#(my tags are where i tell all my best and worst jokes)

[crabsnpersimmons]

a little wip for a little thing i'm working on!

[kiwriteswords]

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided��over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.” 

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.” 

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along. 

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow. 

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back. 

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 5.2k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

Notes: Part one is linked here!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

The doors to the council room chamber finally shut, leaving only Alicent and her two sons by themselves. A tense air looms overhead, and Aemond Targaryen sits stiff in his chair, considering all that has just happened. 

I am to marry Jaenara Velaryon.

A funny feeling settled at the bottom of Aemond’s heart. Truth be told, marrying his niece was far from the worst possible marriage partner he could imagine. Aemond would never speak it aloud, but he had always found Jaenara strikingly beautiful. While she did not bear the signature Targaryen white hair, she shared their bewitching lavender eyes. Hers had always been an interesting shade, he had thought. And Jaenara had a remarkably Valyrian face. Many people amongst the court — even his mother Alicent — had stated that Jaenara was a spitting image of Rhaenyra in her younger years.

Aemond also admired his niece’s curious personality, which was an understatement. One second, she could be as cold as the winters of the north. A moment later, she would exhibit a kindness and warmth only read about in stories. She was a welcome challenge, Aemond thought. 

Jaenara, he remembered, is also a skilled dragonrider. She had a strong bond with her dragon, and had quickly honed many skills and tactics that many within their family — including her brothers, had struggled with. 

Perhaps there was more to admire about this match than he initially believed. 

Aemond finally raises his gaze to his mother and brother.

“I never thought you’d be one to play matchmaker, mother.” Aemond tells his mother, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone. Amusement to mask his uncertainty. Alicent looks at him incredulously, wondering how her son could joke amidst such circumstances. 

“Oh you didn’t know?” Aegon scoffs, “Mother has already done this before. Can’t you see how happy Helaena and I are together? Surely you and your beloved bastard will also be a sight to behold.” 

Aemond opens his mouth to retort his brother's jabs but his mother beats him to it.

“Enough!” Alicent slams an open palm onto the table. Aegon scoffs once more and rolls his eyes. Their mother’s eyes hold sorrow. Guilt. She has nothing to say in rebuttal. What could be said in face of the cold truth?

Aemond is about to leave when his mother finally speaks: “You will speak to Jaenara with more respect from now on if you are expected to sit at her mother’s council…” she trails off, as if unsure of her own words.

“I seem to remember you spoke of her the same way not too long ago - what was it you called her? Plain-featured?,” Aegon says, “Though your criticism of Rhaenyra and her litter of bastards has lessened over these last few months. Has the Queen snuffed out your senses too?” 

“Aegon,” Alicent’s voice is heavy, “Aemond. Rhaenyra only has everyone’s best interest in mind. She is following her father’s dying wishes - your father’s dying wish. We were both with him in his last moments…” The woman before them clad in green closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“I know what has happened in the past. But this is our opportunity to put it at rest…”

Put it at rest? Aemond feels disgust at his mother’s sympathies. They took my eye. They made my childhood the nightmare it was. They chipped away at me bit by bit.  

“You say this about the same people who robbed me of an eye, mother,” Aemond responds coolly, “The same people who faced no consequences for this. I have seen how this has tormented you, even years later. As you have with me.”

The prince can see the conflict that bubbles below his mother’s surface. Alicent turns to her son and does something unexpected. She takes her hand in his. 

Aemond’s eye softens for the smallest moment.

“My son. There is no mending what has been left in the past. But there is still time to mend the future. I only wish to see you happy.”

He shakes out of his mother’s grasp. “She will do no such thing.”

Aemond stands and makes a brisk exit for the door. Leaving his mother and brother behind, and himself to his thoughts.

Someone will pay the price. And I will make him pay for it in blood.

The prince does not find sleep so easily that night. He challenges himself to imagine the look that would grace his niece’s face when her mother would have to break the news of their arrangement to her. He wondered if her lavender eyes would narrow in disgust, her lip curling in a snarl, anger palpable. Or perhaps she had looked to her mother with quiet surrender, making no reaction and solemnly accepting his hand. He decided she had done the former. Jaenara had always been a rather animated young woman - and that was putting it lightly. Even in their youth she had been this way.

In the quiet of his chambers, Aemond finds his mind enraptured by the princess. 

He is reminded of a time she had scolded him when she was a girl no older than six, and himself only seven, for pushing her twin to the ground and giving him a scraped elbow. The only person who managed to stop her tirade had been Rhaenyra. Aemond recalls the young mother scooping her twins into her arms, one flailing around still shouting at him whilst the other had tears streaming down his face. The prince smiles almost fondly from the memory, surprising himself.

The next memory that came to him happened a few years later. Aemond had more often found himself at the center of ridicule, frequently dealt by Jace and Luke. Oftentimes by Aegon too, though he chose to ignore that detail. The young prince had always felt distant to the rest of his family, as though he were different - lesser than the rest of them. And how could he not, as a dragon-less Targaryen. He was a dragon without wings. And his nephews had made sure he was aware of this. Aemond recalled how his blood boiled at the thought that bastards such as his nephews - such as Jaenara - had dragons. And yet, he did not. Was there something wrong with him? Had there been a reason his egg had not hatched alongside him in his cradle? Was he unworthy?

The taunting had reached a new level when Jaenara’s brothers had gifted Aemond a pig. Something he was much more worthy of rather than a dragon - they had said. He remembers when his nephews had revealed the creature to him in the training yard. Even Aegon laughed at him, so loudly it had caught the attention of Jaenara, who had been on the far end of the square speaking with Helaena. Aemond remembered how her gaze had turned to him - how he waited for her to join in on the teasing and laughing. 

No such thing happened.

Jaenara bounded over to the group of boys, a quiet storm forming behind her lavender eyes. Helaena had opted to hang back from the debacle, watching the impending uproar with rapt attention. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Jaenara had asked aloud when she finally reached their group. 

Silence. 

Jaenara continued, “I seem to remember that you yourself Jacaerys - you have made very little progress in even mounting Vermax.” The young boy averted his attention to the ground, suddenly very interested in a mound of dirt near his feet. The reprimanding had not stopped there.

“And you-” She turned to Lucerys, “You on the other hand may be able to mount your dragon, though you find yourself on the ground within seconds.” She looks between her brothers, and then to Aemond. Each holds their gaze with the other for a few moments.

“Neither of you have any room to be acting as though you are real dragon riders yourselves.” She seems to have finished, turning on her heels and running back to Helaena.

“AND TAKE THAT PIG BACK!” She yells over her shoulder. Aemond watched as his sister and niece strode away, arm in arm. He returns his attention to Jace and Luke, whose faces are the same shade as their house colors. Aegon’s laughter fills the yard again.

This incident had shown Aemond a different side of his niece. For an instant, he was filled with an immense regret for all the times he had ever been cold to her. The times he had called her a bastard. The times he had joined in on Aegon’s belittling of her and her family. She had taken all of that - for years on end - and still defended him. He couldn’t really understand why.

He can do little to prevent his least favorite memory from entering his mind. Aemond takes in a breath and closes his eyes. He remembers the night at Driftmark. The night he had claimed Vhagar. The night he lost his eye. 

That time had been different. Jaenara had not been present when the fighting had broken out - not until Rhaena had frantically found her and told her of what was transpiring, unsure of what to do herself. When his niece entered the room, Aemond had been on top of her brother. The sight had sent the young girl into a frenzy and, without fully understanding the context of the situation, she had flung herself onto Aemond and wrenched the boy off of Lucerys. 

“Get off of him!” She had screeched. With her arm wrapped around Aemond’s neck, Jaenara threw herself back and they soon found themselves on the cold floor. “What do you think you-” Her question remained unanswered at this moment - this singular distraction turning Aemond’s attention towards his niece. He remembered the bewildered look on her face, her black hair coming loose from her braid. Her white night dress and the light purple robe that clung to her. A bead of blood on her bottom lip. She had always had a bad habit of biting it, Aemond had noticed. Hard enough to draw blood. The blood began to trickle down her chin.

It was the last thing his good eye had ever seen before Luke split open Aemond’s face, from his cheek to his forehead. His own blood splattered onto Jaenara’s powder white gown, staining the cloth forever.

Darkness. A scream.

Aemond sat up in bed, blinking away the rest of the memory. He opened and closed a fist. Yes, he was sure of her response now. Jaenara was not happy about the prospect of this union, and had surely let her mother - and the entirety of Dragonstone - know this. Where she lacked Velaryon parentage, Jaenara’s Targaryen fierceness made up for this tenfold. 

She will meet her match.

Aemond would swallow his pride - swallow his grudges against his niece, and become her husband. Though, he decided, she should not expect much from him. He held no love in his heart for her. Surely no romantic love. He would use her as he needed, to obtain what he wanted - power. That, and retribution for the slight that his family had suffered in having Rhaenyra as their Queen. Though some of the weaker members of his family would not see it his way.

He circles back to the dark thoughts that had crossed his mind earlier. He would be doing his soon-to-be wife a favor in getting rid of her twin. She would be made heir to the Seven Kingdoms. It was probably the closest act akin to love Aemond would find himself capable of accomplishing during their relationship. And he would help her to rule. He was nothing if not helpful.

He could make it look like an accident. He had previously considered poisoning Jacaerys. Aemond would not act until a comfortable time into his marriage, so as not to raise suspicion. Though he decided, suspicion would be raised regardless if the heir were to suddenly drop dead in the middle of dinner. He hardly thought that hands clenched around the throat, skin purple, and eyes bulging out of his head would seem inconspicuous.

Poison was out of the question.

Aemond Targaryen feels a sudden sense of dread in plotting his own nephew’s demise. The dread only grows when he truly pictures carrying the act out himself. If he were ever to be discovered, The Realm would christen him with the title of Kinslayer. 

To be a Kinslayer is to be despised by The Gods. To be damned to the Seven Hells. 

Aemond is unsure if he harbors enough hatred in him to carry out the act, though he certainly is no stranger to being on the receiving end of such hatred. 

He considers if he possesses enough complacency to suffer the consequences, should they be dealt. He wonders if his heart is as hard as everyone else believes it to be.

And yet…

Unable to find sleep, Aemond climbs out of bed once more. He dresses and finishes the outfit off with his long black cloak, throwing the hood over his head. 

The One Eyed Prince slips out of the Red Keep and ventures into the Streets of Silk, hoping to find some semblance of comfort. 

— — —

Candlelight illuminates the face of the young princess as her eyes scan the pages of a rather large, rather dusty book. In the days before their inevitable departure, Dragonstone had become a whirlwind of busy servants and flustered royals. All of Jaenara’s possessions had been packed away and taken to King’s Landing ahead of time with the family’s servants, save for the text seated in her lap. In such a tumultuous time, the young woman found solace in its pages. 

Jaenara had read the story of Rhaenys Targaryen, one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives, so many times she felt she could recite the text backwards. Visenya had been a sister more remembered and revered by history for her valor and fierceness as a warrior; though Jaenara found herself drawn to the gentler sister. Rhaenys was more of a revered politician than a feared warrior. To Jaenara, she was just as formidable. She wanted to be like the Queen. Loved and feared. 

A knock upon the door turns her attention away from her histories. Jacaerys enters her chambers and lingers at the door for a moment, before resigning himself to sit next to her on the plush bed. 

“Jace,” Jaenara breathes, closing the text. 

Jacaerys looks over the book. 

“Again?” He attempts a small smile. 

Jaenara gets up from her place on the bed to create some distance between her and her brother. She places the book on her writing desk, taking mental note not to leave the book behind when she leaves tomorrow. “I find comfort through her in times such as these.” she responds shortly. 

Jace sighs, “You have been avoiding me.”

“You have made it easy.”

“Nara,” Jacaerys begins to sound annoyed, “You are not the only person who has had to…adapt to this change.”

Jaenara turns swiftly towards her brother, loose raven tresses swaying behind her wildly, “No, but I am the only person amongst us who had had their hand sold to a snake. You cannot understand my grief, Jace! You are betrothed to Baela - sweet Baela. You two actually like each other. But I am condemned to be the conciliatory sacrifice of this family.“

You are being unfair. Jaenara says to herself — she knows it to be true. You are being difficult. But she cannot help it. Her twin was afforded the luxury of being born a man. A man who did not have to face the same realities she currently found herself in.

Jace shifts on her bed, frame creaking under him. He seems to struggle finding his words, “I…you are right Jaenara,” He sighs, “I do not know what it is like. Just as you do not know what it is like to now be heir of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She glances at him and her twin continues.

“We both have the burdens of our parents to bear. We wear crowns too heavy for us.” Jace is solemn.

Jaenara bites her lip hard and lets out a shaky breath. A sickly sheen of guilt settled in her stomach. It was true that she had not considered what the rest of her family had been feeling of late. She seats herself beside Jacaerys and the bed groans under their weight once more. 

“I am sorry Jace.” Is all she can muster up.

Jace places a reassuring hand over her own. “You may yet make some use out of your upcoming marriage.”

Confused, Jaenara looks to her brother.

“Aemond is a fierce fighter. He is well versed in the histories and philosophies. I hear he has become a knowledgeable strategist. He rides the largest and oldest dragon, who is no stranger to battle.” Copper eyes meet lilac eyes. “And with you as his wife, he will be in our pocket.”

