." Though you try to stifle it, your voice cracks. "You broke my trust, Sunday."

He can't seem to find the words to answer you today. It's a palpable change from how talkative you're used to him. (You wonder briefly whether it would be easier for him to speak back, or if you prefer it this way. At least you've the freedom to say what's on your mind.)

"You know, at first they wanted to arrest me too." A dry, bitter laugh escapes you. "The Family thought I was working with you. I wouldn't be surprised if they still did. Maybe that's the only reason I've been allowed to see you, so they can figure it out for themselves."

You move to sit, cross-legged on the floor at Sunday's feet. Looking up at him like this feels uncomfortable, strange, but it also gives you the perfect angle to get a better look at him.

Despite the dishevelled clothes and hair that are so clearly a result of the aftermath of his incarceration, he maintains a faint air of elegance. It is settled into the fine curve of his jaw, the delicate long lashes that frame those tarnished eyes- which continue to watch you with an amalgam of pain and surprise- and in the sweeping arc of his body as he leans forwards in his chair.

He's beautiful, as he always has been.

And yet it remains difficult to separate him from the image of that ascended monster you'd observed the Express engage in battle. The looming figure, the stark brightness of its porcelain form, had haunted you for days. Almost weeks.

(But Sunday himself has haunted you for far longer.

He continues to now, with his silence, with his gaze. Akin to a ghost, the man you have allowed to obscure your mind lingers fleeting and restless.)

When he speaks at last, after so many year-long minutes, you fear you've succumbed to a hallucination.

"I've missed you," he says. It comes out rasped, strained, accompanied with a heaving cough, but it rings out clear as day in the silence of his cell.

A soft jingling, then a harsh clank, draws your attention to the chains above his head. He'd tried to move his arm, you surmise, and failed miserably. You can't decide if you're glad he can't reach out to touch you like he seems to want. (Your fingers twitch at your sides, echoing the sentiment.)

Sunday once longed for freedom. In the sanctity of his office, he had told you as much. The metal that bites against his wrists and ankles now feels so terribly far removed from such a vision. (If he had the chance, would he have taken it back and spread his wings? Or has he always been fated to remain caged?)

Your chest heaves as you feel a tear well up in the corner of your eye.

(You can't cry here, not now. Not in front of him.)

One of the guards knocks on the door. One more minute. A sigh of relief falls past your lips.

"You're leaving already?" Sunday asks. If you didn't know better, you'd think those dulled eyes of his mirrored your own right now.

You don't speak as you walk to the door, waiting patiently for the guards to let you leave.

Through the final stretch of light that paints his cell, you take one more glance to him. You try not to catch what he mouths, but the sight is seared in your mind within an instant.

"Is everything okay?" A guard asks, arm outstretched to escort you from the prison.

"I suppose it'll have to be," you say.

[am-i-interrupting]

Hii! Could I please request a viktor x reader academic rivals fanfic. Mby they both work for heimendinger, and he thinks they could work well together and basically forces them to get along (they're both pinning for each other and refusing to admit it). With some sort of confession at the end. Pleasee🙏🙏

~🍒

Perspectives

“You must really think your clever, don’t you?” You asked as you crossed your arms with a huff.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Viktor said from across the table.

You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. You shook your head. A heat came behind your eyes and underneath your cheeks. You could feel a furrow building a bridge between your brows.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Is it so unbelievable that this is the correct course of action?”

“Yes, actually, because it makes no sense.”

“I just explained it to you. Do I need to revert to simpler terms?”

You snatched up a wrench. “You’re so infuriating,” you said as you harshly turned a bolt.

“And you’re just an absolute breath of fresh air yourself,” Viktor replied. “Believe me, if I could have convinced Heimerdinger to let me do this project alone, I would. In fact, I tried.”

“And you failed because he clearly knows you’re not competent enough to do it without my assistance.”

He did one of those amused huffs of his. “What does that say about you then, hm?”

You grabbed a spare nut and threw it at his head. He just managed to duck in time for it to whirl above him.

The rest of the hours in the lab were spent in mostly silence. All across the weeks it took for this project, if you were talking you were arguing with one another.

The last two candidates for the Heimerdinger’s assistant and now he was forcing you two to do petty fixes. Together, at that.

You’d grown to know Viktor over the past year as a sarcastic, smart ass of a man. Who also just happened to have eyes like dripping honey, a crooked smile, and moles that drew attention to every movement of his face as they seemed to be dancing in the directions his muscles pulled.

You hated him.

Fuck, was he hot though.

You hated even more so the way in which you caught yourself observing him. Taking notes on what each little vocal infliction meant. The way in which his lips moved about with unspoken words when he became focused. How he couldn’t seem to sit without keeping his hands busy with something. A hand always in his hair if he was reading notes.

Those hands. Those hands that you looked down to when you caught yourself staring just made those feelings worse.

They were long and lithe. He moved them with elegance and purpose. It was so easy to get transfixed by them. Sharp edges contrasted with gentle movement.

His brain was something like that as well. It was filled with so much knowledge and passion. There was never a moment you’d seen him without either.

“I must admit,” Viktor said, breaking the silence that had been between the two of you all day. You looked up, mentally preparing your own retort already, “I might miss these moments between us when I am the Dean’s assistant.”

A pang came and echoed in your chest. You hushed it.

“That implies that I won’t be getting that role instead.”

Viktor looked at you. There was a softness in his eyes which you’d never seen before. His lip twitched upward, his mole moving with it. Then it fell back down with some unspoken words.

“If these past few weeks especially have taught me anything, it is that you are far too talented to just become an assistant,” he said.

The mask of sarcasm fell off. It was like water was poured on your face, causing your brows to drop, your lips to part, and your eyes to widen.

“What?”

“I’m not wrong,” he continued as he looked away. “I never am. You’re smart and talented. Beyond that of a role where you are beneath someone else. You will be the head of something someday and I will look back and feel honored to have shared time within your company.”

“Viktor.”

“I admire you,” your name was spoken softly and with reverence. “I look forward to seeing your accomplishments someday.”

He continued on with the maintenance the two of you were doing. As though he hadn’t just changed your entire view of all your interactions with one another.

All those times he’d said. . . he would be the assistant to the Dean, they weren’t an undermining of your abilities? Instead a compliment to them.

A brush took a large stroke across your memories, adding new color to them.

He didn’t see you as beneath but above? How. . . unfathomably stupid of him. So unlike the intelligent man you had come to know.

“I admire you as well, Viktor,” you whispered in the quiet.

