#Dave will do the same right back to her

[dee-in-the-box]

y'know. had a thought about something.

so like, Dave said he got kicked out of the orphanage young. personally, i put this in the range of when he was 5-7.

now, most of the kids outright ignored him, and most were neutral At Best. there were a few who were nice, but they were in the minority.

but there was...one kid who was regularly nice to him.

at the time, she was a young boy. they spent a lot of time together, both due to being pretty different from a lot of other kids in the orphanage (Dave is obvious, but...she was interested in stories, make-believe, fairytales and folklore and the like). they'd talk about what they wanted to be when they grew up, she'd tell Dave stories, ones she'd either heard or made up herself, they'd play pretend, and for a while, life was good.

then Dave got kicked out, with very little warning. she didn't even have time to say goodbye.

she got adopted, eventually. changed her name, transitioned, and went on to live a good life, all things considered. opened a book store, wrote some of her own stories, not unlike those she told in the orphanage. (some of them- many, actually -contain a reference to a boy she hasn't seen since she was small, whether as a small background character or as a secondary protagonist)

but some days, she thinks.

some days, Fujiko wonders what became of the purple boy she met at the orphanage all those years ago.

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[juniperskye]

I Can’t Stand You

Sneak peek: Hotch calls you out for making a “reckless” call while on a case. When he confronts you in your shared hotel room…the dam finally breaks, and the tension is released.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) BAU Reader

Angst/Smut

Word count: 1492

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited, please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader other than she/her pronouns and female anatomy, implied age gap (kinda?), explicit language, sexual themes, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Don’t do this!), fingering, groping, shower scene, canon typical violence, slight sub/dom talk, let me know if I missed any!!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were fuming. He scolded you, like a puppy who had peed on the carpet. What’s worse is that he did it in front of the entire team. The second you had closed the door, securing the unsub in the back of the government issued SUV, he turned to you, ready to spar.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch spat.

You had to glance around to confirm it was you he was speaking to. Each of your teammates sharing the same shocked expression you currently wore.

“What are you talking about? You questioned.

“You walked down into that basement, knowing full well he was likely armed, defying my direct order to wait for backup. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we needed to catch this unsub! Are you seriously mad at me right now? For what, doing my job?”  You sneered.

--

Your argument with Hotch was heated, so much so that everyone managed to squeeze themselves into one SUV just so they wouldn’t have to be in the car with you and Hotch.

It was like a sparring match. He’d jab and you’d block with a perfect retort. Every once in a while you land a perfect jab, and it would stun him to silence, but only for a moment. This continued on the entire ride back to the precinct and then again to the hotel.

You made your way to the elevator, expecting Hotch to follow behind and continue his scolding. With a glance over your shoulder, you were proven wrong, seeing him head over to the hotel bar.

Maybe it was a good thing, at least this way you’d get to shower in peace.

--

“Aaron you were pretty hard on her.” Dave chided.

“She needs to learn Dave. She continues to be reckless on cases, just throwing herself into the line of fire. She’s driving me insane.” Aaron huffed.

“I think you care about her. More than you’d like to admit. And that is why you’re so upset; you don’t want to see her get hurt. Because the fact of the matter is, you’d have done exactly what she did had you gotten to the basement first.”

With that, Dave stood, pat Aaron on the shoulder, then made his exit. Aaron was left to ponder Dave’s words. Was he right? Did he feel this way because he had deeper feelings for you?

--

You had just finished rinsing the conditioner out of you hair when Aaron entered your shared hotel room. Due to the sound of the shower though…you hadn’t heard him come in. You had also neglected to ensure the door was fully closed.

As he made his way into the room, he couldn’t help but notice the steam flowing out of the bathroom, further drawing his attention to the very open door. Once glance into the mirror brought your naked form into view through the glass shower walls.

Aaron wasn’t sure if it was the glass of whiskey or Dave’s words that led him to his next move…but either way, things were sure to change.

--

“I can’t stand you.”

“Jesus! Hotch, what the hell are you doing?” You shouted, weakly attempting to preserve your modesty.

“The reason I was so pissed at you earlier is because I can’t stand you. You are so willing to put yourself in danger and it drives me mad.” Aaron let out a huff.  “I can’t stand that I can’t get you out of my head. And please don’t play dumb, I know you must feel something too. I see the way you look at me.”

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes scanning his face, searching for any indication that this was a sick joke. Seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes, you let your arms fall to your sides.

Everything after that happened so fast.

Aaron pulled the shower door open, and you dragged him to you with his tie. His lips pressed to yours in a searing kiss, hands exploring your naked form. Your own attempting to peel off his now wet clothes.

His lips were trailing down your neck, as his nimble fingers found your pebbled nipples, lightly rolling them between his fingers. You released a gasp, your head falling back against the wall of the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” Aaron whispered.

 A small moan escaped you. “I want to see you” you huffed.

The two of you moved to rid him of the rest of his clothes, dropping them to the floor of the shower in a soaking heap. You let your gaze drag over the expanse of Aaron’s body, your eyes widening at his impressive size. As your gaze moved back up, Aaron’s eyes met yours and they were filled with adoration. Aaron reached to turn the water off and led you to his bed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He confirmed.

“God yes, I’m sure.”

Aaron laid you down on the bed and moved to hover over you, his erection pressing against your inner thigh as his lips pressed to your breasts. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you as Aaron pressed a finger to your entrance, slipping in with little resistance.

“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your skin.

“This was all I could think about while you were scolding me earlier.” You admitted.

A breathy chuckle puffed against your flushed chest. He couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to filthy thoughts of you and him – his dominance a clear turn on for you.

Aaron pressed another finger into your core, the pressure causing you to gasp out. You let your eyes fall shut, trying to focus on the pleasure and not the slight pain.

“I know, I just have to get you ready baby.”

His fingers shifted in and out, carefully preparing you for the stretch his cock would bring. Once he saw the scrunch of your brow relax, and the pain subside, he guided his cock to your entrance. His gaze finding yours, as his other hand caressed your cheek.

“Look at me.” He whispered.

Your eyes opened to meet his just as he presses forward, slowly stretching you even further. Aaron was quick to swallow your moans as he allowed his tongue to explore your mouth. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping fiercely as he pulled almost entirely out before snapping his hips forward in a sharp thrust. He couldn’t believe how tight you were, gripping him like a vice and yet he couldn’t get enough, he continued these sharp thrusts.

Every time he did this, it took your breath away. Aaron continued on like this, slow, sensual, but also hard and deep. You could feel him deeper than you’d ever felt any man you’d been with.

“So…so full” you could barely get the words out, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“You’re taking it so well.” Aaron praised.

The sounds you were currently emitting were purely pornographic, and Aaron was loving every minute of it. Every little moan or breath had encouraged him to press harder, his hand coming down to press against your stomach – this action causing a particularly loud groan.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” You whined.

“I want you to cum for me baby.” He encouraged.

All you could do was nod franticly, wanting nothing more than to please him. Aaron loved how submissive you were being…it was a total 180 from your earlier defiance. He went ahead and moved his hand lower so his fingers could circle your clit. He was getting desperate to feel the squeeze of your release against him.

He decided to pick up the pace – that along with his ministrations against your sensitive nub, were sure to push you over the edge. And sure enough, you were quick to prove him right, reaching your peak with a scream of his name, your head collapsing backward.

“Where do you want me to…”

“Inside…fuck Aaron please.” You cried.

Aaron let out a low growl, he must’ve died and gone to heaven because this was truly a dream come true. He shifted his arms so they were pressed to the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs over his shoulders. You couldn’t believe that he was so deep.

His thrusts had sped up, but were losing their meticulous rhythm, you could tell he was close. What you hadn’t expected however was another orgasm to overtake you so suddenly. And just as Aaron was about to finish, your body began to spasm – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had washing over you. Aaron could only groan, filling you up, as you soaked him.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“If this is the reward I get for being a pain in your ass, then I can’t stand you either.” You let out a giggle.

Aaron chuckled, bringing his lips to your own.

[queensunshinee]

Wreck my plans || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering), drinking, family drama, very slow burn, maybe too slow, I really don't know what's going on here

Word Count: 8.5k

Wreck my plans

Parties were never your thing. Parties are Jenny's thing. But she went away for the weekend with two friends from Harvard and didn’t even think to invite you. So Jenny can go to hell. And you can go to the party.

Luke Thompson's house is huge, and it doesn’t surprise you since you've spent two evenings a week here over the past few months trying to teach him algebra and literature. He had to repeat senior year after his complete failure last year. The party was in celebration of him finally getting his diploma and being accepted to a local college nearby.

"Little (Y/L/N)!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, inviting you for a hug. "The only reason I managed to finish school," he added, yelling, making you roll your eyes. "You’re the only reason you managed to finish school, Luke," you said, taking a step back. "To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come," he looked around, causing you to do the same and start recognizing familiar faces from your grade and the one above you (Jenny’s). "I've never seen you at a party before." "I've been to parties. we just don’t hang out with the same people," you said as the two of you moved towards the kitchen so you could grab a drink.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but your attention drifted to the blond guy in the kitchen- Art Donaldson. Dressed in a pink button-down shirt and jeans, holding a red cup just like the one Luke put in your hand, drinking the same warm beer you're drinking. You hadn’t thought about him for almost a year. Your gaze wandered from him to the living room, where you saw Dave flirting with someone you couldn’t identify, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at the scene. You tried to listen to Luke for a few more moments because it felt like the polite thing to do, but you lost interest, and, like a magnet, your eyes were drawn back to Art Donaldson, who was busy looking you over from head to toe. You wonder if it made you blush or if it's just the cheap alcohol. You left the kitchen with a certain sense of saturation, looking for people you actually enjoyed being around more than Luke, who, as nice as he was, was too sociable for your taste. Tried too hard. You also try hard, mostly to stay out of everyone’s way.

You ended the evening with Chloe and Ron- ironically, friends of Jenny's, since Lia refused to come. They asked about Jenny and told you about their college experiences. Ron finished his first year at Yale, and Chloe went to a local college not far from here. Maybe it’s time to go home, as you feel like you’re suffocating and the place is closing in on you. The thought of staying close, like Chloe, to this suburb made your stomach turn. Chloe loved it, though. She didn’t see anything wrong with it. She planned her life right here. Just like this.

"Can I sit?" A familiar voice stood above you as you stared at Luke’s pool. A few people were in the far corner of it, but otherwise, the yard was empty. You shrugged without saying anything as Art sat down. He took off his shoes and folded up his jeans a bit, dipping his feet into the pool- something you hadn’t even thought to do. You looked at him for a moment as he took another sip from the drink in his hand. He’s probably the most handsome guy you know- a childish thought that’s crossed your mind since you were young, since you remember him. Blond with eyes that could make stars feel embarrassed with how they shine. There’s nothing ordinary about him. He’s exceptional. You don’t think there’s any girl your age who’s known him and hasn’t had a crush on him, at least for a moment.

"Congratulations on finishing school. I heard you’re the reason Luke can celebrate," he said casually, looking at you and causing you to turn your gaze back to the pool in a split second. "He really needs to stop telling people that," you replied, hearing him chuckle. "How was your first year in college? Stanford, right?" you asked, trying to shift the focus from yourself to him. "Yeah, tennis, you know. It’s nice. I’m supposed to choose a major next semester. My mom wants me to pick business management. I’m considering sports management," he said offhandedly, as if it weren’t too personal. As if this wasn’t the longest conversation you’d had since kindergarten. "Then you have to choose sports, of course," you said quickly. "Sorry, it’s none of my business," you added just as fast, realizing you’d stepped into his complicated relationship with his mom. "If only it were that easy, huh?" he chuckled. "To choose what I want," he added.

At that moment, Art Donaldson had no idea that what he was saying touched the deepest parts of your heart, nearly crushing it. Stroking an open wound without knowing the area was sensitive. Jenny decided at the last moment that she didn’t want to study at Yale and preferred Harvard, which meant financially you couldn’t study out of state. It would just be too much. And it surprised no one that you were the one who had to give up your dream. It surprised no one, because Jenny was the first to decide, and you received the scraps of something that might have been hers. Like wearing an old shirt, she no longer wanted. It’s never the other way around.