“He would be a formidable ally to have. But Aegon holds a seat on mother’s council - not Aemond.” Jaenara asserts.

“I as heir and you as his wife could sway this decision.”

“Mother has not even been crowned and you are already scheming.” Jaenara’s words are not so chiding as they are playful.

“Not scheming. I only hold our best interests in mind.” Jace tells his sister.

She looks him over once more. When had they become so…grown-up?

“You tell me you are fearful of wearing the crown one day…I think you will come to wear it well.” Jaenara softly smiles as Jacaerys scoffs and rises to his feet. 

“Just think it over, Nara,” He turns to the door, “You must rest. We rise early in the morning and depart for King’s Landing.” 

Before he leaves, he throws a glance at his sister over his shoulder. “I won’t let any harm come to you…from him.”

Jaenara does not let on how much the words mean to her. She has always disguised her true feelings under a cover of dripping sarcasm. “You need not worry about me, brother. Perhaps you should protect him from me.”

Jacaerys laughs and leaves again.

As Jaenara climbs into bed, she considers her brother's words.

Where he may prove to fail as a husband, he could make up for as an advisor. A weapon.

The princess blows out the candle and dreams.

In her slumber, Jaenara is face to face with Aemond Targaryen. He stands opposite to her, in front of a throng of people. She looks down and sees herself clad in an ornate dress of scarlet, white, and gold. Her black hair is pinned up in several twisting braids. The One Eyed Prince looks to his beautiful bride, eye full of admiration. For a moment, she thinks he might love her.

She thinks she may like that.

Suddenly, gasps are heard around the crowd. The gasps morph into shouts, scattered all over the Great Hall. A sharp pain. Jaenara feels a sticky warmth envelop her cheek, and feels something dribble onto her wedding gown. She reaches a trembling hand up to her face, pulls it back, and watches blood soak her palm, dripping below her wrist and all the way down the length of her arm. The wails echoing throughout the hall only grow around her. It is maddening. A sickening pop makes her blood run cold and she watches as one of her eyes rolls onto the floor below. 

Her husband’s mouth moves yet his voice comes out delayed, a haunting chorus.

An eye for an eye.

Jaenara wakes to another knock at her door. 

“My lady, may I help you dress?”

The princess wills her breath steady and wipes the sweat from her brow.

“Come…come in!” She calls out to her handmaiden. 

There was no time to dwell on the meaning of dreams.

— — — 

Prince Aemond sits across from Helaena as her children busy themselves with their toys. A handmaiden hands Jahaerys a toy dragon, which the boy launches at his brother. 

“I think I will be glad to see them today,” Helaena says suddenly, looking up from her embroidery, “In truth, I have missed Jaenara.”

Aemond continues to watch his niece and nephews play as he answers his sister, “You may be the only one amongst us who feels that way,” He mutters, “Though I do remember how close you and Jaenara were as children.”

Helaena had been an even lonelier child than she was now, as a lonely young woman. Always murmuring words that his family could not understand, and did little in trying to understand. Aemond had always felt sorry for her. But Jaenara did not seem to mind her aunt’s off putting nature. He recalls them as young girls, running throughout the castle gardens together, trying to catch butterflies. He remembers as they grew older, a few young ladies in court had taken to calling his sister, Helaena The Hysterical.

Before Aemond could put an end to the name calling, Jaenara had done it herself. The girls in court would not so much as look at either of them wrong.

And most of all, Jaenara listened to Helaena. Something nobody in his family seemed to do. Not even him, in truth. 

“I would hope you two can become close as well,” She gives her brother a wistful look, “You are to be married.”

“I think us siblings are doomed to hold strained relationships - at best - with their marriage partners.” Aemond replies. 

Helaena looks down at her sewing. Maelor and Jaehaerys fight over a wooden horse. Aemond’s sister remains in front of him, though she looks as though she is worlds away.

“Those child led astray finds solace in the embrace of the sea.” she whispers.

Aemond’s attention is redirected from children to mother. A silence passes over him and his sister’s handmaids.

More innocuous ramblings, he thinks.

A servant enters the door to inform the sibling’s of The-Queen-To-Be’s arrival.

“Come, sister,” Aemond begins, “Alicent will be waiting for us. She wishes to receive our family in the Great Hall.”

Helaena sets down her embroidery and looks up at her brother, “A dragon’s ambition foretells his own undoing.” 

Aemond chooses not to hear her words.

— — —

Jaenara and her family’s reception in the Great Hall could not have felt more strained. Guarded expressions and tight lipped smiles adorned Alicent and her children - though Aemond and Aegon had not smiled at all. Helaena seemed blissfully unaware of the anxious energy surrounding her. Jaenara had sent a secret smile her way - a genuine one. And though she felt her uncle’s eyes boring into her, she refused to meet his gaze. 

Rhaenyra had been displeased by the whole ordeal, hoping to ease tensions at dinner. Jaenara found herself remembering the last dinner she had shared with her entire family and thought it to be an impossible task.

Jaenara had spent the time before dinner settling into her new chambers, though all her belongings had already been settled into place before her arrival. The room felt more inviting than her chamber’s in Dragonstone, which were drab and dreary. Though, this was the only silver lining she could find about her circumstances thus far.

When the time had come to prepare for the evening, the princess disrobed from her riding leathers, the smell of dragon peeling off along with them. Her handmaidens help her to dress in a gown that Rhaenyra had picked out for her.

I do not even have the agency to dress myself now?

Jaenara stepped into a dress of crushed velvet, a dark teal in color. The neckline was embroidered with pearls, illuminating her collarbones. The sleeves of the gown hang loosely and open at her wrists, revealing a pale cream color which lines the teal. A belt of silver bangles mixed with pearls hangs around her waist, crested above the teal, cream, and aquamarine shades of fabric that pool to the floor. The attire bore the unmistakable air of Velaryon fashion. The wearer, not so much.

Portions of Jaenara’s dark silky hair were re-braided into a ring, as if it were a crown sitting atop her head, while the rest of her hair remained loose. Black waves ran down her back like a waterfall. 

Her ladies had been told to do this, to help her into a fine gown. To adorn her ears and wrists with bangles. To fix her hair in a way that flattered her face.

To impress him.

She almost laughs out loud at the thought. Jaenara figured that Aemond would find her as charming as he had found that pig he’d been gifted all those years ago.

She decides to regard him similarly, despite her thoughts drifting to long platinum hair that she envied so much. 

Her maids had finally finished with their work. 

Jaenara is sitting around a great wooden table in the dining hall, with the entirety of her family. Servants have begun to deposit plates filled with meats and vegetables and pies and cakes all around. The clanking of plates and silverware fills an otherwise quiet room. Jaenara is begrudgingly sitting next to her uncle, and Jace and Luke shoot her looks of pity from across the table. She picks up her glass and takes a swig.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra Targaryen speaks, “I wish to clear the air,” She begins and everyone looks up from their plates. Alicent Hightower seems especially stiff. 

“I do not wish for this to be a time of tension and formalities - though I do thank you,” She looks at Alicent directly, “for your welcoming reception earlier today. I want us to speak freely amongst each other. I want only what our father, Viserys, wanted.” She makes a gesture towards her siblings at the end of her sentence. Aegon clears his throat.

“There is much to discuss in the coming days, but I want this to be a night of camaraderie and celebration.” Her mother stands, drink in hand, “Let us raise our glasses-”

Jaenara feels herself melting into her chair.

“-To the union between my cherished daughter, Jaenara Velaryon, and the prince Aemond Targaryen. May their union bring strength and prosperity to our noble houses, and may it be blessed by the gods." Her voice held a hint of cautious optimism, echoing the hopes and dreams of a realm poised on the brink of new alliances.

Jaenara lifts her glass, as well as her attention to the man next to her. Aemond is already looking at his niece, a smirk on his face. 

To everyone’s surprise, Alicent Hightower rises from her seat. She looks less burdened from the words of Rhaenyra.

“Thank you, Your Grace…for your unflinching understanding.” The two women share a look, “And to Jaenara and Aemond. A lovely match indeed.”

Helaena begins to clap, though no one else around the table shares her sentiments.

Aegon lets out an audible laugh at the toastings, “Apologies,” he adds quickly, “I am just so - overjoyed by this…marriage.” His voice drips with sarcasm. 

Jaenara forces a smile, though her eyes shine with a different expression, “I am happy this match pleases you, uncle.” 

However, Aemond does not let the jab pass unanswered. "I hope your joy does not swell too greatly, brother," he retorts, "for dragons have been known to breathe fire when overshadowed." 

Jaenara sits up straighter when she sees Aegon roll his eyes and throw back his cup. She regards Aemond with a quizzical gaze. The princess regarded Aemond’s retort as nothing more than a brotherly spat. Before any more slights can be passed around, the servants finish bringing out the rest of the food. The family begins their dinner and small conversations break out amongst those resigned to sit next to each other.

The princess watches her brothers laugh with Baela and Rhaena. Sees her mother and step-father speak with one another. She pushes her food around her plate.

The sudden sound of Aemond’s voice makes her jump, “The cooking of the castle staff does not please you?” he asks, amused.

Jaenara stops playing with her food and her eyes cut away to her uncle.

“The first conversation you wish to have with me - in years - is whether or not I like our meal?” her voice drips with condescending skepticism, “As if the fate of the realm hinges on my opinion of pigeon pie?”

He tsks at her, “Always so difficult niece. I am only attempting to make conversation. An endeavor that seems beneath you - a pursuit you avoid at all costs if it is with me.”

“You are just…quite bad at it.” Jaenara remarks.

It is Aemond’s turn to take a sip of his drink to hide his annoyance.

“I do enjoy that…costume you’re wearing. But you are more a Targaryen than a Velaryon - don’t you agree?” Aemond says lowly.

Jaenara knows his remarks are meant to be demeaning, though she tries to take it in stride. She was a Targaryen after all. And she was pleased that she acted so much like one that people took notice, even if it was Aemond. But an insult was an insult all the same. 

Exasperated, Jaenara turns to the prince fully, “Is this what I can expect when married to you? Insults thrown at me for all my days to come? You should know I can deal them out as well, twice as hard.”

Aemond chuckles, “You are too easy and quick to provoke, Jaenara. You are too tense.” She sees something flicker beneath his eye.

Aemond took pleasure in goading his niece, reveling in the predictability of her fiery responses. More silence passes between them. The prince watches Jaenara force a few bites of food into her mouth and continues to eavesdrop on conversations around her. Daemon whispers something to Rhaenyra, and her mother takes a glance at her daughter and half-brother. Jaenara winces. 

“You asked what you can expect being my…wife,” Aemond’s surprisingly soft gaze is already fixed upon her, “You can expect a union that does not harbor any illusions of love. But one founded on mutual…respect. Understanding. We shall navigate this pact with the grace and duty befitting of our situation if you would only allow it.” His words somehow put her at ease.

Jaenara is perplexed. Maybe her mother had been right in saying that Aemond had changed. Though she was skeptical of his remarks. It was yet uncertain whether they could truly let go of all that had transpired in the past. 

Although, the princess felt ever the faintest tinge of disappointment at his words.

“Well…” She begins, though her words do not come out as strong as she would like them to under her uncle’s intense stare, “I am…pleased to hear that. We do not have to feign ignorance then. I expected nothing more from us.”

To Jaenara’s dismay, Aemond seems amused. It is not so often she stumbles over her words. His gaze lingers over her. He takes notice of the pearl that sits prettily below her collarbones. He watches her eyes fall to her hands, which she wrings in her lap. Jaenara finds that she does not like how being at a loss for words makes her feel, and decides to throw back her drink, trying to find comfort in the bottom of the chalice.

[mamawasatesttube]

wish more ppl in the timkon tag understood the concept of "best friends to lovers" 😩 where's my "years' worth of stupid inside jokes referenced at the worst moments just to make each other giggle" nonsense. where's the bone-deep understanding and knowing of each other. the ease and relaxation in each other's presence. the "i know how your head works without you having to tell me" of it all. where's the "no one knows me better than you. how could it be anyone but you" of it all!!!

[myoddessy]

most wanted woman on youtube | w2s/harry lewis

summary —everyone wants a piece of the world's most iconic youtuber gf, and she's willing to give the starving population a little crumb.... much to harry's frustration.