The remarks were less now or rather filled with less heat. There was more talking, small tidbits. You began to learn more and more about Viktor.

He told stories of his childhood and you shared some of yours. You began to take notice of when his pain flared more so than usual and learned he kept medication in his left satchel pocket. He learned where you kept stashes of sweets in your own bag.

You were twisting in your chair. A steady back and forth rhythm. The pencil in your hand was being fiddled with. Your thoughts and mind far away.

“Why do you do that?”

Your vision came back to focus. Viktor’s eyes were intently on you when you brought your gaze up to meet them.

“Do what?”

“You stare.”

You felt a blush rush to your face. “Oh? Do I? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.”

“No, no, I’m flattered, truly but is there a specific reason?” he asked.

You found yourself floundering for words. Your tongue twisted in your mouth now that your chair no longer did. A frantic stuttering came to you.

“I—I don’t— I’ve never, um, I’ve never— It’s just that, well, that I—“

You forced your eyes to move away from Viktor. Not exactly a hard thing to do. Especially now that you wanted to become one with the shadows of the walls.

“Is it hard to believe that you, um that you’re interesting to look at?” you asked.

Silence and then a chuckle, that amused laughter of his that he tried so hard and so often to quiet down.

“Am I now?” he asked in a self satisfied, smug voice that you’d grown to know far too much of.

You refused to look at him. Instead you swirled your chair back around towards the table completely. Your arm was placed down beside the paper you’d been writing notes on as you looked down; unable to understand a single letter, much less word, written on the paper.

“Well, you’re very interesting to look at as well,” Viktor said.

You heard and felt his elbow fall onto the table’s surface. You could feel his eyes intent upon you. There was a heat to your face which you were sure was now showing.

A hand touched your chin. Fingers curled around it and turned it towards Viktor.

“I’m fact, I’ve been very intrigued by every facet of your being for some time now,” Viktor said, voice smooth and steady.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, I—“

His other hand went to your waist. He pulled you close to him. Feet not touching the ground, you were helpless to stop your chair and body from rolling closer to him.

He ducked down slightly. His head tilted to his right. Then you felt lips upon yours. A surge upward. You were pushed against the back of your chair. You melted against it.

[ssa-dado]

17 - My Decline

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: slow burn, fluff, platonic only for the two of them Summary: You return to the BAU after receiving a call from Erin Strauss, informing you of Hotch's suspension and offering you the role of Unit Chief for two weeks. Despite your initial hesitation, you accept. Visiting Aaron Hotchner later, you share a heartfelt conversation, reflecting on your past, and the complexity of balancing personal life and work. As your first case unfolds, you call him after a long night, easing the tension with humor and familiarity. Warnings: Grief, abuse of power, blackmail, Strauss being Strauss Word Count: 9.8k - my fault - I love when they tease each other Dado's Corner: Thank you for sticking with me through that last chapter! Initially, I’d planned to cover the events of 3x2 as well, but as I wrote, I realized that would mean adding another 15k words. I already have a cute scene written where Y/N interacts with the team as Unit Chief on their first case. Would you be interested in reading that in the next chapter, or are you happy with the temporary version of Y/N as Unit Chief with the final scene I included in this part? My inbox, DMs, and comments are open for your thoughts!

masterlist

Every time you returned to Riverhead, it was as though the town held its breath, waiting to pull you back into shadows you had tried so hard to leave behind. Work seemed to find you here with an unyielding persistence, like a ghostly echo refusing to fade.

You’d joke about it sometimes, saying it was your father’s ghost that stirred things up. It was easier to pin it on him than to admit the truth: that you still had never truly left your work behind, not fully.

And perhaps, in some way, he hadn’t either. He’d been a man devoted to his work, and maybe, in the quiet corners of this town, traces of that dedication lingered, like invisible threads stretching from one part of your life to another, reeling you back in whenever you drifted too far.

Today, though, you had hoped for silence, a chance to let the quiet wash over you, to absorb the memories without interruption, like a sponge soaking up all the forgotten echoes of the past. Today, you wanted to sit with the pain, to breathe it in, to feel every bit of it as a way of holding onto something long gone.

Walking in the cemetery felt like slipping back in time, as though you were stepping into a version of yourself you barely recognized. The years had dulled some things but never fully erased them; grief had etched itself into your bones, a quiet companion you’d come to carry with you everywhere.

Grief, in its own way, had become a fragile thread tying you to the memories you didn’t want to lose. Sometimes, you even found yourself grateful for the pain - it was a reminder, the only way of still keeping him close. It was the proof that he had once been here, that his absence now carried meaning.

Just then, your phone buzzed, a shrill interruption that broke through the delicate quiet you’d wrapped around yourself, shattering the stillness you had hoped to preserve.

Of course. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“Agent Y/L/N?” The voice on the other end was cool and composed, edged with authority. “This is Erin Strauss, Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I believe you’re familiar with me.”

You took a steadying breath, straightening your posture instinctively, though the name on the other end of the line tightened something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried. “Yes, Agent Strauss,” you replied, keeping your tone polite, neutral, though the tension was harder to mask than you’d hoped. “It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you.”

But the truth was, the only reason you knew of Erin Strauss was because of the last person you wanted to think of here, in this place where memory was still raw and sacred.

His name rose, unbidden, lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

“Likewise,” she replied, her voice a cold, clinical blade, slicing through the air. There was no pretense of warmth, no room for pleasantries. “I’ll get straight to the point. I trust you’re aware that Agent Hotchner has been suspended pending further investigation into his conduct.”

Agent Hotchner.

Suspended.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, as if the air itself had turned to lead, pressing down on you. You wanted to ask what had happened, to reach out and tear the answers from her, but you stopped yourself, knew you had no right to know.

Not anymore.

You pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose, fighting for composure, feeling that old, raw fury clawing its way to the surface. How was it that he could still do this to you? How could he, after all these months, still find his way into the cracks of your life, seeping through like some lingering ghost that refused to be exorcised?

You had thought - foolishly, naively - that you’d finally carved out a life beyond his reach, a place where he could no longer haunt you. And yet here he was, even now, his presence clinging to you, seeping back into your world as if he had never left, pulling you back into a storm you had fought so hard to leave behind.

“I wasn’t aware of it. Not at all,” you replied, keeping your tone even, a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.

But there it was, that flicker of concern, betraying you in ways you thought you’d buried. Even over the line, you could sense Strauss dissecting it, reading into the silence, filing it away as if she could pull apart your thoughts by their lingering echoes.