"Aren’t you planning to go pro?" you asked after a few seconds, trying to shake off the emotions flooding you. "I’m not sure yet, my mom really wants me to finish my degree," he explained, taking another sip. "Patrick’s really suffering on his tour. don’t tell him I told you that." He added information you hadn’t asked for. As if you were in daily contact with Patrick Zweig. As if you’d ever exchanged a word with him. You only know Jenny slept with him a few times, but it’s not something you two talk about, so whatever. "I’m going to Wesleyan," you said suddenly and looked at him; his gaze was already on you. "Damn," he smiled a half-smile, and maybe it was the first time you’d felt a certain pride since you applied there. "Jenny went to Harvard, so it’s complicated for both of us to study out of state, you know how it is," you felt the need to explain the situation, even though he hadn’t asked, and he certainly didn’t know how it is. "It’s a good school tho, I’m glad I got in," you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince, but he furrowed his brows as if he didn’t believe it, as if he had something to say about it. But he kept it to himself, and you appreciated that.

"I have to say, distancing myself from Jenny (Y/L/N) was one of the best things that’s happened to me since I left," everyone knew about Art and Jenny's relationship. They couldn’t stand each other. They competed in every possible subject. From student council to tennis. You don’t think Jenny even likes tennis. She just likes the first place. And without realizing it, you laughed, which a good sister shouldn’t do, but you felt it too. Distancing yourself from Jenny was a relief. The difference is that you’re not allowed to say that out loud, and Art Donaldson doesn’t really care. He doesn’t need to be at family dinners during holidays.

You looked at him for another second and thought this could be a good moment to kiss him. It was as if he hadn’t taken his eyes off you for a second since he sat down. You could lean in a little and press your lips to his. It’s not like you’d see him much again. You wouldn’t see him at all and in six weeks, you will move into the dorms in college. and in few years, maybe after school, he’d probably be a professional tennis player or a lawyer or the president. You think you can picture him as the president. You'd vote for him. "Well, it was nice seeing you, (Y/N)," he smiled another one of his captivating smiles. "Talk to me if you ever find yourself in California," he gave a small nod, grabbed his shoes, and walked away. Maybe one day you’ll manage to actually do something you really want to do. . . . You regretted what you did about three minutes after you politely turned down the full scholarship to Wesleyan. and accepted what they offered you at Stanford. But in your defense, it was late at night, you’d just come back from Luke’s party very tipsy, and you had no real intention of talking to Art when you got to California. You’d never seen your parents so angry. Your mom cried. Your dad said you were inconsiderate. Jenny sat on the couch, watching you with a raised eyebrow. They said they wouldn’t pay for anything, that if you made this decision, you’d have to deal with the consequences. The scholarship covered your tuition, but for housing and books, you’d have to use your savings. Two jobs you picked up over the summer and a part-time job you’d had for three years of babysitting. They didn’t speak to you for weeks. From the moment you told them, all communication between you went through Jenny.

"Tell her dinner’s ready," "Tell her to go down and buy eggs," "Tell her Uncle Barry’s coming over tonight, to act like she still cares about this family."

"They'll come around," Jenny mumbled when she climbed into your bed one of those warm August nights. "I don’t know," you answered with your eyes closed, exhausted from the day at work and the hostility you returned to at home. "I know," she concluded. In the morning, you woke up alone.

You think they’ll never forgive you. Maybe you’ll never forgive them. But you don’t know. . . . The empty bed in your dorm was beneath the window. You didn’t complain for a moment because everything could have been much worse. Jenny bought you the flight ticket to California for your birthday. You cried. You remembered that small moment when Art said he was glad to be away from her and you giggled, not defending your sister. She’s not to blame for being born first. She’s not to blame for needing more attention. Her intentions are good. That should be the only thing that matters.

You only met Billie in the evening when she came back from what she described as a date. She spoke about 50 words a minute, so it was hard to follow. She asked why you came a week late, you wanted to say that you were on time and she came early, but all you managed to get out was "work." It wasn’t a lie. You worked at a camp and an ice cream parlor all summer, trying to save as much as you could because you didn’t know how long it would take to find a job near the university. Turns out, very quickly. The diner across from the university was looking for waiters, and you showed up without experience but with a convincing smile and some recommendations from previous employers, as if anyone cared that you were great with kids. Three shifts a week, and the savings would help you keep your head above water. That’s all you need.

A week after you arrived at the dorms, Billie and Summer, your roommates, forced you to go with them to a party. And it wasn’t too hard to convince you because you weren’t at home. And sometimes, you need to remind yourself that you at home isn’t the same you who’s at Stanford. Here, no one knows you or Jenny. No one expects anything from you, no one will call you "Little (Y/L/N)." Here, you are whoever you choose to be. And that’s enough. Enough to wear almost burgundy lipstick and a tight dress, but still sneakers. After all, something of you stays the same.

Someone named Dean hit on you most of the night, and Billie told him you had a boyfriend. "Babe, anyone but Dean. I’ve been here two weeks, and he’s slept with the entire building already," she whispered in your ear, and you laughed. Someone else hit on you during the night, but you didn’t remember his name. When you lay in bed, you tried calling Jenny to tell her about your night, but she didn’t answer. And maybe that’s okay. . . . The first time you saw Art at Stanford, he was the one who actually saw you. "(Y/n)?" He lifted his sunglasses to his hair. He wore a Stanford T-shirt and pants that made you wonder if they were also Stanford coded. He had a racket bag over his shoulder. He looked confused. "Hey," you didn’t know what to say as you leaned against the only free tree you could find and tried to read one of the books from your syllabus, preparing for your first class. "Hey?" He almost chuckled as he sat down next to you, not taking his eyes off you. Like you’d disappear the second he blinked. He didn’t seem disappointed by your presence. "Shit, I was joking about California," he looked amused, still studying you. He took the book you were reading, like it was his, ran a hand over the cover. Like he knew everything he needed to know about the course just by looking at it. "Stanford was on my list, and it just felt more right," you tried to justify, to explain that it wasn’t because of him. He didn’t think it was because of him tho, not really. "How did they take it?" he asked, probably remembering details from your conversation at the party. "I don’t know, because they’re not talking to me," you said it in the same casual tone, like it didn’t bother you. "Damn," he muttered, "that bad?" he asked. "It’s whatever," you shrugged. "I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you around, yeah?" He stood up and walked away. You didn’t know if you’d actually see him around again, but the interaction had been nice. You think that maybe Art Donaldson won’t judge you. And that’s an interesting thought. . . . The next time you see him, you're in the middle of a shift, wearing a ridiculous apron and a ponytail that makes your hair look greasy. Needless to say, you’re embarrassed, but he doesn’t act like it’s a big deal. He says hello, which is surprising because he’s with friends, and you look, well…ridiculous. You say hello back, because you’re polite, and it’s the right thing to do. They sit down at one of the tables, and you hear his voice from a distance saying, “I know her from back home.” You think it’s a half-accurate description, because you don’t really know each other- not like he knows Patrick Zweig or Luke. Not like he knows Jenny. You also think the girl sitting next to him is very pretty. Pretty enough to hate her, but nice enough not to.

Casually, before they leave the diner, Art asks if you're going to a party someone in his dorm is throwing. You shrug in response because you hadn’t heard about it until now. “It’ll be fun, you should come,” he calls out, mentioning the building he lives in before he leaves with his friends. He didn’t have to invite you. He doesn’t have to invite you to places. You’re not his responsibility. You don’t want him to think you are. You don’t know if you’ll go. . . . When you received the email from the registrar notifying you that your account had already been paid and that there was no need for the duplicate payment you’d tried to make, you found yourself confused. When you realized your parents had paid the bill despite saying they wouldn’t, you ended up crying for two hours. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. They haven’t spoken to you in almost three months. They let you stew in guilt but are willing to pay your bills? It’s ridiculous. None of them answered when you tried to call to say thank you. You cried for another hour. 'Busy. Do you need anything?' -Jenny-

You think you need a hug. But that feels childish, so you send her an orange heart emoji. . . . You go to the party Art invited you to with Billie and Summer because, why not? You don’t mention that you got an invitation, just casually say you heard there’s a party and that it might be fun to check it out.

You decide to put on the dark lipstick again, you liked how it looked last time, and honestly, the feedback was great. This time, you stick with a thin shirt, ripped tights, and shorts- keeping it low-effort was part of the actual effort. You think it’s silly. But you look cute, so fuck it.

Art spots you before you notice him again. He comes up to you in the middle of a conversation, gently swiping the beer bottle from your hand, making you look at him as he takes a sip and hands it back. “You’re the hot guy from the posters,” Billie says shamelessly, looking straight at him. “Art,” he chuckles, introducing himself, making you roll your eyes. “Mind if I steal her for a bit?” He asks permission, which is ridiculous and funny, making you feel embarrassed as he hands you back the beer and leads you to another corner of the apartment by your other hand.

“Hey,” he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Hey,” you reply with staged nonchalance. “You look good,” you add, because it’s true. The few times you’d seen him on campus, he was in Stanford sports gear. Seeing him again in a button-down and jeans felt like a privilege. “That’s what I’ve heard,” he responds, referencing Billie’s comment from a few minutes ago, taking the beer from you again. Maybe it’s over the top, sharing the same bottle. It’s relatively intimate for two people who don’t actually know each other.

One of his friends comes over and starts talking to Art about tennis, his gaze lingering on you. You wonder if Art realizes he’s standing closer to you in a slightly possessive way. That his hand is lightly brushing yours, that he keeps taking the bottle from you to drink from it, openly displaying that sense of intimacy.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You’re not sure where the courage to ask came from. Maybe it’s the tequila shots you took with Billie and Summer before heading out to the party. Maybe it’s the joint you passed between each other. But Art looks amused as he nods. You catch Summer out of the corner of your eye, giving you a thumbs-up and making exaggerated kissy faces. If Art saw her doing it, he didn’t say anything. The contrast between the noise in the building and the quiet outside surprises you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but you hoped he’d say something by now. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much to talk. “Want to head to the lake?” he suddenly asked, though you were already walking that way. You hadn’t actually been there yet, but you didn’t want to reveal that you didn’t know the area that well.

“Hey, give me your phone,” you said, stopping in your tracks. He stopped too, raising an eyebrow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “So bossy,” he muttered with his signature smirk, but you entered your number and sent yourself a flower emoji so you could save his number later. When you reached the lake, it almost took your breath away. It looked like something out of a movie. You know it sounds like a cliché, but it really was like that- like an old movie, but not too old. The moon reflected off the lake, and a few people were sitting on the grass nearby. You sat on a table instead of the bench next to it. Art raised an eyebrow at the choice but shook his head like you’d done something funny.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, looking at you as if confessing a secret. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” You knew that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he laughed anyway. He sat on the bench below you, between your legs. You felt as if you had some kind of power. Your hand automatically moved through his curls. You thought about apologizing but decided not to. “How are you?” he asked. “I’m okay, I think. How are you?” you tossed the question back at him. “Seriously, how are you?” His fingers brushed over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “With your parents and everything?” he added. “I’m fine,” you replied. You didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t push as much as you expected. His hand squeezed yours for a moment, as if he had more to say. Instead, he nodded and stood up, starting to walk with you just behind him.

You're walking alongside the lake, wondering if this path has an end, or if you even want it to. You think you might feel those butterflies in your stomach. "Do you know my first memory of you?" he asks suddenly, and you’re surprised. Part of you doesn’t want to know. It’s probably related to Jenny. Art has so many memories of Jenny, and they’re all negative. Deep down, you hope he doesn't remember you as this girl being attached at her hip. "The day after my dad's funeral, you gave me a daisy you picked from someone’s garden." He chuckles, but it sounds bitter. You don’t remember this. You do remember, though, that for years, until you both drifted and each found your own group of friends—he called you "Daisy." You never knew why. "Oh." You don’t know what to say, so that’s what comes out a bit pathetic. "I didn’t even know it was a daisy, if the story details matter," you try to lighten things up. "I asked my grandmother," he says, and the two of you chuckle. "That’s why you called me Daisy for three years straight?" you ask. "God. Why do you remember that?" He puts a hand over his face, as if he’s embarrassed or something. "I thought maybe you didn’t know my name, and since I was Jenny’s sister, you just rolled with it." You laugh. "It suited you, Daisy," he says, and his hand moves your hair behind your ear. This isn’t the first time he’s done that, but this time he also looks at your lips. You feel like he’s looking at your soul if that's even possible.