*inspired by the 'character' of bog's mrs by the wonderful @whoetoshaw

ynslover "the streets are saying y/n's festival style is cheap—" the streets are full of shit.

wroetoshawssss she OWNS festival szn

ynslover boomtown? nah, yntown is where it's at.

amyleclerc how is she literally the hottest person alive.

faithlouisak ikr?!

ynsbabymama faith???

faithlouisak I follow as many y/n fan accounts as I can, babes. I need to keep on top of my updates

lesbians4yn what's the cutest thing in the world, and why is it y/n through the eyes (posts) of the other sidemen gfs?

tagged: @taliamar @yourusername

faithxyn the picture of her and talia is literally my fav picture ever taken 🥺

mrnmrswroetoshaw the fact that most of them are candid and show her all smiley proves that she really is such a genuine person and such a softie even though she tries to play it off

taliamar oh she's the biggest cuddlebug known to man behind closed doors 🩷

bbetasquad the way the sdmn gfs always comment on fan accounts of y/n kills me 😭

ynswifeyy it's the fact that they post her more than they post their own bfs for me

maclar3n faith is THE WORST (best) for it too 😭 always posting their dates and throwing digs at harry in the captions

yourusername life lately (non-chaotic version) 🤍

faithlouisak hey sexy 😏💋

yourusername hey beautiful 😍😘

faithlouisak literally marry me

yourusername anything you want, my lover ❤️

harryswroetoshaw I genuinely can't tell if they're joking anymore 😭

faithlouisak we're not.

freyanightingale how are you so beautiful??

taliamar omg you're so sexy, are you single??

yourusername no but my bf smells so it doesn't matter ❤️

ynfanpage the sdmn gfs thirsting in her comments ☠️ they just like us fr

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 39!

yay more fics! guys i have to tell you this was an excellent reading week for me, so many brilliant fics!

two things: some of these fics aren't buddie but gen/a rare pair, but i figured i'd keep the title, since it applies to the majority of fics. i'll make sure it's clear which fics are for other ships! also, now that season 8 is airing, i've decided to keep the buddie fic rec list spoiler-free, and i'm setting up a season 8 rec list alongside it. this week's season 8 list can be found here!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

5 times buck and eddie thought they were on the same page +1 where they figured it out | WendyDarling95/@bi-buck-hi-eddie | 11.8k | E

"Ok but miscommunication trope where Eddie keeps trying to tell Buck he’s a werewolf and Buck thinks Eddie’s telling him he’s a furry. Buck would buy a fur suit absolutely" i'm genuinely not joking when i say that this fic was the highlight of my week. it's crack treated seriously in the absolute best way, i was howling (lol) while reading. brilliant <3

the book of love | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 8.1k | G

It was a pretty regular day. He had an eight hour shift the day before, slept in a little bit, ate dry toast and drank a black coffee before dropping Chris off at physical therapy for an hour. If he had known he was gonna die, he would have sprung for the hashbrowns in the freezer. time loop fic!! lovely lovely time loop fic!!

but you're holdin' me like water in your hands | TheGirlWithTheKite/@muddiedfoxglove | 11k | E

In which Eddie offers a helping hand when Buck's relationship starts to sour. (The Frogboiled Infideleddie Fic) frogboiled infideleddie?? yall the way i ran to this fic the second i saw it <3 so so so good

constant craving | Inell/@inell | 7.8k | E

Buck and Eddie have recently started dating, and it’s their third official date. While playing a game of pool, they make a little wager, and Buck gets to indulge a craving he’s had for years. i spent a lovely hour this morning catching up inell's recent fics and i highly recommend you do the same!! brilliant fics, both of the sweet and spicy variety <3

FREE MOUSTACHE RIDES | Killbothtwins | 5k | T

All is not well in Station 118. Gerrard is running the show, Christopher is gone, and, worst of all, Eddie has a mustache now. Somehow, it's only Buck who realizes how catastrophic this is. this is exactly the fic i needed to cheer me up earlier this week. so good, so funny!!

keep your brittle heart warm | Ink_Dancer | 8.8k | T

Buck convinces Eddie, notoriously a dog person, to adopt a cat. Buck then helps Eddie adjust to his new family member while the cat tries to meddle in their relationship. fics like this make me want to adopt a cat even more than i already do. so sweet, so cute, i love pinto bean <3

a little wisdom | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 8.6k | T

Christopher comes home from Texas and needs his wisdom teeth removed, which leads to a larger discussion on hurt and comfort and needs that Eddie doesn't see coming. the diaz boys <3 i love them so much and they're so so well-written here!!

the more it hurts, the less it shows | ummrys/@ummrys | 2.4k | M

Eddie finally hears the story of Dr Wells, and Buck finally understands the depth of what happened to him. so well-written and a great look at the whole dr wells thing!!

nothin' but a little shut eye | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.9k | G

Buck and Eddie accidentally nap together. And then keep napping together. buddie naps i love you so much <3 this is the softest cutest it's so good

put my heart inside your palms | markofalover/@markofalover| 3.1k | T

how an accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt makes them get their shit together.. love is stored in the kitchen indeed <3 this is so so cute!

suddenly the only thing i saw was you | ipretendtobesane/@userbuddie | 8.2k | E

five times adriana diaz and may grant run into each other and the one time they show up together adriana/may?? the VISION holy shit. this is a brilliant fic and has probably my fav adriana diaz ever, it's just that good <3

[starlightkun]

finders keepers ⇢ teaser 2

⇢ teaser word count: 948 | full fic: 37.8k total (22.7k & 15.1k) ⇢ genre: sci-fi/science fantasy au, soulmate au, alien!jungwoo, human!reader, slow burn, fluff and angst ⇢ warnings: blood/injury mentions (but like, alien blood, if that makes a difference?), a couple needle/injection mentions, if u get secondhand embarrassment this one might hurt in places, a couple crude jokes about alien stuff iykwim (reader’s friends r kind of the worst), this fic is just a rlly sweet soulmate au i swear idk why these tags look horrendous 😭 ⇢ extra info: this will be released in two parts bc of tumblr’s 1000-block limit that was put in place to hurt me personally :)) BUT both parts will be released on the same day ⇢ estimated release: saturday, november 30, 2024, 3:00 p.m. eastern time (sign up for my taglist here)

The screen of your phone lit up from where it sat on the dashboard of Jungwoo’s spaceship, and you immediately grabbed it. It was Donghyuck, and at this point, you would’ve taken your bestie ‘SPAM LIKELY’ to get you out of here.

“Hey, it’s Hyuck, you got it here?” You asked Jungwoo, already on your feet.

“Yes, I’ll be okay,” Jungwoo confirmed, eyes momentarily leaving the screen to meet yours.

You clambered out of the hatch with haste, taking off into the trees. Hastily sending Donghyuck a text that you’d call him back in a minute, you practically bolted back up the cliffside to get to the road before doing just that.

Hyuck picked up before it could even ring once, not wasting any time, “Hey, how’s our pet alien?”

“He has a name,” you retorted, still out of breath.

“He doesn’t seem to mind when I call him that.”

“He probably doesn’t understand how derogatory it could be. His language might not have a direct equivalent for the concept.”

“Yeah, whatever, how is he?”

“Fine. All of his wounds have healed.”

Your friend’s tone immediately shifted. “You sound weird. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” You insisted.

“Y/N.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“Sure.”

And so after explaining your situation to Donghyuck to the best of your ability, you waited with bated breath for his response.

“Oh my God, he’s going to lay his eggs in you,” he gasped.

“Hyuck! Gross!” You hissed, half-ready to hang up right then.

“I’ve seen enough alien movies to know where this is going.”

“Or watched too much weird porn.”

“You didn’t laugh at my joke, clearly you’re in crisis, sorry.” His apology sounded sincere.

You sighed, staring down into the trees below you that you knew contained a spaceship and spaceman that weren’t from here, that didn’t belong here. “I mean, he’s still fixing his ship to leave…”

“What if he plans on abducting you and taking you with him?”

“Stop it!” You scolded him again. “Jungwoo wouldn’t do that.”

“You seriously think he’ll just leave his mate behind?”

“You are way too comfortable saying that word.”

“This is not about my nighttime proclivities.”

“If I told him to, yeah, I think he would. He’s been super respectful, all things considered.”

“Okay… whatever…”

You were worried. Jungwoo had continued fixing his ship, but with each passing day, you swore he was looking worse again. He said his wounds had completely healed inside and out, but the pallor of his skin didn’t look right, he was moving slower again, and he didn’t eat as much at meals. You took a risk and took him there during the day today, not wanting to risk drawing out his stay on Earth any longer than necessary.

Just getting him down to the ship today was perilous, as he tripped going down the last of the hillside. A rock had cut his arm, thankfully not very deep, but the sight of the deep blue blood did nothing to calm your anxious mind. He let you take a second to use a first aid kit in the ship on him, but then was right back to business as usual, fixing his ship.

“How’s it coming along?” You asked, hovering over him worriedly as he sat on the floor, working on a panel under the control console.

“It’s almost done,” he informed you quietly.

“Jungwoo, you don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it the hydrogen? Or something else that you can’t get on Earth?” You went to press the back of your hand to his forehead. It was sticky with sweat, but simultaneously cold and clammy. “Shit, dude, you feel awful.”

“I’m—I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I just need to get back to-to Galaria.”

“Okay, yeah,” you nodded. “Let’s get you back. You said it’s almost done. What else do you need?”

“One of your friends is a mechanic?”

“Yeah, Yuta. He fixes cars.” You were slightly alarmed that he apparently couldn’t remember which one.

Jungwoo held out a long, thin black tube to you. “Could you ask him if he has something like this? Twice as long?”

“Of course! I'll go right now!” You took the tube from him. “You stay right here. Rest, okay?”

He nodded, leaning against the panel and shutting his eyes.

You ran into Yuta’s auto shop, skidding to a stop and nearly crashing into a bench and toolbox, drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. Every head whipped over to look at you, and Yuta pushed himself out from under a truck on the far side of the shop.

“Yuta!” You dashed over to him, ignoring the attempts at conversation from his coworkers as you ran by them.

“Off-limits, assholes!” Yuta yelled back at them before focusing on you again, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands off. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Jungwoo, he needs something like this, but double the length.” You held the tube out to him. “Do you have anything like it? I’ll pay for it.”

Yuta inspected it with a furrowed brow, and you dropped your voice even lower as the sounds of the auto shop rose again.

“Please, he’s-he’s really not doing well. I don’t know how much longer he can be here, Yuta. Something about Earth, it’s not good for him. I’m really worried.”

“Yeah, I would be if I were you.” Yuta handed the tube back to you, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I gave him a part just like that two days ago. He said it was the last piece he needed.”

“What?!” Your heart fell to the pit of your stomach.

“I gave him a new brake hose two days ago. Unless he blew it up again, this isn’t it.”

“I’ve got to go.” You took off towards the door of the garage. “Bye, Yuta! Thanks!”

“See you around!”

TEASER TAGLIST

@bee-the-loser @ppddpjdr @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[formulaa-1]

instagram au⛱️ G.R

fem!reader x George Russell

a sneak peak into the Miami GP with y/n and George and a little suprise… <3

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y/nusername’s story

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georgerussell63

georgerussell63: vibing in Miami☀️⛱️

tagged: y/nusername

Liked by y/nusername, lilymhe and 304,368 others

view all 579 comments

y/nusername: mwahh😚

Liked by georgerussell63

georgerussell63: I love you❤️

y/nusername: I love you🫶🏼🫶🏼

landonorris: ew guys

georgerussell63: where’s your gf at ?

landonorris: oi

user28: the girls are fighting again

fan2729: lando in the comments 😭

mercgirl101: the cutest couple ❤️

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y/nusername

y/nusername: lil Miami dump <3 ft. mr serious :)

tagged: georgerussell63

Liked by georgerussell63, lilymhe, alex_albon and 97,292 others

view all 138 comments

georgerussell63: i might be serious by I’m most serious about u 😉

y/nusename: smooth👀

landonorris: George has rizz?

georgerussell63: more rizz than you mr lando norizz

user09: BAHAHAHAHA

ln4.fanpage: George’s reply to Lando has me in tears LMAO😭😭😭

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georgerussell63

georgerussell63: my pretty girl in Miami 🌊☀️

tagged: y/nusername

Liked by y/nusername, lilymhe, yourmumsuser and 388,789 others

view all 456 comments

y/nusername: I love you but why did you have to post the last photo 🥲🫶🏼

georgerussell63: because your beautiful baby.

grussellgirly63: STOP IT RN.🥹🥹❤️

fanoflh44_: I need a man like George Russell fr

user356: brb sleeping on the highway tonight.

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georgerussell63

georgerussell63: y/n, you make me want to be the best version of myself ,you love me on both my worst and best days and for that I’m forever thankful for you.I love you so much and I promise to always love and cherish you and I’m so grateful I have you in my life and that I’ll get to call you my wife. I love you ❤️

tagged: y/nusername

Liked by y/nusername,alexalbon, lilymhe and 742,257 others

comments on this post are limited

y/nusername: I love you so much G❤️

georgerussell63: I love you most pretty girl ❤️

lilymhe: congratulations you two🥹🫶🏼

Liked by y/nusername & georgerussell63

alex_albon: congratulations!!!!!❤️

lewishamilton: congratulations both of you ! roscoe says he misses y/n!❤️🐾

y/nusername: I miss roscoe,also tell him he can be the ring boy🫶🏼

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y/nusername

y/nusername: my forever, I truly am the luckiest girl on the planet, G i love you so much and I can’t wait to be your wife.❤️

tagged: georgerussell63

Liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, yourfriendsuser and 156,995 others

comments on this post are limited

georgerussell63: I love you , I can’t wait for you to be Mrs russell ;)

y/nusername: I love love love you❤️

yourfriendsuser: congratulations angel ❤️❤️

Liked by y/nusername

landonorris: congrats 🫶🏼 can I be like the godfather or something when you have a kid ?

georgerussell63: no go away

y/nusername: we kinda already told lily and Alex they could be the godparents😬

landonorris: you better be joking

alex_albon: 😏😏😏

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authors note🎀 hey guys sorry I haven’t posted an au in like a week Iv been so unmotivated ,sorry about that! I’ll try get through the requests as quick as I can <3 I hope your all okay and doing well ! take care of yourselves 🫶🏼

[daddyyy88]

Sensitive | Lo’ak x fem!omaticaya!reader

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.9k

warnings: readers very insecure and shy, reader was technically bullied as a kid, ?

summary: Y/n was always told she was overdramatic and sensitive growing up, so she kept quiet and didn’t tell anyone when something bothered her. Now, watching her mate potentially fall in love with another woman, she’s too worried about overreacting and refuses to say anything until eventually she can’t handle it anymore.

anything in bold like this in the middle of a sentence means it’s either Na’vi or meant to be in Na’vi but I don’t trust the translation websites so I just use the few words I know and make do with it💀

“It’s just a joke”

“You’re too sensitive”

“It doesn’t even matter”

“Why do you care so much?”