“Well, he has,” Strauss continued, her voice precise and clinical “Which brings me to the reason I’m calling. I’m offering you the position of Unit Chief for the next two weeks during Agent Hotchner’s suspension. Your experience in behavioral analysis, particularly your work across Europe, has been… noteworthy. I’m sure your unique perspective will be useful to the team during this transitional period.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no real admiration behind the compliment. It was as if she were reciting a list of credentials from a file, rehearsed and impersonal, a courtesy she barely found necessary.

“You’ve clearly kept your skills sharp,” Strauss went on, her voice smooth but with an undercurrent that hinted at a carefully concealed disdain. “Your approach to teaching behavioral analysis is, admittedly, unconventional, but I can appreciate the results. And, of course, I already have proof that you’re capable of handling this role. Your assistance on that active case a few months ago was… impressive, given the circumstances.”

Her voice took on a faint edge, an almost imperceptible shift in tone. “Yes, your input was quite thorough, handling an active case remotely while simultaneously using it as material in your class. Creative, to say the least. Though I imagine that level of multitasking might have had something to do with the procedural lapses that Agent Hotchner is now being scrutinized for.” She let the words linger, a barely disguised dig cloaked in the form of praise.

A surge of guilt twisted in your chest, the memory of that case coming back with a painful clarity. You’d offered to take on the paperwork, had insisted on it, hoping to shield Aaron from the potential fallout.

But of course, he hadn’t let you.

Always so determined to take the brunt, even when he hadn’t put a foot wrong, as if it was some kind of penance he couldn’t quite absolve himself from - he always did that.

Always insisting on being the shield for his team, stepping in to shoulder the blame even when the choices hadn’t been his. It was as though he’d internalized everyone else’s missteps, using them as a way to reinforce some twisted version of leadership, one that blurred the line between loyalty and martyrdom. You’d wanted him to let you handle it, to let you bear the consequences of your own decisions, but he had blocked you at every turn, unwilling to cede even a fraction of control.

Strauss continued, her voice almost syrupy, a layer of falseness woven into her words. “Your ability to work under pressure is something I can certainly appreciate, and I imagine your insight could be… helpful, given the current state of the BAU. This is an opportunity for you to step into a role that aligns perfectly with the skill set you’ve cultivated over the years. After all, that case demonstrated a particular tenacity I’m sure will be invaluable to the team in Agent Hotchner’s absence.”

It was a backhanded compliment, laced with subtle reminders of the position she held over both of you, a demonstration of her power to pull strings and twist the narrative to suit her ends.

She was offering you the role, but not out of genuine respect for your abilities. No, it was simply another move in the game she was playing, a way to manipulate and control the situation, to remind you - and perhaps more importantly, Aaron - that she held the reins, that she could dangle your career, your reputation, like a puppet on a string.

You could feel the trap closing, the subtle manipulation laced within her words. “Agent Strauss, I appreciate the offer,” you replied, choosing a measured tone, “I’m not sure I’m the right fit for the role, especially given that I’ve been out of the field for quite some time. I left the BAU to focus on teaching, as you know. I’m committed to that position now.”

Strauss let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s precisely why this opportunity is so valuable,” she said, her voice softening with a feigned empathy. “It allows you to step back into the role temporarily, to reconnect with the work you once dedicated yourself to. After all, you spent three years working side by side with Agent Hotchner - 1998 to 2001, wasn’t it? You were twenty-one when you joined. Such dedication at a young age.”

Strauss's words were carefully chosen, her quiet, almost predatory curiosity about your connection with Aaron cutting deeper than you’d expected. It was as though she was testing the boundaries, probing to see how far she could push, each glance sharpened with intention. Her gaze lingered, calculating, always one step ahead, watching every flicker of your reaction, waiting to see what she could draw out and use against you.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied cautiously, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “We worked together closely during that time.”

“And more closely than most, from what I understand,” Strauss continued, the hint of amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You were quite the team, both in and out of the office. But I find it curious - since you two were such… close friends, I would have expected you to check in on him after all this time. Nearly a year without any contact, if I’m not mistaken? Exactly since that case you had assisted on”

The words hit you like a cold shock, igniting a wave of disgust that you could barely contain. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy, it was the realization that she had stooped to such unethical tactics. The complete disregard for boundaries, the way she sifted through your personal history as if it were nothing more than a tool for manipulation, made your stomach twist. Your grip tightened around the phone, fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to maintain a calm facade, the resentment simmering just below the surface.

“Agent Strauss,” you began, letting a hint of disappointment seep into your voice, as though you were quietly dismayed that she would resort to such tactics. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying,” you continued, your tone sharp, “but if you’re asking me to take this position, I’ll need the terms in writing. That is protocol, after all, isn’t it?” You paused just long enough for the question to linger, then pressed on, unwavering. “I expect the details of my transfer and my return to the academy to be formally documented, and I want confirmation that my role at the BAU will be temporary - two weeks, no more, no less.”

A silence stretched between you, taut and heavy, and you could almost feel Strauss weighing your response. Finally, she spoke, her tone hardening. “You’re in no position to negotiate, Agent Y/L/N. This isn’t an offer, it’s an assignment. However, I’ll ensure that the necessary paperwork is sent to you. But let me be perfectly clear, if you’re thinking of refusing, you’d do well to remember that Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation. The future of the BAU depends on a leader who follows the rules.”

Taking a steadying breath, you kept your tone cool, sharp, refusing to let her see the turmoil beneath the surface. “And I’d remind you, Agent Strauss, that if Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation for not following protocol, then my transfer should be treated with the same level of rigor. I expect everything in writing - documented, as per procedure - before I set foot in the BAU. If you’re going to ask me to take on this role, then we’ll do so by the book.”

“Very well,” Strauss replied after a pause, her voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. “You’ll receive the documentation by the end of the day. I trust you’ll be prepared to begin on Monday.” Her words were a sharp dismissal, and before you could respond, the call ended abruptly, leaving you standing there in the cold, the silence almost jarring after her precise, clinical tone.

You turned back to your father’s grave, inhaling deeply, trying to ground yourself in the familiar stillness of this place. For a moment, you let the tension drain away, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breath, allowing a semblance of peace to return.

You cast a wry smile at the gravestone, brushing a leaf off its weathered surface. “Why don’t you ever send me calls from people who want to give me a pay raise?” you asked softly, almost imagining his laughter in response. “It’s still related to work, isn’t it?” You chuckled, the sound hollow, an echo lost in the quiet cemetery.

You had hoped, just this once, for a reprieve. Some distance, however brief, from the ghosts of your past life. But once again, work found you here, relentlessly shadowing you as if you’d never truly left it behind.