"I really wanted to kiss you at Luke's party," you admit, because it feels like the right moment. "Oh yeah? So why didn’t you kiss me?" he asks, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "I’ve wanted to do it since eighth grade, and then I had the chance and didn't know what to do" You look at him. His smile is still plastered across his face, and you wish he wasn’t so smug all the time. "Maybe I wanted you to kiss me at Luke's party," he says, almost ignoring what you just said. "Little Daisy, sitting by the pool alone. Maybe I approached you with intent? Maybe I was goi-" You don’t give him the satisfaction of finishing his sentence, as you crash your lips onto his like you’re possessed. His smile lingers for a few moments. His hands pull you closer to him as he presses you back against a light pole you didn’t know was behind you.

Art Donaldson is a good kisser. No one can take that from him. He’s an amazing kisser. His tongue is way too skilled. His hands have found their way under your shirt as if that’s their natural place. His lips move perfectly in sync with yours, and when you both pause to catch your breath, he presses his forehead against yours. He places small kisses on your cheek, then on your neck, and only when you lean your head back and bump into the pole do you remember that you’re in a public space. People could see you. This is not your style. "Okay, we’re good," you tap his chest lightly, making him laugh the most delightful laugh you’ve ever heard. "Is this everything you dreamed of before starting high school?" he asks, planting another small kiss on your cheek, as if he just can’t help himself or something. "I didn’t dream about kisses like this, Donaldson." You roll your eyes, thinking it’s pretty ridiculous that you’re smiling right now.

When you reach your dorm, you wonder if you should invite him in. You think he’d say yes. But you also think there’s something beautiful about leaving the night as it is- two people who used to know each other, kissing by a lake. He gives you a small kiss and takes out his phone as he turns to leave, while you head inside, unable to resist leaning against the door.

'Since eighth grade, huh?' -Unknown Number-

'Shut up.' -(Y/N)-

He replies with a flower emoji. You think the intention is daisy. Maybe you’re overthinking it. . . . You don’t expect Art to text you the next morning. You had that night together; it was great, and maybe it was exactly what you needed to get him out of your system. Maybe it was what you needed to finally move on from that endless crush on Art Donaldson. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed when he didn’t reach out at all, as if he’d disappeared from the face of the earth. But that’s probably fine. He doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe him. You each have your own lives at Stanford. You’re trying to juggle work and studies. You’re supposed to submit a thirty-page paper after Thanksgiving, and you’ve only written three. Clearly, you have enough to keep you busy.

Your mom called a few days ago, and you cried. Because you hadn’t really talked in almost four months. She said Jenny convinced her. It’s kind of messed up, but you don’t say that. You’re just glad someone convinced her. You’ve been thinking a lot lately about how strange it is- how you never behaved outside of what was expected of you, and the one time you did, they reacted as if you’d committed a crime. You think about it even when you’re trying not to think about it. Your mom asked if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. You said no. You wonder if it made her sad only after you hung up. . . . The next time you see Art, he’s flirting with a redhead at a Thanksgiving party Summer convinced you to attend. Honestly, you could’ve skipped this party, but Summer said she wanted the girl who invited her there. So you bit your tongue and told her you’d meet her there, because that’s what friends do.

It’s easy to tell when Art is flirting; it’s basically exaggerated hand gestures and a level of closeness he’s never tried with you. You’ve seen him in action before. You try not to stare, because it doesn’t really matter. Instead, you look for Summer, who’s on the opposite side of the room, directly in Art’s line of sight. It makes you smile, knowing he’ll see that you’re here. You’ve decided you’re going to ignore him. You made that decision when you passed by him on your way to Summer, feeling his eyes on you but not meeting his gaze.

When Summer slips away to sit with Caitlin -the girl she’s interested in- a guy you don’t recognize approaches you. He introduces himself and offers you a drink. You politely decline, you’re smarter than to accept punch from a complete stranger. He’s nice, but standing a little too close for your comfort. He leans over you, and you feel a bit trapped between him and the wall you’re leaning against. You could walk away, of course, but the whole situation feels uncomfortable. You wonder where Summer is, unable to see her in the crowd.

"Don’t you think you’re a bit too close?" Art’s voice is firm and unyielding as he positions himself next to you, raising an eyebrow at the guy. "Sorry, man, thought she was single," he says, disappearing like he was never there. Neither of you bother to correct him about the two of you not actually being together. You roll your eyes at Art and head toward the kitchen, feeling his steps following behind. You spot Summer with Caitlin on one of the couches, and she gives you a nod, signaling that she’s fine and that you’re free to leave if you want. "Hey, you didn’t go home," he says behind you, as if everything is normal. "Quite the observation, Donaldson," you say, knowing you’re being mean. But, fuck it, he deserves it. You grab a beer from the kitchen and head outside, with him trailing beside you. "You’re mad at me because I didn’t text you," he sighs, prompting you to stop and raise an eyebrow at him. "You really think you’re something special, huh?" Maybe a bit too harsh, but it’s all you’ve got right now. "I don’t think I’m anything special. I just didn’t know what to say." He sighs again as you start walking away from the building. "It was a good night. I didn’t want to ruin it, you know?" You think he sounds almost shy. His voice is softer than usual, and you remind yourself that you also labeled that night as a good one, as a nice experience you didn’t want to spoil. So maybe it’s unfair to be angry- after all, you could have reached out to him, too. But what would you have even said? The three weeks since then passed quickly, and most of the time, you didn’t think about him at all. So it’s fine. Everything’s really fine.

"It’s ok, Donaldson, I wasn’t sitting by the phone waiting for a message from you. You can let it go," you sum up, trying to sound amused and light-hearted, though it comes out a bit too bitter for your liking. "So why didn’t you go home?" he asks, changing the subject. "I’m working." You shrug. He raises an eyebrow, like someone who knows that’s not the whole truth but also understands he’s treading on thin ice right now and shouldn’t push for more. "Why didn’t you go?" you throw the question back at him, trying to show him that it’s all good. "I’ve got a match tomorrow, plus my mom doesn’t really care," he replies, and you nod, understanding a bit of what he means. You knew his mom- she always struck you as the coldest person in the world. "What are you doing at a party if you have a match tomorrow?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, wondering if it’s too harsh, because you’re trying to steer the conversation onto calmer ground. "It’s in the afternoon," he shrugs. "You don’t have to walk with me, my dorms are really close," you say after a few moments of silence. "We’re good? We're friends and you’re not mad at me anymore, right, Daisy?" he asks, nudging his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes at the silly nickname, but you don’t find it in yourself to correct him.

"We’re good," you conclude, walking into your building, leaving him behind. . . . The next day, you decide to go to his game after your shift, only to find out that Patrick fucking Zweig is also sitting in the small crowd. Most of the students eager to see Stanford’s star in action probably love their families more and decided to go home. You sat far from Patrick, but it didn’t stop him from giving you a puzzled look as he whispered something to the girl sitting next to him, who was fully focused on Art's game. You remembered her from the diner the other day. She’s beautiful.

Art won to the applause of the crowd that stayed to watch until the end. Two hours of the ball going back and forth and sounds that were almost erotic. Whatever. You consider heading back to your dorm without saying anything just to avoid talking to Patrick. But Art smiles at you and gives a small wave, so you know there's no way to get out of at least saying hello. You need to suck it up. “Congratulations, Donaldson,” you mumble, and he gives you the smuggest smile he can find. “Little (Y/L/N), long time,” Patrick says to you with half-loudness. He doesn’t say anything bad, but you shrink a little. Trying to remember the last time someone called you that. Probably at Luke's party. Art looks at you with an apologetic look as if he knows. He probably doesn’t know. But that's okay. “How’s the tour?” you ask politely because it’s the right thing to do. “Good, good,” he says, shifting his gaze from you to Art and back to you. Like a man with a plan. “Want to have dinner with us?” he asks. In any other situation, you’d laugh, because the odds of you sitting at the same table with Patrick Zweig would be slim, especially considering his history with Jenny. “I wish, but I have a paper due in a few days, and I really have to work on it. Maybe next time,” you smile the most genuine smile you can find and quickly move away.

“Dude, you didn’t tell me Little (Y/L/N) was here,” you hear Patrick laugh. “Shut up, Patrick,” you’re almost sure you heard Art reply.

'You wish?' -Art Donaldson- He sent it half an hour later when you were already sitting at your computer with a cup of coffee in hand.

You turned off your phone. You need to focus. . . . Art came to your work far more often than you expected. He probably tried every dish on the menu, including the pancakes with the “secret” sauce that you suspect is just chocolate mixed with overly sticky jam. He sometimes studied there or came with his friends. He talked to you but not too much, and you texted each other from time to time. Were you friends? It felt strange to think that Art Donaldson and you were friends- not because he wasn’t someone you’d want to call a friend, but because you’d finally let go of the idea of him as someone out of reach.

One day, when he walked you home, he asked why you took on a fourth shift, since you usually didn’t work Mondays. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Donaldson?” you asked with a half-smile. “Daisy,” he sighed, as if you were being ridiculous, even though he was the one who knew your schedule and which days you didn’t usually work. “I’m saving up for a ticket home for the holidays, so,” you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “You haven’t bought a ticket yet?” he asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m buying it myself, so it’s taking me a minute.” Your parents had made it very clear they were only paying for your dorm. You bought your own books, and you had to cover your own flights. You didn’t look at him when you said it, afraid he might judge you- even if it was silly.

He stopped and looked at you. “That’s fucked up, (Y/N).” Whenever Art said your name like that recently, you knew he was serious, and that the conversation was drifting somewhere too deep. Like the time you talked about his grandmother, or his dad. “It is what it is,” you replied, continuing to walk, hoping he would keep walking too. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that they bought Jenny her train ticket. You didn’t want to dwell on the thought that even if it was cheaper, no one made her feel guilty for the only choice she’d ever made in her life. “I could get you a ticket,” he said, and this time, you stopped. “What the fuck?” you asked, your voice going up an octave. “I don’t need you to–” “For the miles. You can pay me back later,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “I don’t need you to buy me a ticket. I don’t need your money, Art, let it go.” Your voice shook a little; you wondered if he heard it. “It’s not out of pity,” he said, voicing what you didn’t say. But you kept walking as if you hadn’t heard him.

“I wonder if we’ll find a spot in the library tomorrow,” you changed the subject to the first thing that popped into your head. Art didn’t say anything, but you knew it was the last thing he cared about at that moment. . . . A week before your flight, Billie cut your bangs. It’s not a cry for help, you told everyone who gave you a weird look. It’s cute. It’s fucking cute, ok? Art watched you from across the room at Patrick's party. You wondered if he'd say hello or if you'd both act like, at best, casual acquaintances- or, at worst, like you were just Jenny's little sister. You missed Lia and a few others who were fun to drink with and gossip with. You found out that Michelle was pregnant, which was a fucking scandal.

“Hey, stranger.” Art said when you walked into the kitchen. His eyes were redder than usual, and his smile was mischievous but tired. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, making Lia glance between the two of you. “Did you see she cut her bangs?” she asked, taking a sip from a drink you couldn’t quite identify. “It’s not a cry for help.” “It’s not a cry for help,” you both said together, but Art used a screechy voice, like he was imitating you, making Lia laugh. “She’s been yelling that at people all week,” he said to her, as if you weren’t standing right there. You considered grabbing a glass of wine and leaving them to talk alone. “Dave’s here,” Lia said suddenly, and you saw Art tense, his smile fading as if he sobered up instantly. If it weren’t for his telltale red eyes, there’d be no trace of it.

You and Dave had been together most of your last year in high school. He was the first guy you slept with, which was fine. It was just that everything felt a bit weirder whenever he was around since you broke up. It felt like you’d gone from friends to lovers to people scared of catching some incurable disease from each other if you'd even look at one another. “It’s totally fine,” you rolled your eyes, because, well, it really was fine. You hadn’t felt anything for Dave for almost a year. You regretted not knowing how he was doing or how he was handling college, but that’s life- you win some, you lose some.