“You’re overreacting”

Your whole life, you’ve always been sensitive. It wasn’t hard to bring you down or upset you. You were always overthinking every little thing, analyzing every word a person said and the way they said it. You wished you were different, every single day you tried to stop caring so much but you couldn’t help it.

By the time you turned 18, you were quieter than a mouse. You only talked around your few friends, and even then you didn’t say too much in fear of seeming too sensitive. When something bothered you, you just stayed quiet and kept it to yourself.

Lo’ak thought you were just shy. You were really quiet all the time, but he was so attracted to you; he just had to get to know you. You really loved Lo’ak, more than anything on Pandora. He was so nice to you, and you trusted him and opened up to him a little, and he still accepted you fully.

You didn’t tell him everything though, you didn’t want to ruin something so good. You’d be heartbroken if Lo’ak left you so you made sure you were careful with what you said and how you reacted.

You mated before Eywa and it was a beautiful experience. You both took your time learning each other's bodies and making each other feel good. You were close to opening up all the way after that night, but you were still worried he wouldn’t accept you and all your flaws.

2 years later, you had to leave the forest and it terrfied you. You couldn’t help it then, you burst into tears and cried through it all. The forest was your home. This was where you felt safest. This was where you fell in love, where you were meant to be.

Lo’ak seemed to understand your worries though, and you were thankful. He held you as you cried, wiping your tears and helping you say goodbye to everyone. He felt bad when he could see tears flowing down your face as you rode your ikrans out of the forest.

You made it the Metkayina’s territory and naturally they got defensive and began to try and intimidate you, and the worst part was that it worked. Lo’ak could feel you shaking and he felt bad, wrapping his tail around your thigh and trying to comfort you as best he could.

You noticed Lo’ak look over at a young woman, but he quickly returned his attention to Olo’eyktan and Tsahík again. You looked over at her, ears turned down as you realized how much prettier she was than you.

You tried to ignore it, but when she was one of the Na’vi meant to tutor you guys, it made it hard to forget about it. You were worried Lo’ak would fall for her instead. She was very very pretty, and her voice was smooth and melodic, with the most gorgeous eyes ever too.

Lo’ak was attached to you at the hip the first few weeks. It helped reassure you that he was yours, always. He would always have an around wrapped around you or his fingers intertwined with yours, or at the very least have his tail caressing your back or wrapped around your leg or arms.

But he slowly started getting closer to Tsireya. He’d go sit next to her during lessons and you always sat next to him so you’d follow, and over time you could see the two of them giggling together whenever you took breaks, and she was so touchy in ways she wasn’t with everyone else. At least that’s how it seemed.

You were honestly a little heartbroken, you really hoped he wasn’t like that. You don’t know what you’d do if he asked for a second wife. It’d kill you. The worst part, she’s been trying to be friends with you.

You don’t want to be mean, so you indulge in whatever it is she wants. You’re actually quite close, you tell her lots of things and she actually helps you learn the way of the Metkayina quite a lot. It seems like she tries to talk about Lo’ak a lot, which sucks because it only convinces you more and more that they’re going to get involved any day now.

Lo’ak seems a little distant as time goes on. He’s not making love to you a lot, leaving you lying awake in the late hours of the night trying to ignore your arousal, even with your mate right next to you. He only really makes love to you when your in heat or when he is in rut, but it’s always rough and not as sweet because it’s the only way to relieve the pain.

He also sits with Tsireya a lot at dinner. Or he’ll tell her to come sit with you guys. You come close to snapping and telling him just how much it’s bothering you countless times but you don’t want to risk being seen as dramatic.

You find out you’re pregnant and initially you were overjoyed, excited to become a mother and forever grateful to Eywa for this gift. But then your heart sinks. How would Lo’ak react? You were worried about everything now. Would he still love you after all the changes your body was about to go through? Would he be even more distant?

When you told him he nearly screamed, picking you up and jumping around out of pure excitement. He threw you over his shoulder, making you scream as he ran out to the main gathering place for the clan and said “I’m going to be a father!”

The surrounding people laughed and congratulated you guys, and when his family came out, he ran to them and said “you’re going to be grandparents!” And instantly had Neytiri sobbing. He finally put you down and you groaned, nauseous from all the movement.

You were less worried realizing how excited he was, and it seemed like things got better after that. He was always taking you on dates, rubbing your bump and talking to the baby constantly, helping you through your morning sickness when he could, and he was always hunting and bringing you your favorite foods to keep you strong and healthy.

You concluded that maybe he was a bit distant the last few months, but you’d be okay now that you were about to become parents and he was so present now. Obviously he still spent time with Tsireya, which you didn’t mind, but every now and then you had your doubts.

He took you on a date night, preparing a sweet dish for you since all you wanted to eat were sweet things and took you swimming with Payakan, telling him how the baby was kicking now and showing off your bump. You rolled your eyes playfully at Lo’ak, he was convinced that your bump got bigger every single day.

Payakan let you guys rest on his back and watch the stars until you got tired and fell asleep cuddled in Lo’ak’s arms. He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He fell asleep not that long after, keeping his hand on your bump to hopefully soothe your very active baby and keep it from kicking you all night.

When he woke up, you were still sleeping peacefully, being spooned by him as you mumbled softly in your sleep. He smiled to himself, kissing your head and caressing your bump. He felt the little one move slightly and he couldn’t help it as he blushed a little.

He spent a few minutes with you before he got up and had payakan bring you closer to the island and told him to wake up at sunrise if he wasn’t already there. He got to the island and prepared all his things to hunt for your favorite things right now and spent about 2 hours hunting.

He came back with tons of food, enough to last you a few days and immediately woke up Tsireya to help him cook it the way you liked. He wanted to celebrate today, as it was your 3 year anniversary and you were already halfway through your pregnancy. He was so excited, he almost wanted to leave Tsireya to finish cooking so he could go spend time with you.

You woke up to Payakan moving wildly and you quickly walked over to where he could see you to calm him down. The sun was halfway up, and you realized Lo’ak wasn’t with you anymore. You frowned slightly and noticed Payakan bringing you close to the island so you assumed Lo’ak was already there.

You greeted Jake and Neytiri as you happened to walk past them on the way to your marui pod and of course had to let Tuk talk to the baby for a few minutes and let them feel the little one kick. Tuk was so so so excited for the baby to come, she was asking almost every day if the baby would be here soon.

You eventually continued your journey to your home and when you got closer you heard some laughter and giggling. You recognized Lo’aks laugh but there was someone else’s. You listened for a few more seconds and realized it was Tsireya.

Every insecurity came flooding back and tears filled your eyes. Was this his plan the whole time? To have you sleeping quite literally across the ocean so he could spend time with her in your home.

You opened the flap and she was next to him, holding his hands trying to show him how to grind up these herbs properly. You scoffed and said “Lo’ak…” He immediately looked up and his eyes widened.

He smiled and said “hi, baby! How are you feeling?” “W-Why is she here?” You asked quietly, tears in your eyes. He furrowed his eyebrows and said “she’s just helping me make you breakfast. I’m making all your favorites today, and she’s a better cook than I am so I needed her to help me”

You bit your lip and shook your head, you didn’t buy it. No way she was just here to cook and that was it. You turned around and left, going to the spot you and Lo’ak always go to to spend time together alone and uninterrupted.

Tsireya looked up and said “is everything okay?” “I- I-I don’t know. Do you think I should follow her?” He asked and Tsireya thought for a moment, nodding. He quickly thanked her and went out looking for you.

It took him a while to figure out where you’d gone, but once he did he was running as fast as he could. He got to your secret spot and found you crying, leaning against the rock you two always sat by.

“Baby…y/n, hey hey what’s wrong?” He said and you sniffled. You wiped your tears quickly and said “nothing. I’m fine, I’m just overreacting, it's nothing” “no, no honey. Hey, look at me. Talk to me,” he said and you looked up at him, eyes wet and nose tinted pink from crying.

“I just…y-you’ve gotten really close to Tsireya lately and I…I’m worried that- t- t-that uhm…” you said and stopped yourself shaking your head. He sighed and said “you’re worried I’m unfaithful?” You let out a small sob and said “I-it’s not that I don’t trust you- I-I just I can’t help it sometimes. I know it’s stupid! Just go away”

“Why do you think I’m cheating?” He asked, wiping your tears. You let out a shaky breath and said “well y-…you guys are just always really close. You used to always w-want to sit with her at dinner, a-and sometimes you used to choose to be with her instead of me. E-Everytime Tsireya and I talk she wants to know about you and our relationship”

“It’s not what you think, my love. I…I asked Tsireya to get close to you so she could tell me how you were feeling about our relationship and know what to work on to keep you happy. I- I-I know you’re very quiet and shy and I know if I ask you directly you’ll tell me everything is fine so I needed someone else’s help” he said and you gasped slightly, burying your head in your hands.

He pulled you into his arms, stroking your back and letting you cry. “It’s okay, babe. I know you were just worried about our relationship, and you had every right to be. I can understand that it might’ve looked a certain way from the outside” he said and you shook your head.

“I-I was being sensitive and overdramatic like always” you whimpered and he sighed. He kissed your head and said “why do you talk so poorly of yourself, my love? I don’t think that about you, no one does” “That’s not true…” you said and he furrowed his eyebrows yet again.

He pulled you from his chest to look in your eyes and said “who tells you these things?” “I…when I was a child, I-I used to be made fun of a lot. Even m-my parents would make comments. Everyone a-around me felt that way. I just stay quiet now, s-so no one gets upset at me anymore” you said and he shook his head.

He kissed you softly and said “let me see…please?” He grabbed his kuru and you looked up at him nervously. You nodded and grabbed yours, connecting them. You took a deep, shaky breath and he kissed your forehead, caressing your hand with his thumb. You let him see everything, every memory you had of it all.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, tears in his eyes. “You didn’t deserve that. Honey, you aren’t overreacting, you have real concerns and worries and I want you to tell me all of them. Don’t ever shy away from talking to me and telling me how you feel. We are about to become parents, don’t you think we shouldn’t keep secrets?”

You nodded and he smiled sadly, kissing you softly. “Why uhm…w-why…” you said quietly and stopped yourself. He could hear your thoughts through tsaheylu, you were wondering why Tsireya was there making breakfast with him.

He shook his head and said “because today's our 3 year anniversary and you're halfway through growing our little princess” You smiled and sniffled. You chuckled and hugged him.

He rubbed your back and said “you’ll never have to worry about me hurting you. I never will. If I did, I promise you it was never intentional and I’ll apologize every single day for the rest of my life” “you’re a really good husband, you know” you said, sniffling softly.

“I try,” he chuckled. He kissed you a few times, nuzzling his nose against yours. You smiled and said “oel ngati kameie, ma muntxatan” “oel ngati kameie” he said and nuzzled his nose against yours once more.

You giggled and said “you know, the baby is realllly hungry” “is she?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“We do not know if it is a girl yet,” you said and he chuckled. He rubbed your bump and said “I just know it is. She’s my little princess. And you’re my queen” “what's uhm…what’s a queen again?” You asked and he chuckled.

You still forgot human concepts here and there which he found adorable. “Like an Earth Tsahík. But way less cool” he said and you nodded, giggling. He stood up and he held his hand out to help you up.

He brought you back to your pod and Tsireya looked up and noticed your slightly reddened nose and cheeks and your still slightly teary eyes. “Oh…oh my, are you okay? Is it the baby? Is something wrong? We should get you to my mother” she said and you shook your head.

“I’m okay, Reya. The baby’s okay too. See?” You said and placed her hand on your stomach where they were kicking softly. You hugged her and she gasped a little, looking at Lo’ak as she hugged you back.

Lo’ak waved his hand dismissively and then gave a thumbs up. She rubbed your back and said “here, have some breakfast. I hope you like it” “mmm, you guys better get some while you can because it’s not gonna be here for long” you said and chuckled to yourself.

Lo’ak smiled at you as you made yourself a place and said “she was just worried that I was unfaithful because of how much time we spend together” They both giggled quietly to each other.

“I should’ve known,” she said and sighed. He shook his head and said “no, no its okay. As much as I wish she didn’t feel that way for so long, some good things came out of it” “like what?” Tsireya asked. Lo’ak bit his lip in thought and said “it’s kind of between us,”

“Ah, I see. Well, take good care of her and write out instructions for lunch and dinner for you while you eat” she said and patted his shoulder, quickly leaving the pod. He smiled to himself and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck.