As you cleared away the dried flowers, a glint of something unusual caught your eye, half-buried in the vase at the base of the grave. Curious, you reached down, brushing off the dust until your fingers closed around a small, familiar object. The shape, the intricate details etched into the tiny replica—it took only a moment for you to recognize it.

The Guggenheim Museum.

You knew, without a doubt, who had placed it here.

Aaron.

A wave of emotion washed over you, and you felt a knot tighten in your throat, the weight of unspoken memories pressing down. He’d never mentioned it, never let on that he came here. But this small, quiet gesture, left behind in honor of your father, told you more than words ever could.

Eight years had passed, yet here it was - a piece of your history together.

Standing here now, holding that miniature Guggenheim, the memories rose up like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that you’d left him behind, that the distance you’d put between yourself and those memories was enough to protect you. But the ache was still there, raw and present, an undeniable reminder of what you’d shared.

You drew a shaky breath, closing your eyes as a single tear slipped down your cheek. You hadn’t realized, until now, just how much you had missed him - missed this, the quiet way you understood each other, even in silence.

And as you stood here, you felt something shift, a sense of clarity settling over you like the first light of dawn.

Perhaps it wasn’t the work itself that kept finding you every time you returned to Riverhead, but something else entirely - a reminder of the people who had mattered most, a call to reconcile the pieces of your life that you had so carefully separated.

You didn’t just want Aaron back in your life.

You needed him.

---

Standing outside Aaron’s door, you felt your stomach twist with nervous energy, a knot of tension growing tighter with each passing second. It had taken you over half an hour of pacing through his neighborhood, rehearsing what you would say, before you finally summoned the courage to knock.

You hadn’t called ahead. You hadn’t given him - or anyone - any warning of your visit. The thought of Strauss or someone else tracking the call, or even knowing about this meeting, felt too invasive. This needed to stay between you and Aaron.

The last time you had spoken, everything had fallen apart, like the carefully laid foundations of something important crumbling under the weight of words left unspoken for too long. But today, you needed to clear the air, no matter how painful it might be.

The door opened, and there he was.

Aaron’s eyes widened in brief surprise, his expression quickly shifting into something familiar, something that made your heart ache. You noticed immediately: his hair was cut shorter than usual, almost military in its precision, making him look even more distant. His demeanor was as calm as ever, but there was something about his appearance that hinted at the toll these past weeks had taken on him.

Without a word, he stepped aside, his gesture inviting you in with a quiet familiarity that felt both comforting and strangely tense. You brushed past him, acutely aware of the brief closeness, and the soft click of the door closing seemed almost jarring in the silence that followed. The weight of Strauss’s demands hung between you like an uninvited specter, casting a shadow over the space as you both stood there, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

The tension lingered in the space between you, an almost tangible weight pressing down on each moment of silence. Months had stretched out between you since you’d last stood like this, face to face, and with every glance, every slight shift, you could feel the weight of all the unsaid words hanging in the air. Aaron seemed to feel it too, the way his stance was just a little too stiff, his posture as guarded as his gaze, flickering between anticipation and a quiet wariness, like he was bracing for the inevitable.

“I was about to call you,” Aaron said, his voice cutting through the silence. He didn’t waste time on small talk, didn’t ask why you were here. He simply turned toward the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot. His movements were fluid, practiced, like this was something you had done a hundred times before.

You watched him for a moment, noticing how the shorter cut of his hair emphasized the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze. The look suited him in some ways, but there was something about it that felt deliberate - an attempt to regain control, to impose order on his life, especially now that the one thing that had always grounded him had been taken away.

A part of you couldn’t help but miss the way his hair used to fall loosely over his forehead, softer and more human, a subtle reminder of the man who existed outside of his role at the BAU. That version of Aaron – your best friend - seemed farther away now, replaced by someone more rigid, more distanced. He looked like a soldier who had been stripped of his command, and the realization twisted something deep inside you.

You knew he’d been telling people he was grateful for the time with Haley and Jack, and you didn’t doubt that he was. But there was a hollowness in his eyes, a quiet exhaustion that revealed the toll this suspension was taking on him. Without the job, without the structure and purpose that had defined him for so long, he seemed lost, adrift.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy for him: this man who had poured so much of himself into his work, only to find himself unmoored, stripped of the very thing that had kept him grounded.

Aaron poured two cups, sliding one across the counter toward you, and for a moment, his eyes met yours, holding your gaze. There was something so automatic about it, as though he remembered the rhythm you used to share and couldn’t help but fall back into it. You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into your fingers as you searched for the right words, feeling a sudden need to clarify, to explain.

“I didn’t know you’d heard already,” you murmured, feeling a bit vulnerable, holding the cup like it was an anchor. “Strauss didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”

He nodded, leaning back against the counter as he studied you, his eyes sharp but gentle. “Garcia mentioned the transfer papers Strauss put in. She told me you’d be taking over for a couple of weeks,” he said, his tone even, measured. “I figured it wasn’t something you’d decided on your own.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze dropping to the coffee, swirling the liquid in small circles as you spoke. “I need you to know that I never wanted this,” you said, feeling the need to rush through the words, to get them out. “I didn’t ask for this job. I never wanted to take over, not like this. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m some kind of… hypocrite. I said no before, and now here I am, back where I didn’t even want to be.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he set his coffee down on the counter, stepping closer, his posture relaxed but attentive. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice steady but kind. “I know this wasn’t your choice. Strauss is playing her games, and you’re just caught in the middle.” He paused, his expression softening as he added, “And I never thought you were a hypocrite. I get it," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "Peter wants you to have a life that allows you to be home, to have stability. I understand that more than you know."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you could see past the exhaustion, past the weight of everything he had been carrying. There was compassion there, a deep empathy that caught you off guard. “You were trying to build something stable, something you could control. That’s not wrong. But Strauss... she doesn’t leave much room for other people’s choices.”

You let out a shaky breath, there was something so grounding in his words, like he could see past everything you were struggling to say, like he understood it all without you needing to explain.

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully before continuing, his tone soft but sure. “I know you didn’t want this job. I know you didn’t ask for it. But, Y/N, you’re more ready for it than you realize.”

 “Aaron, I haven’t been in the field for seven years.” your voice barely above a whisper. “The team… they respect you, Aaron. I’ve seen it. They trust you in a way I don’t think I can live up to.”