“Little (Y/L/N),” Patrick Zweig’s voice grated in your ear. “Where’s (Y/L/N)?” he added quickly, probably drunker than usual, though you weren’t surprised. “Patrick,” Art muttered toward him, almost whining, like a man shocked by his best friend’s crudeness. “She’s at home, wasn’t feeling well.” You wondered if that was a convincing excuse for Jenny skipping Patrick’s party. But it was the excuse she left with you, and that’s what you’d stick to. “Well, at least we’ve got one family representative. What can you tell us about Art in California?” he asked, and you wondered why he was so desperate to put you in the spotlight. “Patrick, leave her alone,” Art’s tone was defensive, giving the guy next to him no option to dig any further. Patrick just flashed a mischievous grin and raised his hands in feigned surrender. “I like the bangs, you wear a mental breakdown well,” he chuckled and left the kitchen as chaotically as he’d entered, yelling something to Luke about beer pong. “Sorry, he’s an asshole,” Art said, sighing. You wondered when Lia had disappeared from your view. “He’s… Patrick,” you rolled your eyes. And it was true, you knew he didn’t act this way out of malice, he was just like that. “Want to get out of here?” Art asked. “Don’t you want to spend some time with your friends?” you returned the question. “I could use some air. Besides, who’s my friend here?” he shrugged. And as you both headed outside, you thought that was the saddest thing Art Donaldson had ever said to you.

"How does it feel to be home?" he asked. You want to say it’s ok, that it’s exactly what you dreamed, but it’s more like what you expected it would be. Your parents aren’t mad at you anymore, but they don’t approve of your decision either, and they remind you at every opportunity that they think you made a mistake. “It’s fine.” You shrugged. “I hate it when you say that,” he had this bitter laugh. “What?” You stopped for a moment and looked at him. “Every time you say something’s ‘fine,’ I know it’s not, and I have no idea how to get you to tell me.” He sighed, sitting down on a bench that hadn’t gotten wet from the rain that fell earlier in the afternoon.

“I’m not lying to you,” you tried to defend yourself, searching through your mind for other times you’d said something was ‘fine.’ You think he’s exaggerating. “I don’t think you’re lying. I think you don’t want to say things out loud,” he said. You think that if he weren’t a little drunk, he wouldn’t have brought up this conversation. “It’s weird, being home,” you said after a few seconds. He looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to say more. “I hate it when people call me ‘Little (Y/L/N).’ It feels like I don’t exist without Jenny,” you said, sharing something you hadn’t even told Lia. “I know,” Art said. “That’s why I get mad at Patrick when he calls you that.” He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. “How did you know?” you asked, surprised by the nonchalance with which he said it. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked with a half-smile, “I just know you, Daisy.” And if you didn’t know he was drunk and tired, you’d think there was sadness in his eyes. . . . A few days later, you saw Patrick at the grocery store, which was strange in itself because you were pretty sure Patrick Zweig had assistants to go grocery shopping for him. “Little (Y/L/N),” he said, and you’re fairly sure the smile on his face was genuine; he was actually glad to run into you. “Happy Christmas,” he said, stopping in front of you, holding a carton of orange juice and what looked like a frozen pizza. “I’m Jewish,” you rolled your eyes, only making him smile more. He knew that- he could deny it all he wanted, but Patrick knew Jenny very well, and you and Jenny shared genes. You both paid quietly for your items at the checkout, and as you stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, looking at you with an expression that seemed to expect you to stop and stand with him.

“I’m really glad you’re there with him at Stanford, you know?” he said after a few puffs of smoke. “Yeah? Why?” You tried to avoid smiling at him. You didn’t think he deserved a smile; he’s a jerk. “Because he’s better when you’re around,” he said softly, with a kind of depth you hadn’t seen in him before- something that made you think you understood what Jenny saw in him, how he managed to break her heart. “At tennis?” you asked. Because that’s all Patrick cared about- tennis, girls, and maybe Art. “At everything.” He shrugged, all the depth disappearing as he began to walk away. “Happy Hanukkah, Little (Y/L/N). Say hi to your sister for me.” You could see a wink. Patrick Zweig is defiantly an asshole. . . . You and Art went together to the New Year’s party at Stanford. Billie and Summer haven’t returned yet, and you’re almost certain Art moved his flight to catch the same one as yours, but you didn’t ask him about it because you think it would make you seem too smug. And you’re not. You really aren’t. You just think that if anything had changed from the last time he asked if you two were friends, he would have told you. But he hasn’t, so…whatever.

He sat on your bed today while you did your makeup, never taking his eyes off you through the mirror. Someone watching might think you’d hypnotized him. You don’t think you saw him blink once in the fifteen minutes he stared at you. “You like what you see?” you asked with a half-smile, still looking at his reflection. “What if I do?” he shrugged, as if this ridiculous flirtation was the truest thing he’d said in ages.

You decide not to linger too hard on his hand holding yours all the way to the party. Or on the fact that he kept you close to him while talking to people you didn’t know. On the effort he put into participating in a conversation with a friend you met in one of your courses. You try not to blush when he leans in and asks if you’re planning to kiss him at midnight. He's being bold. You think he’s acting like a brat. It should bother you. It doesn’t bother you.

You kiss him at midnight. Or maybe he kisses you. You’re not exactly sure, because you’re both so wrapped up in your own bubble, ignoring the drunken students around you. Your foreheads touch, and in an instant, your lips are on his, or his are on yours. It doesn’t matter. The result is the same. Beer and gum, and something else you can’t quite identify, maybe desperation. You like the mix. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you could get used to it. “It’s not silly, right?” you ask quietly while you both catch your breath. “It’s anything but silly, Daisy,” he says with certainty. And you don’t think you’ve ever heard Art Donaldson sound so resolute.

He kisses you all over when you get to your room. You thank the holiday gods for keeping your roommates away. Your red dress finds itself on the floor much faster than you expected. He’s too good at this. You’d feel much less confident if he didn’t look at you like you held the sun in your left hand and the moon in your right. You find yourself sitting on top of him in your bra and underwear, his hands on your hips steadying you. You’ve never felt sexier than you do right now. A little voice in your head screams at you to engrave this feeling. But you silence it; it’s insecure and reminds you of Jenny, the last person you want to think about when you’re at second base with Art Donaldson.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as his lips trail down your neck to your chest, unclasping your bra with one hand like a pro. “Shut up,” you manage to say, and he chuckles into you, as if he’s trying to bury himself within you. It's hot, stupidly hot. In a few minutes, he half-gently tosses you onto the bed, stripping down with a speed you didn’t think possible. He leans over you in boxers, and you close your eyes for a moment, knowing you have to remember this. Because he really is a work of Art. You’ve never known anyone whose name suited them more.

His lips were everywhere on your body at once, if that’s even possible, and his fingers slid in and out of you before you even realized you’d lost your underwear or when you’d started making that sound from your throat. Everything embarrassed you but also felt natural. You’ve never experienced such a range of emotions with anyone else, and the second that thought crossed your mind, you found yourself on the edge, and Art was above you, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, whispering soothing words while you caught your breath.

He entered you, and you felt like he was enveloping you from every angle, your moans blending together. You think a tear slipped down your cheek. You’re almost sure Art kissed you right where it fell. He was both gentle and rough at the same time. You don’t think that makes sense, but a lot of things tonight don’t make sense. You almost laugh at that thought but decide against it. Instead, you look at him, only to find his eyes already on yours, and he’s so beautiful, with his blond curls and that smile stretched across his face. “Fuck, Art,” you manage to mumble as you feel another orgasm building within you, you didn’t know you were capable of more than one. To be honest, even one was rare until recently. “I know, Daisy, I know,” he says in a half-strangled voice before his lips are back on yours, his hand wrapping around yours, and you think it’s incredibly intimate. You’ve never had sex like this before. You don’t think there’s any trace of your old crush left. You think it might be love. After he cleans you up with a towel he soaked with warm water, he lies beside you, and the small bed forces you to stay close. Maybe it’s Art who refuses to let go. You’re not sure why, but your legs are tangled together and your head is resting on his chest. “Are you going to break my heart again?” he asks, and you don’t know what he means because you’ve never broken anyone’s heart, least of all Art Donaldson’s. But he’s so certain in his question, he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t correct himself. “When did I ever break your heart?” you asked. “When didn’t you?” he replies with a half-laugh. “You gave me a flower when I was eight and then didn’t talk to me for ten years,” he says quietly, like he’s sharing a secret you already knew but never understood.

It’s definitely love. You think you’re okay with that.

Hey? I don't even know what's going on but i'd like you to tell me what you think about that? that's it. Talk to me I guess.............

[heytherecentaurs]

That was such a cool premiere episode.

Ally was incredible. I had the same visceral reaction as the rest of the table when Russell calls Liv sweetheart and good girl. But also he’s so hot nobody ever calls him on his bullshit. They’ve built a guy that uses weird sucky boomer language but also intervenes when Dave is being a dickhead.

Rekha always brings so much energy to the table. She’s been on D20 a few time now and I always adore her. She’s so funny. She loves a socially awkward character. Usha auto-corrects to Haha every time I write it and my phone’s right. The bit about no tech working was so great. And her being so horned up for the weird Nosferatu man was hilarious.

I wanted Alex back on S20 from episode one of Mentopolis and I’m so grateful they’re back. Love Liv as a teen klepto. It’s so spot on. Alex has a habit of formulating a very simple string of words and making them gut bustingly funny.

Never doubt Izzy. It seems like she was doing a little bit of a Jennifer Coolidge thing but making it sorta midwestern too. Paula is great. A late 50s who apparently has powerful periods and is so so horny. Izzy will always zero in on something whether it’s New Jersey mansion trash or gifted kid mama’s girl and she’ll heighten it to hilarious absurdity.

Dang is 1000% percent what I wanted from Jake. If you had read to me a description of every character I’d know which was his. He’s got such a distinct comedic voice and he’s always such a lovely presence whenever he’s on a dropout show.

Ify’s character work here is perfect. He is locked in. I feel like he’s pulling from a lot of personal experience. He’s sort of both the nerdy anime kid and the muscly beefcake wrapped in one. He’s ideal for this season. Love him getting his guns out.

Brennan really swung for the fences. Feels like he’s building on so much of what Aabria brought to D20. The crazy dome projections, the costume changes, the props, the custom ttrpg. And he’s also bringing all his own DM excellence. His comedy choices are perfect. His character work spot on and the world and lore he’s developing is exquisite. I’m very engrossed already.

I’m so excited to get to know their other characters.

[hotchner-edu]

Hi! I saw you take requests and I love the way you write Aaron— the runner's stamina drabble was just *chef's kiss*. I was wondering if you could write a fluffy one shot where reader falls asleep on Hotch's shoulder while on the jet ride home from a case, and he secretly kinda thinks it's adorable even though the rest of the team teases him about it? :')

Sleepy Days (Drabble) | Aaron Hotchner

A small frown tugs at your lips as you rest your eyes for a second, feeling the alluring arms of sleep wrapping themselves around you. All the noise in the jet seems to drift further and further away as you are enveloped in darkness, nestled in the comfort that slumber was tempting you with.

You've been nodding off for well over ten minutes now, head tipping forward toward the table like an unrestrained bowling ball, catching the keen attention of your unit chief.

Aaron was sitting in the chair beside yours, having noticed your fatigue since the jet took off. He made a note to slide away the open book in front of you to mark the page, knowing you'd be annoyed with yourself if you lost your spot while falling asleep.

You were on the brink of completely slipping off the edge of consciousness now, and you could only curse your own inattentiveness for your predicament. The team's latest case had them flying out to Las Vegas, but instead of ending on a high note with popping bottles and slot machines, you ended up catching a small cold while surrounded by plumes of cigarette smoke.

It was to your luck that JJ always carried around medicine and first-aid supplies in her go-bag. Unluckily, you had grabbed a deceivingly orange bottle of cough syrup from her bag thinking it was DayQuil, not realizing it was honey-flavored NyQuil until it was already too late.

As you succumb to your sleepiness, the last thing trailing across your mind is the absolute pain you're going to have in your neck when you wake up.

Aaron can tell that you're no longer awake anymore from the way your shoulders completely sag down, and how your face melts into a relaxed expression— one that he can't help but steal another glance at. He leans over to insert your bookmark into your book, eyebrows jumping up in surprise when he feels your head tilting and falling onto his shoulder.

A hint of a smile crawls onto his face at the feeling of you leaning against him, and he has to ignore the heat creeping up his neck as he subtly scoots closer to you to let you rest easier on him.

The words on the file in front of him start to meld together as he isn't able to draw his focus away from the feeling of your warm body beside his.