You hummed and held a piece of fruit behind you for him to eat. “Come on, let’s eat on the shore” he said and you brought your plate out with you as he dragged you out of the pod, forcing you to sit in between his legs as you both watched the sun fully rise and relaxed together.

Taglist: @laylasbunbunny @goddesslilithmoriarty

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[bunniesandbeheadings]

For over a decade now I’ve endured a very similar joke from people who, I know, both never have spoken to one another (so it’s not a conscious conspiracy) and also, I know objectively, don’t really mean me harm (because they can’t know my past history with this)

But ever since elementary school (for context: I’m a grown ass woman now with a husband and a mortgage and if I drop my favorite bag of chips on the ground I shouldn’t cry about it) every single one of my friends and also, a great majority of my family like to make a similar crack

“Did you know you’re my second best friend?”

“I love you bunnies! But I love (x) person more!”

And again, I know no individual person means me ill with this

But I’m just so. Genuinely tired of hearing this. I’m really tired of hearing my whole life “ha ha! You’re second best!”

Like it’s to the point that where a girlfriend of mine said it to me that every part of my brain fires off and told me, “ha. She thinks she’s telling you that you’re her second best friend! But here’s a funny thing you could do: just be her number one worst enemy.

Backstab the bitch

Ruin her fucking life the moment you get the chance

She thinks you’re her second best friend! Wait. You’ll find the time to show her that you’re really the worst enemy she’s ever made! Betrayal is fun!”

Cuz that’s what I want to do!

I don’t know why everyone I’ve ever met thinks it’s funny to tell me I’m their second favorite. Say nothing at all! I don’t need a ranking system! I don’t ask to be ranked people just tell me, out of nowhere, “you’re my second favorite person”

Ha ha ha

Well I’m about to be your least favorite person because I am going to actively ruin your life now! Thanks!

((See tags. No im not an actual threat. I don’t have the time for that. But what the fuck. Stop saying this to me. Stop it. I have low self esteem and I will kill us both.))

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch 5: Chemistry

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @chrisevansedits

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: You and Steve have to navigate the aftermath of the overexposure to Mistress, and something tells you that your mood swings and inability to self-satisfy is directly related to the drug...

Length | Warnings: 3,880 | sexual situations MINORS DNI

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads @mrsevans90 @hails270105 @venusfalling

Excerpt:

He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 

“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.

“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.

His brows furrow. “If you’re--”

“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.

“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.

“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud.

Chemistry

You wake up the morning after your 1940’s performance feeling more refreshed than you have for weeks. The constant, low-level irritation you’ve had to learn to live with is not entirely gone, but it’s lessened, and for that you’re very grateful.

The plan is to meet Bucky for… something, but he hasn’t made clear what. You opt for a skirt to swish around your legs, voluminous but not bulky. Restrictive or tight clothing has been a no-go lately, making you feel anxious and closed-in at worst and kind of turned on at best. It’s another data point in the line of ‘things that are different since Mistress,’ but you don’t really know what to make of them all. The worst out of everything is your mood, but is that worsened by your inability to come, or is it an actual after-effect?

When you get downstairs after getting Bucky’s text, you’re surprised when he opens the door of a taxi for you. The two of you usually walk everywhere.

“Where we going?” you ask.

“It’s a surprise.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead choosing to deflect in the most unfair way possible: “Steve liked the show last night.”

You keep your expression tightly controlled, but your anxious tone gives you away. “You could have warned me about that! I’m glad he enjoyed it, but--”

“I didn’t plan all that far ahead, okay? I did it because he said yes. To the thing you asked me about.”

Embarrassment blooms from your chest and across your body, and you dart your eyes over to the taxi driver. There’s no way he can know the context, but holding a conversation about impossible orgasms with Bucky had been embarrassing enough, so alluding to it around a stranger is pretty stressful.

“Uh, thank you, then.” Your mind skips past the awkwardness to the substance of the comment, and you slump back into your seat. “That means it’s definitely related.”

“Yeah.” 

He looks out the window, and you smile down at your lap. Bucky isn’t the kind of person to smoothe over awkward things with platitudes (which often makes them worse). If he had, you’d never have had the courage to ask about Steve in the first place. You’d probably have rather withered away and died of sexual frustration instead. Not that dying isn’t still on the table.

“You uh, probably should go talk to Dr. Banner,” Bucky says, his voice overloud and uncomfortable. “He’s been running tests on Steve, thanks to his lousy mood and the--” He makes a gesture, but you deliberately look at his face, not his hands.

“He’s been having problems with that too?”

Bucky’s is the kind of expression that anyone who’s ever lived with a grumpy roommate would instantly recognize.

“Yeah, okay,” you sigh, pulling your phone from your pocket. “Give me some kind of contact number?”

The taxi stops, and he points out the window with his thumb. “How about instead, we just do it right now?”

The vehicle is stopped in front of the tower. The taxi driver is already grousing, so as the two of you get out, you hiss at your best friend, “I can't believe you set me up! I didn’t mean now! I need more mental fortitude! Banner’s an Avenger! He knows Steve personally!”

“So do I!” Bucky says, affronted.

The taxi drives off as you glare at each other, and then he sticks his left elbow out like a frustrated chaperone. It’s manipulative in a really brilliant way, because he trusts you with the knowledge that there’s a metal weapon of war under all that fabric. You swallow your pride and tuck your hand in the nook he’s created for you, and he walks you inside.

“I thought you usually went through the side door?” you ask quietly as the two of you wait in the short security line.

“I didn’t want you to have time to change your mind.” Buck grins at you, right as the two of you are guided past the checkpoint and toward the bank of elevators.

“You’re really unbelievable-- and the worst part is, you know it!”

He just settles against the back wall of the elevator and looks smug. It’s midday, so the others who file into the elevator car with the two of you are all in business wear, and you feel intensely out of place in your casual skirt and blouse. Bucky, who is out of place practically anywhere, never manages to look anything but cool.

You settle against the wall beside him, but you must look nervous, because he bumps your shoulder with his as some of the office workers from the lower floors file out. Eventually, you’re the only two left, and Bucky speaks aloud asking to be taken to the floor where Banner’s lab is.

Shall I inform Dr. Banner of your impending arrival? the AI asks drily.

“What’s the fun in that?”

The rest of the trip is short. A few seconds after the two of you step out, Bucky stops you with a hand, his lips twisting apologetically.

“I’m gonna head to the apartment. This is private, and I want to respect that-- but you didn’t volunteer for this whole mess, so if you need an advocate, some of that fortitude you mentioned, just text me.”

You’re touched by this unexpected speech, but you also feel kind of adrift; this wasn’t what you’d expected your day to be like. There’s no chance to respond though, because Bucky ducks back into the elevator after gesturing toward the correct lab.

A surprised-looking man with salt and pepper curls opens the door to your knock, so you blurt out your name, explaining that Bucky Barnes had suggested you drop by.

“Oh! Oh, that’s great, come in, come in,” the man says, offering his hand to shake. “Bruce Banner. I hope Barnes passed on my sincere regrets about what happened?”

He didn’t (you hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all until you’d realized you had to ask about The Issue), so you don’t know what to say. Luckily, Banner has already hurried off to bring over a second chair beside the lab table he’s clearly been using as a desk. 

“Have a seat. I should warn you, I’ve already got--”

He breaks off as a woman in a lab coat walks over with purpose. “All blood tests are completed.” They continue talking, but the voice of Steve Rogers behind you derails your attention.

“Dee?”

You spin around in shock. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d be here! Not that I would, of course, but Bucky-- Oh, my God,” you realize aloud. “Did you… tell him you were coming to the lab today?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Actually, this is good,” Banner says, walking over to stand between the two of you with a placating hand held toward each. “I have some theories I’d love to expand on with a few blood and proximity tests. If you’re willing, of course.”

Proximity. You’d noticed last night that being in the same large room as Steve Rogers had mitigated some of the lesser symptoms you haven’t been brave enough to mention to anybody. The same thing is happening now, with the added complication of a really bizarre desire to move closer to him. Somewhere there’s a magnetism joke just begging to be told, but not by you.

“Is this scientific curiosity, or will it help figure out how to regulate this stuff?” Steve asks.

“My own exposure took care of the curiosity part,” Banner says, rubbing a knuckle against the side of his cheek.

“Wow, Bruce, I guess I figured the Hulk’s biology would have cleared that out for you,” Steve says, his expression a mask of concern. “At least you had more data for a solo expos--” He breaks off, embarrassment flushing his face as he looks over with dawning horror at the other occupant of the room.

“No worries, I was whisked home to my husband. We were happy to be part of the ‘control’ group,” the woman in the lab coat says with a bright smile.

“In the interests of reassurance, I’ll tell you I’m in a relationship, and that person and I, ah, handled things,” Banner says, occupying himself by studiously cleaning his glasses. “So yes, there’s data, both from the mitigation of my healing factor as well as the reactions of a wholly un-exposed partner.”

“It’s not often that I get to be a hero, but I think I’ll step in and ask if you’d be willing to give some blood while these two awkward it out? Doctor Lynette Lyonne, nice to meet you.”

You smile gratefully at Dr. Lyonne and nod. She seems like exactly the sort of down-to-Earth person to keep Banner focused.

“That’s a mouthful! I feel like if my dad met you, he’d be asking you if your parents had a limited budget for letters when you were born,” you say as you sit in the chair Dr. Lyonne indicates.

“Ooh, I haven’t heard that one in six months!”

You’re pretty sure the tourniquet that Dr. Lyonne puts on after that is the regular tightness, but you hold very still and keep things polite, just in case.

Dr. Lyonne leaves you alone in that side room after the blood test for a half hour , explaining that they need to keep you and Steve separated as they come up with some proximity tests to perform. You get it: they want to gauge various reactions between the two of you, but the anxiety you feel about being shoved into yet another situation beyond your control is almost making you sick.

Finally, the door opens and Banner ushers you out and down the hall to a different room. There’s a second, smaller space inside it made up of transparent walls and a vinyl ‘roof’ thing above it, and Steve Rogers is standing in there.

“We’ve rigged the room with all kinds of monitors, and if you are okay with it, I’d like to put some heart monitors and such on you. Steve is already rigged up with a microphone in case I need to tell you two anything, but I won’t be able to hear anything the two of you say. Steve?” Banner calls out, turning around and making some gesture you can’t see. In response, Steve lifts his shirt, showing that he does indeed have a series of medical patches connected to wires placed in various places on his splendid chest.

“Dr. Banner, you’re contaminating our results!” Dr. Lyonne objects, shoving a file folder over to block your view. “I guarantee that her heart rate just went up.”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that. Uhh…”

Grabbing Banner’s lapel mic, Dr. Lyonne leans into it and says, “Banner and Rogers, cover your eyes!” She grabs the patches and comes over. With her help, you unbutton your blouse and the two of you place them in record time. Under her breath, the doctor mutters, “Blessed with two of the most ethical red-blooded men on the planet, thank fuck…”

Two minutes later you’re closing the door of the half-room-sized enclosure they’d constructed, standing closer to Steve Rogers than you’d been since you’d met, nearly three weeks ago.

“Hi,” he says, clearly the most awkward person in the building. It’s absurdly charming.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

You’re both holding a clipboard with a pencil, and Steve nods at the one in your hand. “We’re supposed to fill out our initial reactions.”

There are two chairs placed twelve feet away but facing each other. Instead of sitting down, you plant a foot on the closest one and brace the clipboard on your knee. The questions are… a bit much, asking what your arousal level is (which is not zero, but you try having a zero arousal level around a man who can fuck like that) , how calm you’ve been in the last week, last twenty-four hours, and last hour before coming in the lab, stuff like that. They only take a minute or two to fill out, and when you’re done, you realize that there’s a stack of questions underneath that seem to be directed toward some kind of escalation.

Just what are they about to ask the two of you to do??

“I think they should have fitted you with the earpiece,” Steve says. You straighten up to see that he’s walking to the middle of the room. “They want us to stand six feet apart. Bruce? I don’t want to tell her what to do, okay? That’s--” Steve breaks off and frowns. “Yeah, I understand that, but--” Another pause, and then he sighs. “Okay.” To you, in the most gentle voice you’ve ever heard, Steve says, “There’s no time to grab another one that will work. Please forgive me if anything I say sounds close to-- Inappropriate. I’m not ordering you around. You have every right to say no.”

“This is to help people who might get stuck in a similar situation, right?” you ask, dragging the chair over so you can stand the requested distance away without having to walk over to retrieve it for clipboard-steadying. He nods. “Then it’s worth a little discomfort.”

In truth, the questions on the clipboard are perceptive, because this is the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks. There’s something calming, something wonderful about being close to Steve. It’s as if you’d been wound more and more tightly the past few weeks, and finally, finally, you can relax. You’re certain it’s related to the drug, and you’re a bit worried about how much of yourself you’re going to put on display when you’re forced to admit that.

The two of you stand looking anywhere but each other, and after a few minutes of darting your eyes over to Steve and back to the floor, he says, “Clipboard time.”

You’re glad to have something to focus on other than whether you should be stealing glances of Captain America-- but then you start writing down your answers to the questions.