His eyes met yours, warm and steady, a quiet assurance radiating from him as he took a step closer. “You’ve been leading for years, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady and comforting. “Just in a different way. I’ve seen your students around you, the way they look up to you. This isn’t that different. You have that same ability, and they’ll see it, just like your students have.” He paused, and the intensity in his gaze deepened, a softness to his expression that made your heart ache. “They’ll trust you because you’ve earned it, Y/N. You’ve always been a natural leader. You’re stronger than you think.”

You felt a flicker of doubt, but his words gave you something to hold onto, a thread of belief that, maybe, you could do this. You gave a small, tentative smile, your voice barely audible. “I hope you’re right, Aaron.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, a warmth in his eyes you hadn’t seen in ages. Then, with a small smile, he softened, almost teasingly, “I’m always right, you know.” But the lightness in his tone faded, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. “And I know you’ll do this well. Better than anyone else could. I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it.”

Aaron paused, his expression turning wistful. “You were there for me when I needed someone to remind me of who I was. You’ve done that for everyone around you, always giving so much of yourself. That’s why I trust you with this. I trust you to lead them. Because I know that no matter what, you’ll always find a way to lift people up when they need it most. You did that for me more times than I can count, and you’re going to do it for them.”

A lump formed in your throat, emotion thickening your voice as you replied, “Thank you, Aaron.” The words felt inadequate, a mere echo of the gratitude swelling inside you, but they were all you could manage. Still, the enormity of the role - of stepping into his shoes, even temporarily - was almost overwhelming. The silence between you thickened as you gathered the courage to say the next thing weighing heavily on your mind.

Although his eyes flicked down briefly to your left hand, noticing what wasn’t there. The engagement ring. You saw his gaze, the way he hesitated, the slight furrow of his brow as he registered the absence of the ring. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t push. You noticed, tucking your hand into your lap with a quiet smile.

“You were right about the ring,” you said softly. “It was uncomfortable. So now… I wear it as a necklace.” You pulled the delicate chain from under your collar, the engagement ring hanging there like an afterthought, catching the light. His eyes lingered on it, the slightest tension in his jaw, but he nodded, a silent acknowledgment of what he’d told you all those months ago.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with a hint of vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I’m sorry, you know. For everything that happened that night. I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You offered him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, too. You were right about a lot of things. I just… wasn’t ready to accept them back then.” You sighed, the weight of your words settling between you. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away like that. Not without trying to make things right.”

He looked at you, his own smile mirroring yours, touched with a sadness that spoke of all the unspoken moments between you. “How did Peter take it?” he asked, his voice gentle, carefully treading into territory he knew was delicate.

You sighed, feeling the tension knotting in your chest again. “Not well,” you admitted, your voice quiet, strained. “We argued… a lot. He wants stability, a family, and I tried to explain that going back to the BAU was only temporary, that it was just for two weeks. But then he just - he snapped. He said I didn’t love him, that I’d never done enough to build a life with him. He’s never been like that before, Aaron. I’ve never seen that side of him.”

Your voice wavered as you continued, the pain of the argument spilling out. “I don’t know how he still doesn’t see everything I’ve given up for him. I left Europe, I left the life I was just starting to love because I thought it was what he wanted, and still… I’m never enough. I can never be enough.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he listened, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. He stepped a little closer, but didn’t push, didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give. Instead, he let a few seconds of silence settle between you, his gaze steady and full of a quiet understanding.

“You are enough, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. He spoke like it was a truth he'd always known, something he needed you to believe. “I’ve always thought so,” Aaron added quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, the depth of his sincerity almost too much to bear.

You held his gaze, searching for something you hadn’t known you’d been looking for. His words lingered, quiet and sincere, slipping into the hidden spaces within you where you’d kept so much of this buried. You took a breath, reaching into your cardigan pocket, your fingers brushing against the small object you’d carried all the way from Riverhead. With a steady breath, you pulled it out and set it gently on the counter, your hand lingering on the tiny replica for just a moment before withdrawing.

Aaron’s eyes fell to the miniature, widening as he recognized it. When he looked back up, his face softened, surprise mingling with a depth of emotion that you hadn’t expected to see. For a second, he was motionless, the realization settling over him, raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words breaking through the silence, fragile but laced with all the meaning you couldn’t put into words. “Thank you for paying your respects to my father. You didn’t have to… you never even met him. But it means more to me than you know.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but for a moment, nothing came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he glanced down, swallowing hard as he brushed a hand quickly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled, thick with the weight of everything he had never said. “I didn’t think you’d ever find it. Or if you did, I never thought you’d bring it up.”

Aaron's words barely rose above a whisper, yet they weighed heavy in the air between you. "But it felt right. Like the only way I could… honor him, even in some small way. He meant the world to you, and I - I needed to acknowledge that. It was that case, you know? When we stayed awake all night in that library… it’s when I realized that I wanted you in my life. It was my promise to always be there by your side, because he couldn’t anymore. That’s why I left it there.”

His words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like tendrils of unspoken emotion, thick and charged. And before you had a chance to gather a response, Aaron stepped forward, reaching out with a suddenness that took your breath away. In an instant, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, a tenderness that felt as real and grounding as the earth beneath your feet.

It was rare, this openness from him. All the few times you’d hugged before, it had always been you - arms outstretched, drawing him into a space he hadn’t often allowed himself. But now, it was his embrace wrapping around you, holding on like he was silently declaring something he hadn’t yet found the words for.

You could feel the solid strength of his chest against you, steady and warm, and for a moment, you let yourself fall into the closeness, let your chin rest just above his shoulder as you exhaled, melting into the comfort of him.

His hand found its way to the back of your neck, gentle yet firm, grounding you further. He held you as if he were memorizing the feel of you, as if he needed this connection as much as you did. And in that closeness, your senses were awash with the scent of him, a quiet, earthy warmth that rose around you.

Together, your scents created something unexpected, like stumbling upon a rose bush hidden deep within a dense forest, the fresh bloom intertwining with the quiet strength of the woods around it. The combined warmth was heady, almost tangible, filling the air with a fragrance that felt at once familiar and new, as though it had always been waiting to be discovered.

“I’ve missed you,” Aaron whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a gentle shiver through you - not from the chill, but from the tenderness wrapped around his words. His voice held a softness that cracked open something deep inside, making you feel, perhaps for the first time, the full weight of the time and distance that had stood between you. It was as if, in that quiet admission, all the years apart came rushing back, each one settling around you, filling the space with an undeniable, aching presence.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink further into the warmth of his embrace, tightening your hold on him as though anchoring yourself to this moment,

To him.