"Hotch." Derek's voice grabs his attention, the other man's sharp whisper tinged with a bit of amusement. "You're a softy at heart, huh? C'mon, admit it."

Aaron raises an eyebrow and frowns at him, shaking his head. "You'd do the same."

Derek shrugs at that, still smiling as he puts his headphones back on. To Aaron's misfortune, the small exchange caught the attention of the rest of the team, and while Spencer is polite enough to just smile softly and continue playing chess with himself, the others are immediately smirking at him.

"Want me to take a picture?" Dave teases him quietly, barely suppressing a chuckle as he looks at you both fondly. "Who knows when it'll happen again."

"Yeah, I'll bet the mortification will be too much." Emily jokes softly, glancing at your slumped figure with a grin. Aaron knew she was right about that, he knew you'd be a bit embarrassed about falling asleep on your boss, and would probably be conscious about distance going forward.

JJ shakes her head and stirs her tea, chiming in with a lingering smile. "Let's not say anything about this. I already feel guilty about the whole NyQuil thing."

"Yeah, JJ, why honey?" Emily mumbles with a small snort, directing her attention to her blonde friend as they begin to engage in hushed conversation.

Dave snaps a photo of you and Aaron with a proud smile, probably already thinking of sticking it in his secret scrapbook.

"Dave." Aaron warns the older man with no actual heat. He puts his hands up and backs off with a smile, looking down to his phone again and typing on it.

Aaron has to suppress the small smile threatening to appear on his face, grateful for his team's high spirits despite their teasing. He looks back down to your peaceful face, unable to stop his eyes from tracing around your delicate features.

He's only drawn away from his gazing when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Drawing the device out from his suit pocket, he looks down at the notifications with an unimpressed frown.

Dave: *sent 1 photo*

Dave: stop drawing it out and just go get dinner together.

[simpforrooster]

then why don’t you, hotchner.

aaron hotchner x reader

summary: reader is obsessed with their boss.

t/w: some cursing, alcohol consumption. i pictured a female as i wrote, but im pretty sure it can be read as gn!

aaron hotchner is your unit chief. your very hot unit chief.

you’re completely aware of how unethical this infatuation is. you’re also aware of the age difference.

not that you care.

nothing could come of this crush. no matter how much you dreamed something would.

jj, emily, and penelope knew about this silly little crush. i mean how couldn’t they. they’re profilers, and as much as you try not to let your gaze linger on him longer than normal, sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

you’re nestled in a corner booth of your local bar with the rest of the team, blowing off some steam after a case.

reid sits next to you, animatedly talking about his latest read.

hotch meets your eye across the table, feeding you a rare smile. as quick as it appeared, it was gone. the last thing you needed was for one of the girls to notice and try feeding you false hope.

jj was the worst about it. “y/n, he’s obsessed with you. haven’t you noticed he always pairs the two of you together on a case?”

of course, you have wondered about that.

reid lays his arm on the back of the booth, enveloping you. “you need to add this one to your list,” reid tells you, looking down at you. you crane your face to his, grinning at your friend.

what you missed was the way hotch’s jaw set as he watched the two of you. you miss the way his grip tightens on the handle of his mug.

hotch throws the rest of his beer back, setting the mug down a little too hard.

“let me get you another, boss,” derek says, eyeing the rest of the table.

“oh, this is our song, jj,” emily screams, pulling jj to the dance floor.

“spence, come tell me more about that book,” penelope says. reid’s brows knit together, and penelope jerks her head toward the bar. realization falls over his face and they’re the last to leave. leaving you and hotch alone.

“they’re not exactly subtle, are they?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

“i guess i could say the same about you,” you gestured toward his empty mug.

hotch shrugs his shoulder. “i’m not sure what came over me.” he held your gaze, leaning across the table.

“what was that about?” you ask.

“come on, y/l/n. you’re a better profiler than that.” those dark eyes bore into yours.

"were you jealous, hotchner?" you ask, calm and collected on the outside but dying on the inside. maybe jj was right.

“why would i be jealous of reid when i know i’m the one you want?”

your cheeks redden. hotch stands from his spot in the booth and slides in next to you. the man has shocked you into silence. there is no way your boss is flirting with you.

hotch’s jaw works back and forth, like he’s fighting an inner battle with himself.

“how do you know that?” you murmur.

“you think i don’t notice the glances you sneak at me? or the way your cheeks turn red when i have to be stern with someone?” his fingertips run across your cheeks. “give me some credit here.”

embarrassment fills your body, making your heart sink to your feet. of course he knew. he’s the damn unit chief. he’s the best profiler the fbi has.

“what’s confusing to me is how you never picked up on why i partner the two of us up. or how i sneak my own glances at you,” he says, low in your ear. “or how turned on i get when i watch you hand someone their ass.”

“hotch—“

“i know. i’m your boss and twice your age.”

your body falls back against the wall, all the air leaving your body as if you were punched. of course the unit chief has a moral compass.

“i-i- i don’t care about that,” you manage to say. hotch’s eyes close, another internal battle. he scoots closer to you, filling trapping you between him and the wall.

“dave told me you’d say that.”

“rossi? you’ve been talking to him about us?”

hotch smirks. “he’s been pushing me to make a move since you joined the unit.”

“then why don’t you, hotchner?” you ask.

“because the paperwork would kill me,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

“hmm, maybe i could help you fill it out?” you suggest, letting your eyes drop to his mouth.

hotch moves in, stopping a breath from your lips. “no paperwork would get completed if i had you in my office all to myself.” gripping the collar of his button down, you pull him the remainder of the way to you.

his lips mold around yours in a way you can only describe as perfection. like his lips were made for you, and you alone. he kisses you with an urgency, and you match it. raising up from the booth, you arch yourself into him. his hand cement to your waist, pulling you as close as he can.

when he pulls back, his face is flushed. the aaron hotchner is blushing.

because of you.

pride fills your gut knowing you affect him the same way he does you.

“you’re gonna submit that paperwork to strauss, right?” you ask, breathless.

“fuck yes,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss.

a/n: my first criminal minds fic! i’ve been writing for topgun maverick for a long time. since beginning to watch criminal minds again, i’ve been dying to write for hotch and reid. i hope yall liked this! 🫣

[tgcg]

this is my element (+ album)

asking me to pick my fave album is like asking an orphan matron to pick her favorite baby boy

thats some weird and cruel circumstances to put upon me i feel like it changes every damn week like a rota

i mean what if my beats misbehave and i gotta put 'em in time out i cant play permanent on that theyre too cute

but yknow what i can show you one thing thats been on my mind lately

===

so when i was a kid we had this skateboard vid by "element skateboards" on DVD

they were this skateboard kit slash apparel company that was all about progressivism and shit and they did these much lauded comp tapes of dudes riding around on their boards and doing the dopest of macho tricks on the shit

flipping it turnways

putting the rock in the house like a big man

we had some of their merch actually

===

so anyways the one we had back then was This Is My Element

released 2007

mostly clips from cali i think and i mean the camerawork is fucking insane on some of those shots

this is gonna sound lame as fuck but i prob spent so many cumulative hours just peelin through the footage and ogling the shit outta it

that framing was tight

===

so you may be asking yourself or me

dave you genuine dicksucker i asked about your fav album not your favorite sordid ass display of smooth dudes hardcore riding and grinding them boards in public dude you have a problem

ok well that wasnt a question first of all so jot that down

but anyways to THAT i say

listen to the music

the whole thing has an original soundtrack of ambient beats

got some abstract hip hop jams, got some more indie stuff, lots of acoustic sampling

HELLA underground

and basically every track minus one is done by sampler beast david p. madson AKA "odd nosdam"

dude is my hero seriously

he is the master of the beat machine i shit you not hes always been kinda my idol on this stuff

aside from bro obviously

===

obviously.

===

anyways he had an E-mu SP-1200 which is a really oldschool sampler invented by dave rossum in the late 80s

revolutionary to the hip hop scene

nosdam had this mega distinct sound to his music that i always wanted to replicate on my own beats

still do

i dont know for sure if he used it on T.I.M.E. but he uses some of the same samples from "vol. 9" which was exclusively SP-1200 so im gonna get a lil j’accuzi on that

it couldve been a boss dr sampler SP-202 though idk

he had one of those

===

so aside from beating the shit out of the pause/resume button to flip my whole cranium at the cinematography or whatever i would also kinda play it on loop to listen to the soundtrack and space out at 2am

the lonely broner seemed to free his mind at night

ok shit broner is good but i didnt mean it like that

that was goofy lets just keep movin

it was the only way i had to listen to it back then but i mean the video is 50 mins long so its basically just an odd nosdam album with accompanying ambient skater sounds and random expletives and whatever

random car sequence

yknow what i dont think people respect enough?

the dude who catches all the "mad stunts yo" on camera

i swear to god at least half the time hes ALSO on a board and that shit is bananas to me

bros gotta be on some whole other level of zen to skate good AND catch all them glamor shots of his fellow skater

thats like an express ticket to the ER imo

the ambulance is already on the scene watching you like an eager crow watches a half dead dog

===

ok gonna go ahead and lay it out flat

not great on a board myself

kinda dogshit at it actually

so maybe im not exactly an arbitrator of skateboard heinousness

but i always kinda liked watching THEM do it i mean who doesnt?

whats an even crazier layer to stack on the "dave" cake is

and dirk told me this because unfortunately it kinda happened post-2009

he would do all these collabs with one of my childhood favorite underground rappers david cohn aka serengeti

surrounded by daves left and right dude even before all the time travel horseshit

thats like

serendipitous as fuck i think!

===

if sburb was just a revolving door of artists called dave that i could bump fists with

instead of other mes in various states of aliveness tending toward extremely dead

i wouldve probably given it something higher than 2 stars on my TGN review

===

so yeah you ask me my favorite album its T.I.M.E. by odd nosdam i guess

bump that shit on a walk your mind will go places unknown to man

[thewertsearch]

EB: so, i started getting crazy nervous the longer i was down here, and i was starting to wonder if my silly iron pogo hammer would even do any damage against the monster.

John normally goes where he pleases, and doesn’t worry about the consequences – but Typheus’s sheer aura was enough to rattle even him.

AG: *Snort.*

Heh.

Sorry, John, but you had no hope here. You were meant to show up at the tail end of a month-long campaign, not three hours into your session. This was impossible.

An endgame piano, for the most powerful Fraymotif of all.

...hang on.

Wait, shit. I'm pretty sure I just solved LOWAS.

The entire planet is a fucking pipe organ!

This is how John’s supposed to commune with the Breeze and complete his Quest - by repeating the first [S] page in the entire comic!

Damn, that's cool. It reminds me of how LOLAR's architecture seems to evoke stringed instruments, which may or may not be relevant to Rose's own Quest. At some point, I'll have to check if any other Lands feature musical symbolism.

AG: You were right to 8e nervous. Denizens are incredi8ly powerful monsters. You had no chance whatsoever at this stage of the game. AG: You might have stood a chance after I started helping you. 8ut Terezi really screwed you over 8y leading you here so early.

Would John's early God Tier really be enough to prevail here?

It can be assumed that Typheus himself is a powerful master of airbending. The rapid development of John’s powers has been extremely impressive, but Typheus commands the Breeze across all of LOWAS. It definitely wouldn't be a steamroll.

EB: i guess if i ever see her, i should thank her too. […] EB: because this was important. […] EB: if i didn't make the decision to go, then dave would not be able to go back in time and fix things. EB: in fact, if i didn't die here in this palace, we never would have been born in the first place! AG: How could you know all that?

That’s the sort of thing that Typheus himself could probably clue him in on.

Hephaestus, Dave’s Denizen, was explicitly aware of the fact that he was in a failed timeline. Typheus probably had the same understanding – and furthermore, it sounds like he informed John that this particular doomed timeline was critical to the existence of the Alpha.

Denizens were introduced to us as powerful boss monsters, but we're slowly learning that they have meta-knowledge of the game's deeper mechanics that rivals even Sprites. If you're really supposed to just kill them and leave, then why do they seem so wise? Why do they have an obvious intelligence that Underlings lack? What are they for?

It’s becoming increasingly obvious that Davesprite’s right - we don’t understand the Denizens at all.