How much has your arousal level risen since the previous series of questions? 5%

How much has your comfort level risen or fallen since the previous series of questions? Risen 10%

Privately, you feel like that one is going to have bad data, because what’s 10% of ‘almost as comfortable around another person as I could be, despite the entire circumstances of our acquaintance?’

Do you feel an urge or compulsion to engage in sexual activity? Not really?

“Bruce, these questions!” Steve chokes out. He listens for a few seconds, and then says to you, “He says, and I quote, ‘We’re flying by the seat of our pants, here.’ No kidding!” Nodding as though he’d just heard something else in his earpiece, he then says, “Banner’s asking us to stand a foot apart now. And Dr. Lyonne wants me to tell you they printed a bunch of cards, so there are way more than they need.”

You drag your chair again, nodding. Given that there are something like twenty pages in the stack, you’re mollified. A little. Shit. The arousal thing is… definitely happening. A thought occurs to you, and you’re pretty sure you have an obligation to mention it.

Double shit.

“All right, can Banner hear me at all?” you say cautiously, seeking the mental fortitude you’d mentioned to Bucky. At Steve’s negative response, you nod. “Ok, one more round and then maybe they’ll ask us to stand close enough for that.”

Steve swallows hard. Both of you will clearly have different answers to the next set of questions.

“A little closer,” he whispers to you. 

You startle slightly before moving toward him. It feels much closer than a foot, because there’s almost nowhere to look but Steve. He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 

“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.

“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.

His brows furrow. “If you’re--”

“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.

“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.

“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud. “In fact, c’mere.” 

With a bravery borne out of guilt at ruining the findings, you walk right up to Steve and tug at his collar. He doesn’t resist, but he rests a hand on your bare lower arm. It feels as much of a comfort as a warning, and in the strangest way, it reinforces your need to call a halt to this farce.

“Bruce?” you say, lifting up to speak as closely to Steve’s earpiece as you can. Using Banner’s first name is deliberate, a hint at urgency you hope he’ll heed.

“He can hear you,” Steve murmurs. His mouth is close to your ear, and fuck, you’ve made a serious tactical mistake.

“Steve showed up to the restaurant last night,” you say as clearly as you can, given how fully immersed you are in everything Steve Rogers right now. He smells good, of soap and a hint of cologne or shaving cream, and he’s right there, gorgeous and obviously as affected as you are. His grip on your arm is just this side of painful, but you doubt he even realizes. “There’s--” you stop and clear your throat, because that one word was dangerously breathy. Steve’s clenched jaw and tightened grip sends your heart racing.

“The data is corrupted, she’s saying,” Steve breaks in. “Just mark down a hundred percent increase on everything and give us some privacy, will you?”

This is as much permission to push off and away from him as you need. It takes him a second to let go-- the look you exchange as he realizes this is electric.

“Bruce, do it.” The undercurrent of angry urgency in Steve’s tone has you scrambling at the door of your enclosure, and to hell with the clipboard and everything else.

You catch a glimpse of Banner and Lyonne leaving as you rush over to the window and press your overwarm hands to the glass, pulling in huge breaths like you’ve just run a marathon. Nearby footsteps on the tiled floor signal that Steve’s also left the quarantined testing zone.

“I’m--” You stop yourself. “I was going to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but I’m not. The data was already hopelessly corrupted.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“God, this is so screwed up. Do you know, this is the best I’ve felt in weeks?”

“You should be angry with me.”

“Why? Because I got confused, got lost in your apartment and put us in this position? Don’t be absurd.”

“I broke protocol,” Steve says in a hoarse voice. You turn around to see him shaking his head, his jaw set in a miserable line. “I was supposed to head to a quarantine room to get checked out. We get cleared and then we leave. Those rules are set up to prevent--”

You're not having it. “Does it help at all? To feel bad about it?”

“Does it help you to blame yourself?” Steve asks, walking forward, forcing you to listen by sheer command authority.

“Stop being a fucking leader, Steve, and just be a man, would you?” you snap, furious to incandescence that he’s drawing on his Cap persona at a time like this.

“Fine!” he thunders, and reaches out, catching your waist in one large hand as his momentum crashes the two of you into the wall by the window. You’re pinned there, both by his hips and his desperate expression, but Steve gathers the last scraps of his will, holding his hand up and away from where he’d been about to touch you, and fisting it. He closes his eyes tightly and says, “This isn’t me, I’m not--”

“So let’s figure out how to be ourselves and still live through this, yeah?” you say, moving to tug his fist over so you can kiss his knuckles. The raw contact is a pale shade of your previous ferocity under Mistress, but it’s still powerfully erotic. Steve lets out a tiny noise, but you don’t know him well enough to guess whether it’s a sound of distress or lust.

Then his eyes pop open and you suck in a breath at the intensity in his gaze. He’s nodding, turning the hand you’re clutching so he can slide it along your cheek and around to cup the back of your head.

“May I?” he breathes. He’s trembling. So are you.

“Please,” you whisper-- and Steve surges forward, tilting his head to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Everything about this moment is overwhelming, and you can do nothing but feel. You cling to his flannel, caught up in the exquisite sweetness of his kiss, the way he’s dominating you with his body but drawing you out and teasing you with his tongue. The tension of the past weeks melt away with the heat of Steve’s hand holding you still for him, each sizzling brush of his lips against yours burning through every question of propriety.

His other hand falls to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in a needy fist like he needs more of an anchor than the touch of his lips against yours. The rock of Steve’s hips against you is ruinous, incendiary, delightful, destructive. Inside you, a furnace-dam breaks, unleashing a firestorm of pleasure that rushes straight to your core.

“Oh!” you gasp, breaking the kiss as you recognize what’s about to happen. “Oh, God, oh, thank God,” you babble, even as Steve sucks a frantic kiss to your neck. “Are you --?” you manage to ask.

His incoherent noises of assent against your neck sound just as broken and relieved as yours. You clutch at any part of Steve you can reach as he hitches your leg up to angle himself just right to rut against you. Remembering that he’d needed a personal connection last time, you coax him back into a deep, desperate kiss with a gentle caress through his hair.

Steve pulls back after a few seconds and presses his forehead against yours. Something inside you drags your eyes open, and as soon as you make eye contact, your orgasm sweeps through you, arching your back and drawing a low, satisfied moan from your throat.

“Yes,” Steve crows, and his hips thrust against you multiple times in rapid succession as he is taken by a release of his own. His free hand comes up to cup your face as he pants for breath, but it’s the way Steve holds your gaze through it all that completely strips your soul bare.

Next chapter...

[nerdieforpedro]

20 Questions of Writers 📑

I was tagged by @frenchiereading @avastrasposts and @maggiemayhemnj (Bless the three of you. You know a dissertation is coming 🤣🤣🤣) 💜

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 81 works on AO3. There are some that are there and not on Tumblr yet. As to why, some of them are other series I haven’t finished or I’m not sure if I should post them here.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

As of today: 351,908 words (updated for a new chapter of one of my works)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently: Pedro Pascal, Oscar Issac, Garrett Hedlund and might dabble in Call of Duty (maybe)

No longer writing: Marvel

4. Top Five fics by kudos: (some of these were written long ago, when Nerdie was a wee one in fandom)

Sard’ika Sessions (the most in kudos and hits- it tells me ya’ll like Din being a soft dom and using several different tools, maybe at the same time?)

Our Journey Across the Star Ocean (people enjoy the way I write Din maybe?)

The Viper Longs for Foliage (the one fic I have about Oberyn Martell - I don’t feel I write him well but people feel differently I suppose 🤔)

The Best and the Worst Day (AO3 only - Chris Evans fix it was a phase 🫣)

I want him to see me (AO3 only - I had to look up what this was lol Sebastian Stan fic)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I make sure to go through my inbox to reply to anyone who was nice enough to leave me one. ☺️

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Bold of you to assume I finish fics regularly 👀

Scarlet Stains and their Echoes Such angst with a Backstreet Boys joke thrown in. 😆

7. What is the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

This is a three way tie (cheating because Nerdie is not above it) between Sard’ika Sessions, The Lake Between Us and Parts of you Mr. Morales. Each fic has a different Pedro character - Din, Ezra (I had to give him something happy 😭) and Frankie.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I’ve seen. I totally thought I would and that’s why something stay on AO3 or in the WIP folder but so far I have not. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

9. Do you write smut?

I used to. I used to write a lot and enjoyed it. I find now that when I write smut it’s awkward and takes me at least a month to finish a smut scene because despite watching and reading reference materials (porn and other awesome smut fanfic here and on AO3) I don’t have the same mojo when writing it any more. I feel a bit sad about it, but there’s nothing that’s worked. It’s not like I don’t have thots. I just can’t get them in a fic. 😭😭

10. Craziest Crossover?

I haven’t really done many. One m/m fic where Din and Poe crossed blasters (pun fully intended), one sandwich with a female reader, Lucian Flores and Benny Miller, My Tim Rockford series where Dieter is his brother and that’s about it I think 🧐

11. Have you ever have a fic stolen? Not that I know of. So happy I’m in my small weird little box 📦

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? Nope I would be open to it but I dunno how the process would work.

14. All time favorite ship? The Razor Crest, it has room for passengers. 😆

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Such heart ache 😣 My first series that I started was with Dave York (he was done so dirty dammit!) and it was pretty smut filled. Felt with him and the OFC’s messed up dynamic as well but because of all the smut and how I can’t seem to write smut to save my neck now, it will likely go unfinished. 😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe just the weird plot ideas I can make and dialogue. That’s about it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing a fic, SMUT, weak comedy (I can’t resist it though), fixating on small details that don’t matter and everything that wasn’t listed as a strength. What is writing really? Can I make the words go together? 😨

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Pretty cool, just make sure you ask a native speaker in that language to look over things before posting. I have found that some of my Spanish is too literal and no native Spanish speaker is actually going to say that. Plus each language always has little nuances you need to take into account.

19. First Fandom you wrote in? Marvel 👀 Look it was a phase dammit! 🫣 Leave me alone. 😭

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Nerdie will cheat again, because this is her post! 😆 I enjoy all my fics. Otherwise, why would I write them? But one stands above the rest. It gives me all the feels, giggles, some funny banter, smut that took a damn month to write and inspired @soft-persephone to tag me in a meme that @boliv-jenta made, Weddings 101 with Dieter.

If there’s one fic that I feel has the majority of my writing (all styles and facets) in it, Weddings 101 would be it. My humor, agnst, attempt at making a villain and sub-plots, slow burn romance with a goat as Dieter’s ride or die. 🤗 That trash panda gave me a lot so I wrote him a wild ass series. 😋

NPT: @tinytinymenace @megamindsecretlair @perotovar @pedroshotwifey @lady-bess

@djarinmuse @alltheglitterandtheroar @inept-the-magnificent @lotusbxtch

@jeewrites @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot @jessthebaker @trulybetty

@rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @saturn-rings-writes @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @magpiepills

@secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @goodwithcheese

[jeankluv]

Snow on the beach || Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: fluff, doflamingo, angst but light and fluff

Note: thank you to everyone who is starting to read this story and the rest of my one shots, I truly appreciate your sweet comments. By the way if anyone wants me to tag them when I post this story please let me know and I will start tagging you. Now enjoy this chapter.

Previous chapter || Materialist || Next chapter

Chapter VI: You are my safe place

Law huffed at his office table. He had arrived earlier than his schedule, but all in order to avoid you. It wasn't that he didn't want to see you, he really wanted to see you and share moments with you, even if they were those in the car where you were singing a Taylor Swift song at the top of your lungs. But since last week when he had to go out of town to see the person he hated most in the world and meet him, he knew that having you around wasn't safe for you. He knew that you were stubborn and that you probably wouldn't give up so easily and would return home sooner or later, so leaving the house before you had been the best option he had seen to avoid talking to you again.

He had an idea of ​​who the person had been who had warned him, not for nothing did he try to get information from you the only time you met. Law leaned back in his seat and rubbed his temple. Years ago he and Corazon had distanced themselves from the family, they had gone to a quiet town, away from everything, away from him. But once again Doflamingo, he had to annoy them.

When Law talked to him on the phone, he actually considered telling Corazon the truth, telling him that his brother had called and that he was up to no good. But instead Law decided to tell him that Penguin and Shachi had been in an accident and he was going to see them for a week.

So yes, he went to meet Doflamingo to see what he wanted. The meeting was really short and unpleasant for Law but the worst thing was knowing that Doflamingo knew about you and that you lived next door. His skin crawled when your name came out of Doflamingo's lips, at that moment he felt like beating him up right there. Doflamingo began to talk about how they both seemed very happy in that town, that Law was paid well and how Corazon seemed very happy as a police officer, all this with the most cynical smile on his face. It was when Doflamingo finally told him what he wanted, money, as always. He said that if he didn’t get the amount he was asking him he would take action on the matter. Law agreed to give him, he wanted to keep both of you saved. But he knew he should be cautious since Monet knew who you were and she was on constant communication with him. He needed to find a way to fire her.

He sighed heavily and hit the table, couldn't he just leave them alone for once? Two knocks were heard on the door, Law wrinkled his eyebrows, it was still early for any patient to arrive for consultation.