“I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You simply held on, breathing in the mingling scents, letting the silence settle around you like a blanket, thick and comforting. It felt like you were standing outside of time, wrapped up in the solace of his arms, the weight of the months and unspoken words slipping away.

His hand traced slow, steady patterns across your back, the rhythmic motion grounding you in a way that made you feel like you had finally come home. There was no rush, no urgency - only the quiet presence of the two of you, finding a calm within each other that neither of you had felt in so long.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands lingering on your shoulders, his eyes soft and searching. His gaze held yours, steady and tender, like he was trying to etch this moment into memory. There was an understanding there, a quiet reassurance that reached places you’d hidden away, his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel safe, seen, and understood.

You didn’t need words to fill the space between you, because everything you’d been longing to say had already been spoken, carried in the warmth of his arms, in the softness of his gaze.

“Actually, I have something else to ask you, I have a deal for you” he began, his voice carrying a warmth that made your chest tighten. He gave a small, tentative smile, and you could tell by the way he looked at you that this was important.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Another deal? You know, the last one didn’t exactly end well,” you teased, trying to lighten the moment, though your heart raced a little at what he might say next.

Aaron’s chuckle was rich and warm, filling the space between you and wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. “Well, that’s because you made the deal,” he replied, eyes twinkling with just a touch of mischief. “This time, it’s my turn.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you met his gaze, feigning a look of skepticism. “Oh, is it?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Go ahead, Hotchner. Let’s hear this all-important deal of yours.”

He leaned forward, his expression shifting to something a little more serious. “I have this… arrangement with the team,” he started, his tone quieter. “After each case, I fill in some of their reports - the less critical stuff, like case summaries, time logs, expense forms. That way, they can focus on the work that really matters, and when they get back, they’re not bogged down by paperwork.”

You felt a surge of warmth blossom in your chest, and your heart swelled as you listened. It was so undeniably Aaron, always thinking of others, taking on the less glamorous parts of the job so his team wouldn’t have to. “You’re incredible, you know that?” you said softly, the admiration in your voice clear. “All these little things you do for them… they have no idea, do they?”

He shrugged, giving you a small, modest smile. “They don’t need to know. They’re busy enough as it is,” he replied, his voice steady. “But with me gone, I need someone I trust to handle it. Just for these two weeks. I’d ask that you keep it between us, though,” he added, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “The last thing I want is for them to realize those reports even exist. They’re the kind of forms that can eat up hours, and I don’t want anyone else spending their time on them.”

You nodded, understanding both the significance of the task and the trust he was placing in you. “Of course, I’ll do it,” you replied without hesitation. “You don’t have to offer me anything in return, Aaron. I’d be happy to help you with this.”

But he shook his head, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, I don’t think you understand. I’m asking you to do something major,” he teased, his voice lightening as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know how it feels to come back after a rough case, only to stay even later to handle things that technically aren’t your responsibility. So, let’s make this interesting.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his stance, a smile beginning to form as you sensed where he was headed.

“Yes, here’s the deal,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with a familiar spark. “If you agree to handle these reports in absolute secrecy, and you pull it off without the team ever suspecting a thing, I’ll owe you a favor. You get one pass, redeemable whenever you want… and I’ll play something for you. On the guitar.”

You blinked, a warm smile spreading across your face as his words sank in. Memories of your first case together surfaced, and you were suddenly back on that train, laughing as he’d reluctantly admitted he could play. You’d been curious then, teasing him, trying to get him to prove it. But he’d kept that part of himself hidden, reluctant to share it. And now, all these years later, he was finally willing to let you in.

“You’re serious?” you asked softly, your smile widening as you searched his face for confirmation. “You’d actually let me hear you play?”

He nodded, his expression earnest, a gentle warmth in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “Yes. Just this once.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the warmth in your chest growing. “Aaron, I would’ve done this even without the offer. You didn’t need to put anything on the line. But now that you’ve offered… I’m holding you to it,” you replied, your tone both lighthearted and sincere.

He smiled, and you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle as he extended his hand, his voice taking on a formal tone. “Deal,” he said, as if it were a high-stakes negotiation.

You squeezed his hand gently, savoring the warmth and solidity of his grasp, letting the moment stretch a little longer than necessary. “You know, lawyers… always making deals,” you quipped, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

He chuckled softly, his hand still warm in yours. “We just like to cover our bases,” he replied, a playful tone weaving through his words. His gaze softened as he added, “Besides, I had to make it worth your while. You’ll understand after you get through a few of those reports. And if you ever need anything, you know I’m only one call away.”

You let out a small laugh, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you replied, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage. You, on the other hand, should try enjoying this break. Spend some time with Haley and Jack; you’ve earned it, and they’ll love having you around more.” Your tone grew softer, more sincere. “I know how hard it is for you to let go, even for a little while. But you deserve this, Aaron. And I promise, everything’s going to be fine.”

He looked down, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, but you could see the tension in his eyes, the weight he carried so silently. You held his gaze, your tone shifting back to seriousness as you continued, “The investigation will be over before you know it. They’ll see the truth of how much you care about your team and the dedication you put into your work. You’re the best person for this job, Aaron. Nobody else could lead the team the way you do. Two weeks will fly by, and when it’s over, everything will be back to normal.”

You paused, a small grin breaking through the seriousness as you added, “Though I can’t promise the team won’t be quoting Plato and Nietzsche by the time you come back. They might even learn a thing or two about Socrates if they’re lucky.”

He let out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as he shook his head, mock exasperation coloring his expression. “Oh, great. Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine the look on Morgan’s face when he tries to decipher why you’re discussing the allegory of the cave while tracking a suspect.”

“Well, consider it an upgrade,” you replied, matching his tone, “just expanding the minds of tomorrow, one Socratic method at a time. Plus, if anything, they’ll come to appreciate your much more straightforward, no-nonsense approach even more.”

He let out a sigh, feigning defeat. “Touché,” he replied, chuckling, then gave you a teasing look. “Just don’t go turning the team into a bunch of philosophical skeptics, alright? I think I’d prefer them grounded in reality.”

You grinned, unable to hold back a laugh. “You have my word,” you replied, though a mischievous glint lingered in your eyes. “No deep-dive existential debates while they’re on the clock… well, unless it’s really necessary.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a warmth in his gaze that lingered. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but full of something deeper, a sincere gratitude that reached beyond words. “For the reassurance. I don’t know how you do it, but you always seem to know exactly what to say.”

You felt a gentle tug in your chest, a familiar sense of understanding between you that had always been there, even through the silences and the distance. “I guess it’s part of the job,” you teased lightly, your smile softening. “Reading people.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, smirking as he shook his head. “Don’t go thinking you’ve got me all figured out now,” he replied, the hint of challenge in his voice playful but with an undeniable warmth behind it.