[noceurous]

lights, camera, action

your boyfriend gets his hands on a handycam, later on you

warnings: mentions of divorce, mentions infidelity, Dave’s family is also mentioned, some self-doubt and angst, looots of feelings (sorry idk what took over me ehehe), swearing, smut: fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), p-in-v sex, slapping, daddy kink, usage of various nicknames (baby, darling, etc) minors dni (18+) reader is able bodied + has some length of hair + afab.

a/n: my birthday is officially on 10th of september, but this fic turned out to be longer than i expected, so i said post it with a fic you feel good.

a/n2: this fic takes place in the same universe with [take the heat away, make the girl stay] but they can be read separately.

Carol was a really nice woman after the divorce.

It was nice of her to call you a homewrecker, among many other names.

It was nice of her to fill Molly and Alice’s heads with wrong ideas about you.

It was nice of her to call Dave in the middle of your date and tell him that he’ll come back crawling back to her after he’s done with you. just like the girls before and made sure you heard it.

Lastly, it was nice for Carol to send all of his belongings to your tiny apartment. You didn’t even know how she got your address. Just after a simple ring of the doorbell, you were standing between piles of light brown boxes.

“Shit, did she really do that too?” Dave asked over the phone as you stood inside the labyrinth made of boxes.

“Yep, what’s left of your relationship is now inside my living room.” You said as you eyed over the boxes. Trying to find out if your relationship was enough to fill one box.

“They’re mostly clothes, family photos and Father’s Day gifts. There is nothing left of the relationship.” You were familiar with the last sentence. Dave used that to reassure you during the beginning of your relationship. 

He also used that sentence to girls, and Carol. When any one of them accused you of breaking them up.

“Yeah, probably. I’m gonna take a shower. When will you be back?”

“Fifteen minutes tops. Do you want anything?”

“No, just you.” His chest hurt when he heard how your voice cracked before you ended the phone call.

He hated Carol when she did that. Blaming you for everything went wrong in the marriage. Taking her anger out on you, when in truth you came into him long after he decided on a divorce.

—

“Darling? I’m home.” He didn’t hear your reply, but the water sound came from the bathroom.

He took off his long coat, his keys still in his hand when he walked towards the living room. Greeted with a pile of boxes. He couldn’t imagine how you felt when a box after a box came into your place. He would call Carol again, but he knew pretty well whatever he said to stop her, just would fuel Carol’s anger.

He raised his key, slashing and opening one right through the tape with it.

Fake plastic trophy of being the Best Dad Ever, broken hand painted coffee mugs, a photograph in a frame from Alice’s first soccer game. 

He went through some of the boxes more. As he assumed they were mostly clothes and stuff related to girls. Mainly photo albums which were half empty since Carol only sent him photos he was included. Nothing more.

When he was going over his last box, something silver at the corner of the box caught his eye. When he took it out, he was greeted with an old handycam.

“No way.” He smiled as he took it out. Shocked when he found out it was still charged.

He heard your footsteps when you came towards him, wrapped a towel around your body and another one around your head.

“What is that?” You walked towards him, the scent of your shower gel filling his nostrils.

Orchids.

“That’s my old handy-cam. Got stuck between stuff, still works.”

He explained as he checked if there were any pre saved videos. He remembered using it for Alice’s school plays and Molly’s soccer practice. Half remembering that he already saved them to Carol’s computer.

He pressed on the record button, when he saw the red blinking light he raised the camera to you.

“What are you doing!” You chuckled, covering your face.

“Recording my lovely girlfriend.”

“I’m in a towel.” He shrugged, still keeping the camera on you.

“That’s better.” He said as he zoomed on your legs, slowly lifting the camera to your body. “Don’t be shy. Camera loves you.”

“Is it the camera? Or is it my horny boyfriend?”

“Both. Give me something baby, come on.” You rolled your eyes, blew a kiss and winked at the camera.

“That’s better.” He said as he placed his hand on your towel, raising an eyebrow.

Before you could understand his next move, he tugged the towel down, watching it pool around your ankles.

“Dave!” You protested, hands covering your breasts.

“Don’t be shy honey. This is just for me. Show it to me.” You huffed, placing your hands at your waist. Sticking out your chest more as he pointed the camera at your breasts, recording every inch for you.

He licked his lips at your sight. “I’m a lucky bastard aren’t I?”

“Try the luckiest.”

He chuckled, motioning you to the couch. “Take a seat.” You rolled your eyes, swinging your ass as you walked towards the couch. You knew he was zooming in there.

He whistled, “That’s my girl” as he followed you. Sitting further from you on the coffee table. “Open your legs for me, come on.” The sight of your glistening pussy was on camera, Dave’s hand was slightly shook, blurring the view for a second. He tried to play it like he was affected less from the sight of you than he actually was. 

“Hmm, you’re wet baby.” You smirked at the camera, slowly nodding. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did.” You pressed your fingers on your lips, spreading them to show him your swollen clit covered in your silk. “See? It’s all for you.”

He felt his pants tighten, he didn’t even find the time to take off his tie since he got back. Now you were standing all naked for him, showing off your perfect body. And he had too much clothes on to feel you on his skin.

“Be a good girl, play with yourself for me. But don’t cum.” He said as he slowly placed the camera on the coffee table. Angling it to the perfect angle.

Your eyes were looking into his eyes, as he clicked his tongue pointing at the camera. “Eyes on the camera baby.” You swallowed down your whimper. Thumb pressed onto your clit, feeling your walls clench around nothing.

You pushed a finger inside you, moaning at your wetness. You closed your eyes, for a second, your other hand was on the cushion, grasping it tightly.

You started moving your finger, in and out, playing with your clit then back in. “Open your eyes.” You opened them, seeing Dave in front of you, behind the camera.

He was naked, his cock in his hand, slowly pumping himself. You could tell he was rock hard, it was painful for him not to touch you. “See what you’re doing to me?” You gulped, nodding quickly.

“Add another finger.” You did as he said, your toes curled, walls clenching around your fingers. You didn’t have to look down to know your juices were dripping down on your couch, making a mess.

You continued to finger yourself slowly, eyes locked on the red light on the camera. You could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, trying to hold it as long as possible.

Your whimpers filled his ears, his eyes locked at the way your naked chest came up and down. Each second it became harder for him to not feel you on his skin. You were a sight for his sore eyes, all he carved for his life.

“Show me.” He said as he knelt between your legs. You took your fingers out of your pussy, the wet sound of it crying made both of you moan.

Your fingers were glistening with your juices, you took them inside your mouth, sucking off your juices.

His warm breath fanning your weeping pussy. He quickly hooked your legs on his shoulders. Diving into your pussy, drinking your juices right from your core. 

Your body trembled as his warm tongue touched you. Drawing long strokes with the tip of his tongue. “Oh Fuck!” You said as your hand went back to cushion. Supporting yourself as Dave continued to lick over your folds aggressively. 

He raised his face, his lips and chin covered with your juices. The corner of his lips raised into a smirk. “You taste so good.” He said before he dove back in. Sucking down your clit.

You smirked at the camera, hand going to your breast. “Fuck! Dave! You are so good!” You pinched down your swollen nipple. Pulling him closer to your core by pressing your ankles on his back.

He pushed a finger inside you, eyes pointed up to your blissed face. You were looking right at the camera just like he told you. His pretty girl always followed his orders without making him give them twice.

“Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” You were chanting out as he was brutally fucking you with his finger. His lips on your thigh, kissing along the soft flesh, pressing his teeth on your inner thigh.

He pushed another finger inside. “Are you going to cum?” You looked down at him, eagerly nodding.

“May I? Please daddy, I’ve been so close.” He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Earning a loud moan from you. “Please.”

Who was he to deny you from pleasure?

“Cum for me.” He said as he sucked your clit once more, fingers still moving inside you. Your body shook when he brushed along your sweet spot. Pads of his fingers pressing on it just right. “Fu—“ Your body jolted backwards, your mind went blank as the white pleasure surrounded your body.

You were panting heavily, as he got up between your legs slowly, his hand wrapped around his cock. Fingers shining with your juices. Your mouth watered with the sight. You wanted him. You wanted more.

With the dark look in his eyes, you knew he wanted the same. “Get on the floor. On your hands and knees.”

You got in the position like he asked, shaking your ass a little when you got on your knees. He slapped you harshly causing you to fall on your hands. Your lips parted, showing him one of his favorite views; your ass in the air, your hole greedily waiting for him.

He pressed his tip on your entrance, “Look at the camera, don’t close your eyes, or I’ll stop.” You knew this was more of a statement than a threat. Before you could say something he gradually pushed himself inside of you, letting go of his breath when he reached your limit. His cock twitched inside you when your walls welcomed him inside.

“Oh.” You moaned at feeling full, still sore from his fingers. Your pussy greedily accepting him, already addict to the sweet pain.

He could see your glossy, lustful gaze thanks to the camera. Cursing himself for not thinking this sooner. Not thinking of saving these moments of you. Not starting saving anything he could save from you.

He placed his hands on your waist. Getting his momentum as his hips started slapping against your ass, not wasting any time with being gentle. Today was not one of his gentle, love making days. He needed you. He needed to take what was his.

He was not having a great time at work. Now he also had to handle Carol and stop her from attacking you.

He had to protect you and he had no objection to that. If it was allowed, he would tear up the limbs of anyone who dared to hurt you. It does not have to be physical abusive, just a simple word was enough to get him violent. There was nothing in this world that would stop him to protect you.

You were his purpose in life, his guiding light.

“Please.”

Your crying voice turned him back to reality, his eyes snapped back to the camera from your shaking ass. Your eyes teared from pleasure, thin layer of sweat covering your cheeks.

“Yes?”

“Please cum inside me. I missed feeling your cum inside. I’ve been empty for days.”

He had some stuff to take care of in Denmark. Unfortunately his little business trip took longer than he expected. So all you were able to do were some quick calls and exchanging text messages. Whispers of “I miss you” were exchanged as you bit your tongue not to say “I love you” too soon.

“Baby…” He said, getting faster than before, chasing his pleasure. You moaned, when he pushed in a bit too hard. Your hand stopped you from falling forward. Forehead almost hit the coffee table.

He cursed his ignorance, wrapping his arm around your neck, leaning over figure. He pressed his lips on your sweet spot behind your ear, feeling your body tremble between his arms. He nudged your temple with the tip of his nose, taking in your smell.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, eyes locked with yours on the screen.

“You look so good, baby. I feel how you tighten around me, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Yes, please.”

“You want me to make you?”

“Ye—yes...” His hand went to your clit from your waist, flicking it rapidly. “F—fuck! D—dave!”

“Go on, come all over my cock baby! Fuck you’re milking me so good.” He slapped your ass, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh before whispering to the shell of your ear. “You want me to cum inside don’t you? Fill you right to the brim?”

He groaned at how your walls tighten around him with your question. “Yes! Fuck yes! Please fill me up. I’ll do anything, please.” He sucked a bruise your neck, his hot breath from his nose fanning on your throat.

“If you really want to…” He said as he spurted out his cum inside you, pressing down on your swollen clit. Holding your body with his arm still wrapped around your neck as it trembled with your orgasm.

“Dave!” Your voice shook as you tried to keep yourself up. Feeling his hot cum spill inside you. He turned your head to the side, smashing his lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss, opening your mouth for his tongue to enter. Your salty taste on his tongue as he sucked yours.

Taking everything you offered to him.

He slowly took himself out, some of his cum spilled out from your hole. He tsked, gathering them with his fingers and pushing them back in. You hissed with the contact, looking over your shoulder to him.

“I’ll send someone tomorrow, to take care of the boxes. I don’t want you to worry about them.” You nodded, as he lied down next to you. Pulling your naked body to lie on his naked chest. You buried your head on his chest, kissing right above where his heart his.

You took the camera from the table, stopping the recording. You smiled at the video, thinking how better you looked than you guessed.

“Like a true temptress.” Dave said, as he buried his nose in your hair, his fingers drawing circles on your upper arm.

“Can I keep a copy as well?”

“Anything you want darling.” He said as he kissed you, slowly moving you to his lap between kisses. “Anything for you.”

—

The next morning Dave’s men came to collect the boxes. And Carol had an anonymous email in her inbox with no subject.

It was a small photo where Dave was eating you out. When she scrolled down, she saw your text added underneath.

Mine, back off.

Needless to say, the email disappeared a few minutes later it was read, without leaving any trace.