“C’mon in.” He said sitting properly and putting on glasses. “What are you doing here?” He said once he saw who was the one knocking.

“Law…” You said swallowing. “I came here because…”

“I told you already that I didn’t want to see you again, didn’t I?” Law said and turned to look at his computer.

“You actually said you weren’t going to take me from the restaurant to my house, nothing about not seeing each other.” You said sitting on the chair.

“Y/n I’m not joking here, leave.”

You shook your head. “No.” He gave you a withering look and you just smiled at him. “Actually… I feel a bit sick. You’re a doctor so… please doctor could you check me?”

“Y/n… you know I can tell when you lie right?”

“Ah!” You cried out, you ain’t leaving that room until you were able to talk properly with Law. “Doctor please.” You pouted.

He sighed. “Where does it hurt?”

You smiled. “Here.” You pointed to your left knee.

He stood up and kneel in front of you. “Can you put your pants up so I can check your knee better?” He said while looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I…”

Shit y/n. You couldn’t really put them up, they were too tight, but when I asked you where it hurt, you only thought of saying the knee because it was true that it had been hurting for a few weeks.

“I don’t think I can do that.” You told him.

“Well then take them off.” Your whole face turned red in that instant.

“Wait… what?”

“Is for the examination y/n.”

“Of course, sure, yeah, hahaha” You laughed nervously.

“Listen, if you don’t feel comfortable, I can get something for you to cover up.” He said standing back up.

“Yeah… that would be okay.”

He nodded and left the room, leaving you there waiting. After your talk with Nami the day before, you had decided that you were going to get an explanation for Law's behavior. And you knew Law was doing his best to ignore you and not see you. You took off your jacket, waited there looking around at his office. You noticed a picture of him with Bepo on the wall, you smiled noticing how Bepo was still a puppy in that picture.

“Law you back?” You said turning around when you heard the door opening. But it was not Law who was in the door, it was the nurse from the other day, the one with the green hair. “Oh hello.”

“Where is Dr. Trafalgar?” She spoke.

“He went to…”

“Honestly I don’t care.” She replied. “I’m here to talk with you.” She sat next to you. “You should stay away from him, you know? Or the boss will have a good reason to make Law his little puppet again. And you probably don’t want that, right?”

“Excuse me… I don’t know what you are talking about…”

“It’s okay you will probably meet him if you keep yourself around him. This is from one girl to another, stay away from him.” You looked away, she was scaring you. Who the fuck was the boss and what did she mean with Law being a puppet?

She left without saying anything else. You were left there without knowing what to say or what to do. You don’t know how much time passed or when the door was once again open but when you came back, Law was in front of you, looking at you with an intense and worried look.

“You okay?” He said. “You are pale…” He said and touched your face. You knew he was probably checking your temperature but that didn’t stop you from turning red and moving your face away from his hand.

“Actually… I think I will leave.” You said standing and turning around to grab your things. “I have to go to work or else Zeff will get mad.” You tried to joke.

“Y/n, something happened right?” He said standing in front of you. “Did someone come here?”

“No.” You said, maybe a little too fast.

He examined your face, he knew you were lying and you knew he knew. “I already told you, you can lie but I will know.”

You looked down trying to avoid his gaze and thinking how to ask the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Law…” You paused for a moment. “Are you… in danger?” You finally said.

You couldn’t see his face but you saw how his hands closed when you asked that question.

“Don’t worry about me… okay?”

You frowned and looked at him. “How could I not? You can not pretend like I don’t care about you, like I can ignore that someone is threatening you.”

“I have been dealing with this shit all my life, you don’t have to worry but I want you to stay away from me.”

“I can’t do that…”

“Y/n…”

“No Law, you can not ask me that. I want to help you.” You swallowed. “Corazon could help you, he is a police officer, I’m pretty sure he can…”

“Don’t… please y/n stay away from this, from me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn aren’t you?”

“You know I am. And I’m not going to let you deal with this on your own.”

“I told you I have been dealing with…”

“Doesn’t mean you have to keep dealing with it alone.” You cut him off, never once leaving his gaze.

He huffed and leaned against the wall behind him, his eyes closed. He massaged his temple, you really were stubborn and seemed to not care about anything he told you, you were willing to continue with him.

“Why y/n? Why do you want to risk yourself for me?” He said looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Because…” You thought of the reason, deep inside of you, you knew why you were doing that, but would you be able to put it out? “I… I care about you and you make me feel like I’m myself again whenever I’m with you, it's like I don’t have to pretend to be someone else when I’m by your side. You are… you are my safe space.” You let everything out, in a rush but it was out. “And I don’t want to lose that.” You added looking at him.

You watched him breathe heavily, but without saying any words. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes moved around looking at your entire face. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to say something but saying nothing. You didn't think that your confession would leave him speechless and a part of you was regretting having said it. Law swallowed hard, you could see how his Adam's apple moved.

“Y/n…”

“Oi Trafalgar.” The door opened completely, revealing a blonde man with glasses and dressed just like Law. “Oh! I’m interrupting something?” He looked at you both.

“Marco…” Law moved to place him near the man, whose name now you knew it was Marco. “Nothing to worry about, my patient was already going home.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m leaving.” You said and walked to the door. “Thank you for looking at my knee doctor. I will take care of it.” You lied and turned around saying goodbye to both of them.

You quickly left the place, out of the corner of your eye you could see the same girl who had come in to tell you that about Law. You didn't want to stop being with Law, you wanted to continue sharing your trips in the forest, bother him with jokes, make him let you sing at the top of your lungs, see the stars with him again. And yes, with him you felt like you were back to being that girl that you thought had disappeared a long time ago. With the rest of the band you also felt good but with Law it was different. As you felt the cold air hit your face, you blew on your hands to warm up. You really wanted to be able to support Law, in some way. But like that girl, Zoro had also told you to be careful with Law, with the people around him. Was that “boss” so dangerous? So much so that you had to get away from him and Law couldn't do anything about it?

On the other hand, Law was reading the report that Marco had brought him. He was really trying to concentrate but he couldn't stop thinking about you, your words and the strange feeling you had caused in him.

“Earth calling to Law, come back to us please.” He heard Marco’s voice.

“Eh… I think it’s…”

“I think you’re somewhere else.” Marco smiled. “That girl, is the new girl that came here some weeks ago right?”

“Yeah, she is.”

Marco smirked. “You seemed to have an interesting conversation going on.”

“What…? We were… we were discussing some medical stuff, that’s it.” Law shook his head, trying not to seem nervous.

Marco laughed. “Please Law, I have known you long enough to see that what you were having wasn’t a patient doctor conversation.”

“Shut up.” Law rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say lover boy.” Marco stood up and walked to the door, leaving Law alone.

Law leaned back in his chair, thinking again about your words and what he could do to fix this shit. Because one thing that he was clear about was that he did not want you to end up in this mess in any way, for Donflamingo to get close to you. But what could he do? That man pulled the strings in the underworld, he had contacts with the police, who looked the other way when he wanted to do some of his shit.

When he and Corazon came to live here thirteen years ago, everything had been normal. Corazon got a good job as a police officer in the town and he started going to school and making friends. Everything was phenomenal, until Law left to study medicine, that was when he met Donflamingo again and from then on Donflamingo would occasionally ask him for money, with the condition of leaving Corazon alone and letting him live his life in a peaceful way.

Law took off his glasses and growled frustrated with the whole situation, no matter where he looked at it it was a maze with no exit. He got up from his chair and left his office. He didn't have any patients for another hour so he could go talk to Monet and tell her to leave you alone already. He saw her at the reception, with her glasses on, reading.

“Monet.” He called her.

She looked up and gave him a fake smile. “Good morning, Dr. Trafalgar. You came earlier today.”

“Cut that shit Monet.” Law cut her. “Listen, I know what you are up to and you better stay away from y/n. She has nothing to do with any of the shit you and the whole gang are in. So leave her alone and don’t approach her.”

Monet rolled his eyes. “My goodness Law, are you so taken with her? You already know that I only inform the boss about how you are, he cares about you.” Law snorted. “And it's good that the boss knows that you have a crush on a girl from the town, maybe one day he will even come and pay you a visit. “At the end of the day I miss her little brother.”

“The brother he tried to kill? Yeah don’t make me laugh, that man doesn’t care for anything other than money and power.”

“He deserved it, he betrayed the family.” Law narrowed his eyes. “It’s frustrating isn’t it? You can not do anything to get rid of me and besides Law, you will always be part of his family, no matter how much you try to get away or how much you try to protect Corazon. He will always find a way to find you.”

Law turned away from the counter in frustration and without saying anything returned to his office. And it was true, no matter how much he and Corazon tried to escape from that family, they would always find them and if they wanted to harm or harm them, Doflamingo would not hesitate to do so. During the rest of the day he dedicated himself to seeing patients, in the office and on the phone. When he realized it, the sun had already set and the streetlights were illuminating the streets. He stretched out in his chair and picked up everything to leave. He wanted to go home and rest his mind, even if it was just for a few hours.

He said goodbye to Marco and the nurses there and got into his car. He started the car and prepared to go home, but he didn't. For some reason, one that he knew very well, he parked in front of the restaurant. He sighed and looked out the window, there you were. You were wearing a high ponytail, but some of your locks fell in front of your face, and you had a smile on your face as you served the few clients you had that day. He grabbed his phone and connected it to the car, he opened Spotify, an app that for him was practically non-existent before you appeared in his life. He didn't listen to music so he didn't need a music app, right? And to no one's surprise, Taylor Swift was the artist who appeared to continue listening. He pressed play and smiled unconsciously when he remembered how excited she was to sing each lyric of the songs when he took you home.

An hour passed as he watched you say goodbye to Zeff and Sanji. Law got out of the car and leaned against it, waiting for you. He really was a hypocrite, after treating you terribly a few days ago, telling you on more than one occasion that you shouldn't be close, there he was.

When you walked down the small stairs at the entrance and looked up, you felt your heart skip a beat. He was standing there, looking at you and not looking away from you for a second. Waiting for you after work and looking at you with eyes that you couldn't describe or decipher. You approached him, shivering, was it because of the cold or because of what happened that morning? You had practically confessed to him and now you were seeing each other again after that.

“Law… What are you doing here?” You stood in front of him.

“I… I came for you.” He said and you nodded.

“About this morning…” You started to talk but he cut you out.

“Get in the car, you’re trembling.” He said and opened the door for you. You thanked him and got in the car. “You need to buy new clothes, warmer clothes.”

“Yeah… you told me that, remember?” He nodded and started driving back home. “Law about what I said this morning…”

“Once we arrive, let me check your knee.” He once again cut you off, was he evading the topic?

“Are you evading the conversation we had this morning?”

He shook his head. “I’m not, but… I told you, it’s complicated and… I don’t want to put you through something you don’t deserve.”

“I understand… but I want you to know that you have me.” He nodded and you saw the small smile on his face. “And about you being my safe place, listen, you can igno…”

“You also make me want to be myself when I’m with you y/n.” A small oh escaped your lips and you could feel your cheeks redden. “You’re cute peachie.” He whispered.

“Shut up Law.” You turned around, covering yourself. This was embarrassing.

“Oh…” You heard Law say.

“What?” You looked at him.

“It seems like it’s starting to snow.”

You looked ahead and could see how small snowflakes fell on the car window. You smiled. “It really is.” You whispered.

Law smiled when he realized how dazzling your eyes were just seeing the small snowflakes on the window. He was so hooked for you and there was no going back.

Tag list: @phsycochan {comment below if you want to be added to the tag list}

[nczaversnick]

Mega OC Questionnaire

Got this tag from @the-golden-comet

Wasn’t sure who should answer this but I realized I haven’t done much with Caspian so here we go

Five things that make you happy:

“Oh five things? I guess Adrian, Faith of course. I like helping people and fighting with the rebels. Oh! I love ramen too.”

If you could save just one other person who would it be?

*cue Caspian strangling N.C. with his bare hands* Sorry guys this one is major spoilers

Tell us one of your funniest jokes:

“Oh cmon I’m not the funny one in his group. Most I can do is tease Audrey about her affairs with senior staff”

Where would you like to visit?

“If Quinn ever finds their people, I’d love to visit them. Utristan is great and all but I want to see what else is out there.”

When do you usually go to sleep?

“When I was a student, I went to sleep when I was done working. Nowadays I don’t go to sleep until Adrian comes back from his recon missions”

Are you a jealous person?

“I….dont want to answer this”

Have you committed a crime?

“Kinda hard not to when the system is designed to arrest you.”

Do you have a chore you usually hate?

“I mean nobody loves chores. But almost all the work I do is in my proffered field so it’s not really a chore…. But I hate practicing with firearms. It’s brings up unpleasant memories.”

Tell me an embarrassing childhood story

Athena: “Hell I’ll tell you an embarrassing story about him. When we were kids he once kidnapped a baby chick from the class project. He said he didn’t want it to live somewhere without air conditioning”

Are you a good person?

“I mean, I think so? Adrian once said that he looks up to me because of how kind I am but…I think he’s exaggerating”

“When have I ever exaggerated?”

What’s the worst thing you have ever done? Do you regret it?

“Of course I do. But it doesn’t matter now. All I can do is do everything I can not to be in that position again.”