“Oh, I already have,” you shot back, a spark of playful defiance in your tone, though your eyes stayed warm and full of affection. “And don’t lie to my face, Aaron, saying you can’t read me like an open book. We both know you can.”

His smirk turned softer, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Let’s not go there,” he said gently, the edge of a smile still tugging at his lips. Then, his voice dropped to something more serious, more intimate, as he added, “Just... take care of them. And of yourself, alright?”

His words held more than just the usual weight of concern; there was something else there, a quiet plea, a tenderness that went beyond the job. You nodded, feeling your heart swell in your chest as the moment stretched between you, full of unspoken things, and yet, for once, you didn’t need words to fill the space.

“I will,” you promised, your voice soft but full of certainty. “And Aaron... take care of yourself, too. You’ve been carrying a lot for a long time.”

His gaze met yours, full of unspoken understanding. He nodded, his eyes holding yours for just a moment longer before he finally said, “I will.”

---

It was just after 5 a.m. in Newport, and the town lay cloaked in a thick layer of early morning fog, everything still and untouched by the first light. You were perched on the edge of your hotel bed, mind racing despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, every muscle still tense from your very first day as Unit Chief.

You hadn’t been in the room more than half an hour, but the adrenaline still pulsed faintly in your veins, keeping sleep at bay. Without thinking too much about it, you reached for your phone, scrolling to Aaron’s number. You knew he was awake - 8 a.m. in D.C. was a sure bet that he’d already be up, probably with a cup of coffee in hand, well into his morning routine.

You dialed his number, the soft ring cutting through the silence of your dim room. There was a flicker of hesitation as you listened to the tone. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to call him, maybe he wouldn’t want to hear about this. But then, on the third ring, his familiar voice answered, warm and steady, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying that calm, reassuring tone that had always grounded you. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now?”

You let out a soft, tired laugh, leaning back against the cool headboard, the weight of the day pressing against your chest. “You sound way too rested for me to take that seriously,” you teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “That’s because I am. I take it you’ve been up all night?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a sigh, the fatigue settling deeper into your bones. “Barely just got in. The team isn’t too thrilled about the all-nighter either.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Aaron’s voice softened, concern threading through. “That sounds rough, especially for your first case as Unit Chief. How’s the team holding up?”

You let out a small, weary laugh, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to ease the exhaustion that clung to every muscle. “They’re managing… but they’ve been finding ways to keep themselves entertained, despite the long hours. Apparently, it’s become a bit of a game for them to list all the ways you and I are, apparently, identical.”

Aaron chuckled softly, and you could practically hear the small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Oh? I can’t imagine what they’ve come up with.”

You shook your head, a grin creeping up despite the exhaustion. “Neither can I, honestly. But they seem to think the list is long. According to them, we’ve both got the same head tilt when we’re staring at a board for too long. They swear it’s ‘uncanny’ as Prentiss eloquently said.”

“Clearly, they’re imagining things,” he replied, his tone light but still carrying a touch of disbelief. “But I’m pretty sure I picked up that head tilt from you, though. I didn’t do that before we started working together, but if I do it, it’s definitely different from yours. No way they’re the same.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly, finding comfort in the easy back-and-forth. “Right, so any similarities we have are because you’ve been subconsciously imitating me? Oh, and they also pointed out that we both cross our arms the same way when we’re staring at the whiteboard. That one really got them going.”

“Now that can’t be true,” Aaron shot back, though you could hear the playful disbelief in his voice. “I’ve been crossing my arms like that since law school. That’s my signature move, you know.”

“Oh, no,” you said, the grin widening on your face. “I’ll have you know I was crossing my arms long before you ever knew me. If anything, you’re the one who picked it up from me. I don’t remember you doing it back when we were first working together.”

He scoffed, though the smile behind his words was unmistakable. “So now we’re claiming that all our mannerisms are one-sided? Right, of course, it’s me copying you, not the other way around.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stretched out on the bed, feeling the tension begin to slip away. “Well, maybe we’re more alike than we think,” you teased lightly. “Apparently, that’s the team’s conclusion. They even said we tilt our heads the same way when we’re deep in thought.”

He chuckled again, the sound warm and rich. “They’re reaching now. But you should count yourself lucky, though—at least they didn’t say you have the same stare as me.”

You let out a mock sigh of relief, your voice tinged with amusement. “Oh, thank God. If they said that, I’d have to be concerned. Your stare is… terrifying, to say the least. If I ever start channeling that, then we’re in real trouble.”

Aaron laughed softly. “Well, as long as you’re not giving them my patented death stare, I think you’re safe.”

“Honestly, though,” you continued, still smiling, “as long as they didn’t say I had the same look as you, I’ll let it slide. We’re allowed to have a few shared habits, right? It’s bound to happen after all these years.”

“Shared habits,” Aaron repeated, his tone mock-serious now. “Alright, I’ll let them have that one. But I’m still holding onto the fact that the move of crossing the arms is mine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your chest lighter than it had been all day. “Sure, Aaron. You keep telling yourself that.”

“But if they think we’re so alike, then I’m guessing you haven’t bored them with your philosophy speeches yet.”  he replied, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You laughed, the sound surprising you with how much lighter you felt already. “Oh, no. I’ve been ‘holding back’ - mostly because someone,” you said, your tone laced with mock offense, “strongly suggested I avoid doing so.”

Aaron chuckled, his laugh rich and deep, filling the quiet space of your room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “Because if I remember correctly, someone told me, and I quote, ‘Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine Morgan’s face when you start discussing the Allegory of the Cave while tracking a suspect.’”

He laughed again, the sound so genuine that it warmed you. “Well, I stand by that. Could you imagine the looks on their faces?”

“I think they’d survive,” you teased. “But for the record, I have been holding back - thanks to your recommendation, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure they appreciate that,” he said, still chuckling. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing great. I know it’s not easy stepping into this role, especially with a tough case like this right off the bat.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, letting the warmth of his words sink in, a soothing balm against the exhaustion that clung to your bones. “I really appreciate that. Oh—wait till you hear this; it’ll boost your ego even more. They’ve already given me a nickname, and I think you’re going to get a kick out of it.”

Aaron’s interest was immediate, his tone curious. “Oh? I’m all ears. What’s the nickname?”