—

please provide comments/reblogs if you liked this fic. they always mean a lot 💙

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Sweet Dreams

Summary: For you it was just a very intense wet dream, clearly never thinking a candle you bought at an occult store would give you the best orgasm you had ever experienced. For Dave York, cursed to fuck whoever lit said candle, you were a willing virgin waiting for him to take you.

Pairing: Ghost!Dave York x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: non con/ dub con (I don't know how to tag this, reader thinks it's a dream, but it's really ghost Dave fucking her), smut (oral sex m+f receiving, unprotected sex), ghost cumplay, dream sex but not really, dirty talk, losing virginity, spooky stuff, candles (do not light candles and then go to bed!)

Shout out @clawdee for the idea with the cursed candle. Otherwise this whole thing would be even weirder lol

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Masterlist // Dave York Masterlist

Dave York had been watching you the moment your fingertips touched the candle at the little occult store you had been in. 

He still had no idea who the fuck whoever cursed him knew who his next, let’s call them unknowingly willing partner, was, nor did he know how this all started. 

One moment he was on top of a tower trying to kill that Fucker Hall, the next moment he found himself in a dark bedroom, his nose filling with the scent of sandalwood and cherry with a fucking hard on from hell with nothing on his mind but sinking into whatever hole was made available to him. 

Hell.

Yeah maybe that was who cursed him. 

Cursed him that the moment one of that cursed fucking scented candles were about to be lit, his body would become a vessel for all the dirty things those mostly not so innocent minds dreamed up, and he was only able to stop once he fucked his cum so deep inside of them, he became a part of them.

And it was always on fucking Halloween. Maybe it had to do with ghosts being able to walk the earth or some shit like that. 

It’s not like he got a training at being a fucking ghost. (You get it? A fucking ghost… anyways)

He remembered the first time he had come back, he remembered the blonde woman he had fucked and he remembered not being able to stop. Like he would died (pun intended) if he did not fuck her in positions he hadn’t even tried out before until he passed out. 

It’s like everything he did was controlled by someone or something. He just thought it easier to imagine it was the person who lit the candle who was controlling their little fuck session. 

The longer he stayed dead, the better he got at influencing their wet dreams. 

He had fucked them all.

Young women, old women, young men, old men, very old men, trans men and women.

Married women with their husbands sleeping next to them while he fucked their wife in ways they would only dream of. 

And they were none of the wiser. 

When they woke up after he fucked them for hours, after he blew out the candle (which the dad side of him saw as a fucking fire hazard, I mean who lights a candle and then goes to bed?) and went back to wherever he was until someone else lit one of those candles again, they only thought they had a super intense wet dream. 

He long gave up on trying to figure out why his dick seemed get hard the moment a fucking candle got lit. Or how it worked. Or who chose who would got one of those candles. By now he was just enjoying the ride. (Or to get ridden, preferably reverse ;-)

I mean, who in their right mind would think a cursed ghost would appear after they bought and lit a sex dream candle at an occult store and fucked them all night?

But you…. He could tell you were special. 

You were wearing a long black dress, a pointy black hat, a witch costume he realised,  laughing about something the two girls who were with you were saying, reading out the instructions written on the glass of the candle out loudly. 

„For hundreds of years the ingredients of this candle have been the same, sandalwood, cherry and some magical extra ingredients that will turn your deepest fantasies into a night full of pleasure,“ she read out loud. 

You looked shy, arguing about spending money on a shitty candle just because there’s some silly line written on it. 

„Do it for the orgasms,“ your one friend grinned and Dave could see how you were fighting with yourself. 

„Imagine you experience such a good wet dream, you think you lost your virginity,“ your other friend whispered, making you slap her arm with a scandalised gasp before all of you giggled.

A virgin.

It had been some time since Dave got to fuck one of those. 

Since he didn’t know how long he actually had been doing whatever the fuck he was doing, he only had a vague memory, but he thought it was at least some years ago. 

His encounters all blurred together after a while. 

He still watched you as you reread the writings on the candle before you brought it to your nose to inhale the scent. 

„Fine. I am buying the sex dream candle,“ you sighed with a chuckle and he watched you go up to the counter any pay, his cock twitching. 

He stayed back as you left the store, still none of the wiser about what was gonna happen once you chose to light the candle and go to sleep. He only stayed long enough to watch you walk down the street before he disappeared again, waiting for your call. 

Which came eventually.

Dave was standing at the feet of your bed, watching you sleep, the candle lit on a dresser not too far away. 

He was pleased to find you alone in bed, having thought of all the ways he wanted to have you ever since he had seen you in the store. 

While partners sleeping next to his intended partner weren’t a problem, the candle seemingly taking care of doing whatever it was that it was doing also knocking them out, he preferred to be alone in the bed while he fucked his partner. 

Letting his fingertips brush over your soft bedsheets, he closed his eyes, his clothes gone when his eyes opened again, his cock hard and already leaking.

He wanted nothing more than to pull your bedsheets away and sink into your virgin pussy, but decided that he wanted to take his time with you. 

Ever so slowly he got onto your bed, crawling until he was hovering over your face, his head tilting to the side as he watched you. 

He wondered if you would scream if you’d wake up right now. If you would slap him, scratch him, trying to get him off of you. 

And deep down Dave knew that you would. 

If you would wake up as normal you right now, he would be fucked. 

But he knew the only part of your brain that would wake up during the next hours was the part that was absolutely feral and horny and ready to get fucked. 

He smirked, leaning down, his nose brushing over your cheek as he inhaled your scent deeply, chuckling to himself when he felt you shiver. 

He sat himself up, kneeling above you, your legs between his, pulling at your sheets until the only fabric separating his skin and yours was the buttoned shirt you had on to sleep. 

Some buttons had come open, revealing some of your tits to his eyes and he licked his lips before he opened the last few buttons, slipping the fabric open. 

„Fucking perfect virgin tits,“ he grinned to himself, his fingers brushing over your already hard nipples. He let his eyes wander, positively delighted to find out you weren’t wearing any panties.

„Dirty girl,“ he hummed before he leaned down to put one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. 

He let one of his hands slip between your legs, finding you already wet and dripping. His eyes caught what looked like your vibrator laying abandoned on the bed not to far away from you and he grinned to himself. 

You were fucking touching yourself before he got here. 

Playing with your pussy while he sucked on your tits he noticed your body reacting to him, one of your hands slipping through his hair with a soft sigh. When he looked up at you, your eyes were still closed but you were smiling. 

„Gonna have a taste of this pretty pussy now,“ he said to no one in particular as he slipped down your body. He parted your legs for him, wrapping his arms around your thighs. His cock was fucking throbbing as he licked into you. Moaning at the faint taste of you, this afterlife not letting him have your full taste but just enough to drive him insane. 

He played with you, feeling you trying to roll your hips against his mouth, a little sigh escaping your lips. He grinned as he played with your clit, one finger slipping inside of you. 

„Wonder why nobody fucked this pussy yet. Is it you or is it them?“ He asked out loud, slipping another finger inside of you as he just looked up at you, your lips parted, your brows furrowed. You were clenching around his fingers and he was about to cum just thinking about fucking you. To be the first cock inside of you. 

And you wouldn’t even know it happened. 

He angled his fingers inside of you until you jerked against him and he grinned when he felt that spongy spot inside of you. 

„You gonna cum for me,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips, swirling is tongue around it, and he felt the moment you fell apart, your back arching from the mattress, your lips parting in a low moan, your pussy squeezing his fingers like a vice. 

„Fucking beautiful,“ he grunted.

He continued to move his fingers inside of you, prolonging your orgasm until he slipped them out, licking them clean. He sat himself up on his knees, his hand wrapping around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watched you. 

He got some sick sense of satisfaction out of watching you just lay there, unconscious but willing to be fucked like a dirty whore. And he knew you were willing because he was only doing what you wanted. 

Because you were dreaming it.

You were dreaming of getting fucked. He was just a vessel for your little dirty mind. 

He hummed, bending down to kiss up your body, his lips closing around one of your nipples, playing with it. He lined himself up, slipping the head of his cock through your wet folds. 

Letting go of your nipple with a plop he rested his weight on one arm next to your head, his face hovering over yours, watching you as he slowly pushed his cock into you. 

He watched every expression of your face as he filled you, deeper and deeper, your pussy so wet he felt no resistance at all. When you gasped as he pushed through your barrier he grinned, his cock now fully inside of you. 

The first cock you ever had. 

The one you wouldn’t even remember. 

„Not a virgin anymore you little slut,“ he grunted before he began to move. Fucking his cock into you wet pussy over and over again. He was surprised when you tilted your face up to kiss him, your eyes still closed. He hummed against your lips, his tongue parting your lips, kissing you deeply all while pumping into you faster and you moaned against his mouth. 

Grinning he parted from your lips, pulling his cock out of you. 

With little effort he turned you on your stomach, pulling your ass up so you were on your knees, before he was inside you again. His fingers digging into your hips as he fucked himself into you in hard quick thrusts. 

You were so fucking wet you were dripping down his balls. 

It wasn’t long before you began to meet his thrusts, now moaning shamelessly into your pillow while still deeply asleep. 

He slapped your ass, before he leaned down to wrap his arm around you, pulling you up against his chest. With his hand gripping one of your tits as he kept you flush against his chest he pumped his cock inside of you. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin the only noise in the room, apart from your moans. 

„You gonna cum for me again,“ he whispered against your ear, feeling your shiver. Smirking his other hand wrapped around your neck, using only a tiny bit of pressure to choke you, your pussy clamping down on him immediately a loud moan escaping your lips as you came, Dave grunting behind of you as he fucked you through your orgasm before he groaned, biting into your shoulder as he came, fucking you full of his cum. 

You were both out of breath, panting as he held you up. As soon as he released his grip around you you fell back into your bed and Dave chuckled to himself. 

He was still hard.

And he wasn’t finished yet. 

He moved to lay down on his side, putting your body against him, his cock entering you from behind. 

„I wonder how many positions you wanna be fucked in before we’re finished,“ he hummed against your ear, his hand playing with your clit as he fucked into you. 

It was almost time for the sun to come up when he didn’t feel the need to fuck you anymore. 

You finally must be running out of ideas. Or you weren’t horny anymore.

No, not that. He could see your pussy still dripping from your shared releases. Of course you wouldn’t know it was his… ghost cum leaking out of you. 

In the beginning he questioned if he would be able to impregnate someone like this, but by now he just didn’t care anymore. 

He must say, this might have been his favourite encounter yet. He almost lost it when he was fucking your face, finding himself wishing you would open your eyes so he could see your eyes watering as he fucked your throat over and over again. 

Who could have known how deeply kinky and horny you little virgin whore were?

He took one last look at you, sweaty and positively wrecked, the mark he sucked into your neck on full display, a soft smile on your kiss swollen lips, before he walked over towards your dresser where the candle was still flickering. 

He blew it out, watching the smoke rise into the air, feeling his body get lighter.

When he turned around, already feeling his body slip into nothingness he was surprised to find your eyes opened and looking at him. 

You were awake. 

That had never happened before. He usually was gone before they woke up. 

But before he could process what was happening or hear you scream he was gone. 

Waiting for next Halloween when someone would light a seemingly innocent scented sex dream candle they bought at a witchy store, that would summon him to fuck them senseless.  

[laligraves]

decisions

dave york x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~1.4k summary: Dave tries to end things. dave york masterlist | AO3

warnings: mean!dave, infidelity (dave is cheating on his wife with reader), Equalizer 2 AU, NSFW, some proofreading, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance (reader has hair dave can pull), degradation, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating

a/n: i wasn't originally going to write for dave york but he's actually my favorite pedro boy 💖 i think he would be so mean and passionate and romantic and and and-

“I’m not here for that,” Dave snaps in anger. “We’re done, I can’t keep doing this anymore.” 

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, a pretty pout on your face at Dave’s words. Your fingers trace up your thigh and you slowly lift the bottom of your nightie.

Dave’s eyes flicker from your silky thighs to your tits that are dangerously close from spilling out of the thin fabric. His jaw clenches but he resumes his pacing and drags a hand through his hair. 

“I think–I think my wife knows. She can’t–she’ll take the kids–”

His wife, Carol. He never says her name, only ever says wife. You assume it’s to remind himself of the oath he made to her. Maybe it’s shame and guilt, a way to keep himself grounded. Even if he doesn’t wear his ring when he comes to see you. 

With a small smirk on your lips, you stand from the bed and make your way to Dave. He tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling just as you stand on your tippy toes and place your hands behind his neck. 