What’s the quickest way to make you laugh?

“When Adrian asks about multi syllabic words. I know he’s still learning and I know it comes off mean but it’s so cute… I just can’t help it.”

What is your favorite song right now?

“Achilles Come Down”

Do you sometimes wish to be someone else?

“Only in the sense that I know I am not my best possible self. Tomorrow might be different.”

Do you push forward or take time to rest?

“Oh I’ve always been a push forward guy. But meeting Adrian changed that. That guy never stops moving and it’s hard to ignore it when you’ve seen what it looks like.”

What is your favorite drink?

“I’ve always been a big fan of green tea.”

If you had to pick an item of clothing or accessory to wear for the rest of your life what would it be?

“I’m legally required to say my wedding band.”

If you were forced to forget one memory, what would you choose?

“As if you really need to ask. I’d forget the day he died.”

What is a positive thing your worst enemy would say about you?

“Knowing Lucia she’d call me good bait. She really only cares about putting Adrian down and he’d do anything to save me.”

Tags for writing games (comment to be -\+)

@honeybewrites @wyked-ao3 @kittrrrr @zackprincebooks @theverumproject @fractured-shield @poppycat-writes @illarian-rambling @finickyfelix @kuebiko-writing @yourpenpaldee @willtheweaver @the-letterbox-archives @moltenwrites @davycoquette @drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie +open tag

[hughesmedicine]

rockstar 2| l. hughes

luke hughes x !lynch reader

one

ynlynch

liked by dylanduke25, edwards.73, rydelfunk and others.

ynlynch: he begged for a song🤭

load more comments..

ynsbestfriend: HE BEGGED??

| lhughes_06: she’s lying, I didn’t beg

| dylanduke25: y/n never lies so

| lhughes_06: I swear she can get away with anything cause of you.

| dylanduke25: yeah cause she didn’t do it?

| ynlynch: knew there was a good reason to keep duker around, love you bestie

| dylanduke25: love you more!

| lhughes_06: she’s not innocent but okay

| dylanduke25: yeah okay, I’ve never seen her do anything wrong

jackhughes: are you guys matching in the last picture??

| ynlynch: are we?

| jackhughes: im starting to not like you again but matching outfits are a no go🫡

| ynlynch: good but if you used your eyes you can tell and shut up.

| jackhughes: hostile and for what?

| ynlynch: many reasons to be hostile when it comes to you.

| jackhughes: okay rude.

ross_lynch: do we finally get to meet him??

| rockylynch: ^

| ynlynch: yes tonight at his hockey game!

ross_lynch: forgot you were dragging us to that

| ynlynch: dragging?? More like you wanted to go and you even bought a jersey with dukers last name on it🫡

| ross_lynch: he’s my favorite so what do you expect me to do???

| edwards.73: I think someone needs to check on duker

| lhughes_06: already on it

| ynlynch: he’s gonna pass out again when he sees me above him lmao

| jackhughes: that’s my worst nightmare

| ynlynch: now I know how to scare you, watch your back rowden

| jackhughes: im not coming to the lake house this summer.

| ynlynch: that’s okay, luke told me where you live and coincidentally that’s where one of our tour dates is

| jackhughes: im moving away.

| rockylynch: wise decision

lhughes_06

liked by ynlynch, rydelfunk, rutgermcgroarty and others.

lhughes_06: saw my girl play right after we won and it was the best way to end the night, so proud of you and your brothers!

tagged: ynlynch, ross_lynch and rockylynch

load more comments..

jackhughes: im so proud of you both for doing amazing tonight!

| ynlynch: Jack being nice???

| jackhughes: gosh I can’t tolerate you anymore.

| ynlynch: there’s the jack I know and love very much, thank you rowden<3

| lhughes_06: thanks bro!

_quinnhughes: I guess since Jack took over the nice role,I get to take over the mean/joking role

| ynlynch: please stick to just being nice..

| _quinnhughes: what’s that supposed to mean??

| ynlynch: if you used your context clues, you could figure it out easily

| _quinnhughes: oh I walked myself into this one.

| jackhughes: welcome to my world

| _quinnhughes: you can take it back, I don’t want it.

dylanduke25: im still in shocked that we saw you guys in concert.

| rutgermcgroarty: no same it doesn’t feel real.

| nolan_moyle: rutgers a fan???

| ynlynch: you didn’t know?? This man talks highly of me to every stranger he meets and he begs for teasers every week😭

| rutgermcgroarty: can you blame me?? Got the best mom out here

| ynlynch: #1 mom right here🫶🏻

| adamfantilli: he is right about the best mom

| ynlynch: you guys are gonna make me cry.

| rutgermcgroarty: group hug in lukes room

| lhughes_06: do not.

| rutgermcgroarty: too late we’re already on our way, thanks for the invite!

rockylynch: thanks for bringing us to the game y/n! I enjoyed it but I’ve never seen ross so hype before

| ross_lynch: thanks for coming to the show! It was fun having you guys there too and thanks luke

| ynlynch: you have to come to hockey games with ross and I more! He goes all out

| rockylynch: I’m coming to more then

| dylanduke25: can I join on this outing??

| ross_lynch: yes!

| ynlynch: gosh you answered fast😭

| ross_lynch: told you favorite player.

trevorzegeras: congrats to you both! also y/n it was fun seeing you perform!

| ynlynch: YOU WERE THERE???

| trevorzegras: no but I wish, luke facetimed me in the middle of it cause I asked him too

| ynlynch: you’re coming to the next one.

| trevorzegras: im actually coming to the jersey show, have a game there that day

| ynlynch: ahhh I can’t wait, bring jamie!!

| jamie.drysdale: im coming either way!! I’ve been waiting to see you perform for awhile!

| trevorzegras: he won’t admit it but he’s been a fan since the beginning

| ynlynch: stop jamie I love you

| jamie.drysdale: love you more y/n/n!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Eyes and Ears

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.

Chapters: 11/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings

Chapter Eleven: Triggers

As the months went on and Jason progressed in therapy, he started to sleep better. During this time, his training sessions with Barbara became more vigorous, and Barbara's faith in him often left her conflicted. She knew he deserved her trust, and she knew he was strong-willed and physically capable. She just wasn't willing to let him risk his life.

As they neared the first anniversary of his coming to live with them, she decided she had to give him a sign that she trusted him. He earned it. Jason did everything that was expected of him. He took every hit and read every book assigned to him with enthusiasm.

"Barbara, that supercomputer thing we're building—."

"Oracle," Barbara explained. Jason nodded as he fiddled with his anti-static bracelet. "And yeah?"

"Well, you said I'm too young to go on patrol with you. What if I stayed behind, and I helped you from behind a screen? What if I was your—?"

"Oracle?" Barbara asked. Jason bounced his head from side to side.

"Well, no. I'm not a girl. There's this guy in Greek mythology, Tiresias—."

"He was technically a woman for seven years," Barbara interrupted a second time, and Jason crossed his arms.

"Okay... Can I please finish?" Jason asked. Barbara covered up a grin and nodded. "He was a seer and could understand birds. I was thinking maybe I could run Oracle's pilot program... Please." Barbara took a deep breath. "Babs, please. You're leaving me. The least you can do is let me help you," Jason pleaded.

Barbara softened and took his bracelet off. "Come here," Barbara teared up as she embraced him, "I was gonna surprise you by letting you run the pilot program, but you didn't have to make me cry. You're the worst, you know that? I was gonna invite you to have dinner there sometimes and everything."

"You can't cook," Jason laughed through his tears as he started to cry as well.

"I was gonna order takeout," she replied as she pulled away and punched him in the shoulder. He laughed and wiped his tears away. "And I'm not leaving you. Dad's probably gonna make you stay the night at my apartment when he works nights which is almost all the time," Barbara explained.

"When are you gonna tell him?" Jason asked. Barbara shrugged.

"Did you hear what I told you?" Barbara asked. Jason blinked hard before embracing Barbara a second time, nearly knocking her over as he thanked her. "Easy," she laughed.

Jim came in the front door and greeted them in Barbara's doorway. "I'm just stopping in to grab my jacket, but it's looking like I'll be in the office late tonight. Saturday night in Gotham. You kids okay?" Jim asked. They both nodded.

Once Jim was gone, Barbara nudged Jason. "Test run tonight after dinner?" Barbara asked. A smile spread across Jason's face. "Also, what are we having for dinner, Bub?"

"We could order a pie?" Jason suggested. Barbara groaned. "What do you wanna eat then?"

"Burger and fries?" Barbara suggested. Jason made a face. "BBQ?"

"BBQ it is," Jason agreed.

They ordered dinner, and Jason lay on his back on her floor. Barbara lay next to him and stared at the ceiling. "How's therapy? I mean, do you like going?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah, I like Alisa... She's nice, and she lets me curse in sessions," Jason replied. Barbara chuckled.

"I'll give you a freebie since Dad isn't here. Give me your best potty mouth," she laughed.

"Fuck no," Jason joked. Barbara let out a screaming laugh. "It's not that funny," Jason covered his smile.

Barbara pinched his cheek. "It's just—. The way you said it," Barbara chuckled. Jason turned on his side towards her.

"I don't want things to change, Babs," Jason mumbled, "I want you to stay here. Just put it off a while longer."

"Jason, I'm not even gonna move that—."

"Please. I know it sounds stupid, but I really don't want you to go. Besides, it's not even set in stone yet. You haven't told Pop or anything," Jason pleaded. Barbara pushed his face aside playfully.

"Don't get all mushy on me, Jason," her voice revealed a hint of sadness. Jason got up and threw a pillow at her angrily, and slammed her door on the way out. "Jason, what did I—?" She opened her door and watched as Jason grabbed his jacket. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Jason grumbled as he shut the door on his way out.

She plopped down on the couch and pushed a hand through her hair. She waited a few hours for Jason to return, and when he didn't, she called Jim. "Dad?" Barbara asked.

"Hey, he's here. He came in an hour ago... What happened?" Jim asked.

Barbara stood up and paced back and forth. "Was he upset?" Barbara asked.

"Yelling and crying... But he tired himself out. What's wrong?" Jim asked. Barbara curled up on the couch and turned the tv on.

"Where else did he go? He's been gone four hours," Barbara thought to herself. "Dad, do you want me to come and get him?"

"No, it's okay. I'd rather know what happened," Jim replied.

Barbara sighed. "I was thinking about moving out. When he asked me to stay, I laughed at him. I didn't know it meant so much to him... But if it does, I won't—."

"You were planning on moving out?" Jim asked.

"Planning. I'm not going to if it's gonna be this big of an issue right now. I can put it off. Besides, it's not like I picked out a place or anything. It was just a thought," Barbara replied.

Jim sucked his teeth over the phone and sighed. "We'll talk about it later... But for now, Jason can sleep here in my office. I'm not mad," Jim whispered.

Once she hung up, she groaned and cursed. She didn't go out that night. All she could do is lie on the couch and wait for Jason and Jim to come home. She drifted off to sleep, only to wake to the sound of the door opening. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Jason, I'm sorry—."

He stormed past her and went straight to his room. She pushed a hand through her hair before getting up and following him. "Jason, let me—."

Jason swung his door open. "What?" Jason asked.

"Jason, I'm not gonna go anywhere. Okay? I love you, and I'm not leaving you. If you want me to stay here a little while longer, I will," Barbara reassured him, "But you have to tell me one thing. Where did you go before you went to Dad's office?"

"Nowhere—."

"Jason, where did you go?" her voice stern as she blocked him from leaving the conversation. Jason tried to shut the door in her face. "No. You were gone for four hours. What did you do for the other three?"

"None of your business," Jason whispered through clenched teeth. Barbara gestured for them to talk in his room, and she closed the door behind her.

"Jason, I get that whatever I did made you angry, but I have to know where you went—."

"I was with Bruce Wayne," Jason answered.

"Funny. Now, where were you?" Barbara asked. Jason rolled his eyes and plopped down on his bed.

"I was with Bruce Wayne, Barbara," Jason answered, "Bruce."

"Why were you with Bruce Wayne?" she asked, a little confused.

"I was at the cemetery with Bruce Wayne," Jason elaborated. He cocked his head and looked at her.

"I don't—." Jason lay back on his bed and pulled his pillow over his face. "Jason."

"Get out of my room," Jason replied.

"Wh—? I don't—."

"You and me, we're a team, right? You stood there, and you lied to my face despite knowing that I know now... It's one thing not to tell me, but it's another thing to lie to my face," Jason whispered. His face reddened as he spoke, and he took a deep breath. "You're no better than everyone else that's ever hurt me. You can have a secret. You can have tons of secrets. I don't care about any of it, but you just lied. What else do you lie about, Barbara?" Jason asked.

"Jason, I'm s—."

"Get out of my room," Jason mumbled. Barbara nodded and left the room.

Barbara slammed his door on her way out, and Jim poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well, did you apologize?" Jim asked.

"No, he didn't let me say anything," Barbara replied angrily.

"Give him his space for right now—."

"You're taking his side?" Barbara asked.

"No, I'm just saying that he's working through a lot, and if he's too mad to talk, we can't make him," Jim answered.

"But I bet he's talking to you," Barbara replied. Jim shrugged.

"He's not mad at me," Jim sipped his coffee. Barbara glared at him.