You grinned, settling back against the pillows, feeling the slightest bit of amusement cut through the haze of fatigue. “It started with Morgan calling me ‘Teacher,’ which, okay, I get. But by the end of the day, Reid had taken it upon himself to shorten it to ‘Teach.’”

There was a beat of silence before Aaron let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm. “Teach, huh? Seems familiar. Five letters, ends in ‘ch’... I see where they’re going with this.”

“Exactly!” you said with a laugh. “It’s like they’re trying to turn me into your clone or something. The moment they found out I was your partner not even a year ago, it was like my identity didn’t even matter. Just ‘Hotch’s partner.’ No individuality whatsoever! All these years, and you never even mentioned me. No wonder they’re treating me like some kind of Hotchner 2.0.”

He chuckled, a little sheepish but amused. “I’ll admit, I’m not big on personal stories with the team. But to be fair, I never thought you’d cross paths with them.”

You smirked, unable to let it go. “If you’d just mentioned me once or twice, they might’ve seen me as an actual person in my own right. Now, I’m ‘Teach,’ forever cemented as the philosophical shadow of Aaron Hotchner.”

“Well, to be fair, you are the Unit Chief now,” he replied, a lightness dancing in his tone. “But hey, that’s not so bad, right? They just see a lot of me in you, which I think is a compliment. You’re still very much yourself, even if they try to categorize you the way they do me.”

“Compliment?” you shot back, feigning offense. “If you want to talk about personal identity, I could launch into a full-blown lecture on the philosophical implications of maintaining one’s unique self in a world that constantly tries to define you, pigeonhole you…” You let the teasing note linger in your voice, leaning right into it.

He let out a loud, exaggerated groan, clearly amused. “Oh, here we go. I knew I walked right into this one.”

“Hey, you brought it up!” you grinned, unable to resist. “Don’t blame me if I start diving into existentialism and the whole ‘self versus society’ thing. I mean, we could be talking Kierkegaard, Sartre…”

Aaron sighed dramatically, but you could hear the affection in his voice, the smile you couldn’t see but could feel through the phone. “And here I thought I was safe from Philosophy 101 tonight.”

“Oh, you’re never safe,” you replied, putting on a mock-serious tone. “Not when you’re the one who kept me a secret for all these years, only to have me emerge as your apparent philosophical twin. Just younger, wittier, and of course, way more intelligent and let’s be honest – more pleasant to talk to. It’s almost poetic, honestly, if you think about it.”

He chuckled, a warm, soft sound that made you smile. “Alright, alright, I’ll take the blame. Though I’d argue I kept you a secret for your own protection.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” you teased, feeling the last bits of tension from the day melting away. You settled back into the bed, glancing at the nightstand where you’d stashed your current read.

He shifted gears then, his voice lightening even more. “So, what’s your reading material tonight? I know you’ve got a book with you. You always do.”

You smiled at the shared tradition between you, that small moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of your jobs. “Oh, I’m reading something fascinating tonight. Surprisingly slim, but technically part of a series.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking it over. “Slim and part of a series… Is it one of your philosophy books?”

You laughed, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Nope, not quite.”

“Then I’m stumped,” he said, sounding genuinely curious. “What is it?”

“Oh, you know, just a real page-turner. Beige cover, simple font, title reads ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’ and the author is none other than the illustrious U.S. Department of Justice.” You paused, letting your voice grow overly dramatic. “It’s riveting, Aaron. Really, you’d love it.”

Aaron laughed, a warm, full sound that managed to fill the quiet, early-morning stillness of your hotel room. It was one of those rare laughs that made you feel like you could reach out and touch the warmth in his voice. “You’re reading case files before bed now? Really?”

“Guilty, your honor,” you sighed, letting out an exaggerated breath. “I think it’s fair to say I’m fully immersed in the BAU lifestyle now. Case files as bedtime stories, an absolute treat, right?”

“If you’ve given up your novels for those,” he replied, amusement dancing through his tone, “then I’m genuinely concerned. That’s how you know it’s serious. But… while we’re talking about serious matters,” he continued, a note of curiosity creeping in, “how’s it feel having a whole hotel room to yourself for once? I imagine it’s quite the change from sharing a room with me on those long cases. I bet you’re enjoying the freedom.”

You grinned, settling further back against the pillows, feeling the tension of the day begin to melt away. “Oh, it’s luxurious,” you replied, letting your voice take on a light, teasing quality. “No one rustling around at two in the morning, no one’s phone alarm blaring at ungodly hours, no ‘I need to finish one last report’ moments. I’m living the high life here. All the peace and quiet I could ever dream of.”

“Luxury, huh?” he asked, his voice filled with playful skepticism. “If it’s so wonderful, then why’d you call me?”

You rolled your eyes, your grin widening. “Clearly, I’m still in ‘debrief mode’ and needed someone to unload all these heavy philosophical musings on. And since you’re the lucky recipient, I hope you’re ready for it.” You paused, feigning a haughty sigh. “But honestly, if you’re just going to tease me, I could always hang up, let you get back to whatever it is you do at 8 a.m. And I could probably get some extra sleep, for once.”

Aaron’s laughter softened, settling into something more tender. “No, no, don’t hang up. I’m glad you called, really,” he replied, his tone warm. “Although, I’d feel guilty if you didn’t get some rest. So,” he added, his voice carrying that familiar, gentle authority, “don’t keep me up too long, alright? You should get some sleep too.”

“Sleep?” you repeated, pretending to be horrified. “Who needs it? If I’ve survived this long without it, I’m practically invincible now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Well, invincible or not, try to get at least a few hours. For me, if nothing else. Deal?”

“Fine, fine, deal,” you said, a hint of affection lacing your tone. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Settling deeper into the bed, you felt a little of the day’s weight start to ease. Talking with him, even over the phone, brought a sense of calm that grounded you, and you realized just how much you’d missed the familiarity of it.

“Good,” he replied softly, then, with a teasing edge, he continued, “As you get back to your… gripping reading material, do you want to talk about the case? Or is it still too classified to discuss?”

You laughed, shaking your head, fully aware of how he loved to poke fun at Strauss’s emphasis on protocol. “Well, this case is still ongoing, and we are dealing with classified information here…” you said, adopting a mock-serious tone. “But maybe I could bend the rules just a bit. I could tell you about my very first day, the momentous occasion of ‘Teach’s debut’.”

“Oh, please do,” he replied, clearly amused. “And tell me, is my office still intact? Or have you scattered it with sticky notes and red string?”

“Don’t tempt me, but no, I’ve preserved your precious workspace.” you replied with a chuckle, picturing his face as he visualized the mess you could create. “It all started when…”

---

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