“Don’t,” he whispers. 

He closes his eyes and you see his throat move with a harsh swallow. 

You run the tip of your nose along his jawline and breathe in his cologne. It’s the same one you bought him on your joint trip to Paris a few months ago. 

“If that’s what you want,” you whisper, hovering your lips right over his, “then we’ll stop.” 

You take a step back and turn to walk towards your dress and heels that sit on the chair by the bed. Before you can even take two steps, Dave’s hand slides through your hair. 

He presses his front to your back and pulls your hair, forcing you to look at him. Dave’s other hand reaches up to your neck to tilt your head backward. 

His lips land on yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue with a taste of possessiveness. Dave squeezes your neck in warning, you assume because of the smile plastered on your face as you kiss him back. 

You know he won’t ever end this. He’s in too deep, too infatuated and crazed by you to actually leave. 

You grind back on his bulge and elicit a moan from him. Just as quickly as the kiss started, it ends with Dave pushing you face first into the mattress. 

“You have no fucking respect for what’s sacred,” he hisses. 

Dave yanks your hips back and flips up your nightgown. He lands a harsh slap to your naked asscheek, switching from one to the other, uncaring of your yelps of discomfort.

You gasp for air, whimpering at the swipe of his fingers through your folds. 

“I was a good husband before I met you,” Dave says in anger. 

“Then go back to your wife,” you snap. 

Dave removes his fingers and spanks you again, landing one right between your legs. 

“Fucking brat.”

He stays fully clothed, only taking a few seconds to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You feel him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance and in one smooth thrust, he’s fully inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan, twisting the comforter in your hands. 

"Nothing to say?" he laughs, relishing in the way you twist and turn on the bed.

His fingers sink into your hips and he begins to fuck you in hard, punishing thrusts. The sarcastic remarks you had ready, waiting on the tip of your tongue, are now gone–fucked out of your head by Dave. 

His cock stretches your sensitive walls, bumps that sweet spot inside of you, but it’s all a little too much. He’s large, not just in length but a man so much stronger than you, that can manhandle and move you in any way he wants. 

The anticipation of seeing Dave, having him snap at you in anger–of course it made your pussy slick with need. But you’re so used to him being needy, licking your pussy until you cry or making you dry hump him while he kisses your lips swollen. 

There are random moments like these, where he’ll focus on his own pleasure. Missions go wrong, he loses funding for his projects, and he’s left with a sense of failure and rage. 

Carol is too soft for his tastes. A perfect, catholic wife who doesn’t see the need for sex outside of procreation. 

Then came you, temptation and sin all wrapped up in red silk and stilettos. 

You were the first to lead his hands around your neck and moan “tighter, please.” He wore his wedding ring that first night, imprinting the warm metal on your skin, and yet you still left purple bruises and bite marks on his chest, hoping his wife would find them. 

“Hurts, baby?” Dave coos, sliding a hand down your arched back. 

A stuttered “y–yes” falls from your lips, cheek pressed to the mattress and mouth open in a perfect o. 

With each of his thrusts, his heavy balls slap over your wet folds. You pussy swallows his length, tightens and flutters, fights through the discomfort of his size. His groans echo throughout the hotel room and his hands only grip you tighter to him. 

“Good,” Dave mutters, “you deserve it.” 

“Yes, yes,” you moan, shuddering as he spanks you again. 

“Such a fucking slut, yeah? Sleeping with married men,” Dave groans, pistoning his hips faster, “ruining good–shit–good marriages.” 

His hand reaches to swipe at your swollen clit in harsh circles and you push back, turning your head to scream into a pillow. 

“You think that because–” he groans, shuddering as you tighten around him, “you have such a perfect, little cunt, you can ruin my life?” 

You’re hanging on by a thread. His tip kisses your cervix, reaching the end of you while you bounce your ass back onto his hips. Your pussy ripples over his cock, finally reaching that point where it’s unimaginably slick and sticky. 

You want to respond. Remind him that yes, your pussy is a perfect little hole for him to fuck and destroy. Instead, you whimper and grip the comforter while a full body shudder courses through you and your belly tightens. 

“Dirty fucking whore,” Dave hisses, “you fuck other married men like this?” 

You’re so close, with heat flooding your belly and your brain becoming numb. Dave removes his fingers from your clit, and spanks you again in three successive slaps. 

“Answer me when I–fuck–ask you a question.” 

“No, no, no,” you chant, reaching for his hand and placing it right back. “J–just you, Dave. Only you.” 

“That’s right,” he murmurs, swirling your clit with your juices, “this pussy is just for me.” 

His movements become sloppy, pounding you harder than before. Dave’s cock fills every centimeter of your cunt and suddenly you're cumming, shuddering on the bed and screaming into the pillow from the force of your orgasm. 

His groan echoes through the room and he presses his hips onto yours, pumping you so full of his length that your whole body jostles with each thrust. 

“I’m gonna cum in this slut pussy,” he mutters, giving you barely any warning before the flood of warm liquid inside of you. “Remind this cunt,” he moans, too far gone to understand what he’s saying, “who owns her.” 

You’re sure at this point you’ll be sore tomorrow, from your pussy and the vice grip he has on your hips. 

Dave throbs, slams his cock into you until you’ve milked him dry. He collapses on the bed next to you, sweaty and still fully clothed with only his wet cock now resting on his belly. 

His hands reach for your head and pushes. You immediately understand what he wants and with trembling limbs, you move down to his stomach and swallow as much of his cock as you can. 

It’s covered in your combined mess, sticky and salty and only for you. His fingers thread through your hair while you suck and lick away the evidence. Your eyes flutter closed and you let him gently fuck your mouth with his now softened cock. 

“Pretty whore,” he grunts, trembling from exhaustion, “look at how well she cleans up my big cock.” 

He eventually strips out of his clothes and drapes your body over his. The both of you lay there, letting the hotel AC cool your sweaty skin while he drags his fingers down your spine. 

“What am I going to do about you?” he asks, watching as you slip into a deep sleep.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — six. picket fence dream.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: canon divergent. emotional cheating (not on reader). angst. right person wrong time. it's confession time. no use of y/n. word count: 2k+ a/n: you might hate or love me let's see which is it

      Rossi doesn’t usually come to his apartment, especially with no warning on a Sunday, especially at 7AM, so when Hotch sees his less than pleased expression through the peep hole he knows it’s bad.

      “A crying drunk mumbling fucking mess. Porca miseria!” Dave wastes no time, the words finally free after hours of keeping them in.

      “Good morning to you too, Dave.”

      “Don’t. You know what you did.” Yes, Hotch knew. But he definitely didn’t expect this as the consequence. Still, he couldn’t even feign ignorance.

      “So, you took her ho—” Rossi’s eyes are piercing enough to interrupt him and force an exhale. “Thanks.”

      He is truly grateful, he is not usually one to act out like a child, much less one to leave people he cares about behind like that. You brought up his best and his worst. Much of his strength and thinking power went towards controlling himself. The rest got messy.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Well, I’ll apologize tomo—”

      “Aaron!”

      “I don’t know. I just don’t. And Beth will be over with coffee in a bit.”

      Aaron watches his much too annoyed closest friend pour himself a sip of scotch, drinking it all in a mouthful.

      “You are throwing away a second chance people don’t normally get. Do you even know why?”

      Of course he knows why. There are many many whys.

      Jack needed the stability only someone out of this godforsaken job could give, and he adored Beth.

      Haley wasn’t an agent and he lost her, being with you was accepting the fact you could leave with him for a case and simply not come back. Essentially getting his son, his baby boy, a step mom that could be taken from him the same way as his mother.

      Beth gave Jack a bigger chance of not losing again.

      It gave him a bigger chance to rebuild his picket fence dream home.

      It was logical. It was the right choice.

      The feeling in the pit of his stomach and the bitter taste on his tongue shows disagreement with that every time he ponders though. And it’s hard to make the right choice when his body and soul begs him not to.

      Before he can even muster enough will power to argument his way out, Dave comes at him with more questions to shake his belief system to the core. “Is this about Haley? About Jack? Or are you really just incapable of letting yourself be happy?”

      Ouch.

      Rossi doesn’t pull any punches, Aaron knows that, it’s why they get along well, no sugarcoating. Doesn’t make it less annoying to deal with it so early in the morning. Especially after the hell night he had trying to sleep and being plagued by thoughts and worries of you.

      “If anything was to happen it would’ve happened before I met Beth.”

      “How could it when you are both idiots?” Aaron simply sighs, not having a good enough rebuttal to that.

      It was a true, he was an idiot, he could’ve gone after you when he got divorced, or after his grief got less painful. But back then he was angry, feeling abandoned by you when he would’ve never done the same to you.

      He begged you to not forget him, to call him. He waited, he called. It was all fruitless as you made your decision to take him out of your life already.

      Now it all seemed too complicated and to act on those feelings would complicate it even more.

      Aaron is saved by the bell, if anyone could consider hearing the knock on his door he knew to be Beth’s, one of the reasons of his internal conflict, being saved.

      At least Rossi leaves him alone for the time being, excusing himself as soon as the brunette enters the apartment with a quick peck to Aaron’s lips. Surely enough, Hotch has to tell her later that morning that no, Dave has nothing against her, he was just moody from being awake too early.

      Luckily most of the day is spent around Jack and what the wanted to do, making it more about spending time with his boy than a date, so he doesn’t have to focus too hard on being a good partner and on not thinking about you. But it’s all he thinks about when Beth leaves at night and he realizes morning come he will have to see you.

      Your eyes don’t meet his for even one second as Garcia presents the case and he knows it then how truly he fucked up. You aren’t angry. You look tired, not your face, not your eye bags. In fact you look as beautiful and put together as you always do, but in the glimpses he catches of your eyes as you talk to someone else, he sees it. And it breaks his heart. You are exhausted, not because of the job.

      Because of him. And the worst thing is, he can’t even leave you alone, being the Unit Chief meant having to talk to his team, it meant to lead. He sighs to himself as everybody gets out of the briefing room and he wants to brush his fingers against yours lightly like old times and make you smile, but most of all Aaron just wants to tell you how sorry he is that this is happening again.

      He can’t do that, knowing right now it would only make things worse, so he just gets up from his chair, grabs his go-bag from his office and follows the motion until everyone is in the jet. There he does his best to suppress what is going on his mind to focus on the case.

      Galena is a beautiful small town, quite romantic even, too bad it is now suffering with the abduction of two children, the case and the BAU disturbing its peace.

      And that disturbance goes well into the night, when no one is able to work anymore and Hotch has to call it a day, figuring out on the spot that Garcia had to book them in pairs, his key card the same number as yours.

      Hotch can imagine Garcia had someone influence her on the chosen pairs, Rossi was practically glowing with childish glee as everyone got their cards.

      Both you and him are too prideful and professional to make a scene asking to switch with someone. You were stuck with him until the case is resolved.

      The two single beds as you enter the room are a relief, but the distance between them aren’t nearly enough in comparison to how faraway from him you wished to be.

      “Just like the old days, huh?” He’s the first to speak, trying to break the tension as he spread the files of the case on the only desk available.

      “Don’t do that,” you reply quickly, your tone as tired as your eyes have been since the first time he saw you today.

      You drop your bag on the floor close to your bed, the loud noise startles Aaron, but you don’t care, body aching and ready for rest.

      “That what?”

      “Talking. Don’t talk to me,” you clarify. Another loud noise, your body dropping on the bed without ceremony. Eyes closed and focused on pretending he wasn’t there.

      He stays quiet for awhile and you think he might respect your request, so you relax in the clean sheets welcoming the slumber.

      Unfortunately for the two of you, now you are annoyed. So annoyed his shuffling around papers make your skin crawl.

      Just like the old days.

      The complete audacity to begin with that as if he didn’t abandon you drunk just two days before.

      You sigh deeply, putting a pillow over your face to try and muffle his annoying overwhelming presence.

      It doesn’t work.

      “God, please, breathe louder, I don’t think Japan has heard you yet,” you shoot at him, immediately sitting up and catching him working the case files.

      “You want me to stop breathing too, is that it?” He doesn’t look up from the papers, annoyed at the childish antics you’re pulling, which irritates you even more.

      “If you could be so kind to, yes!” Your voice is pure sarcasm and venom, reminding him of just how stubborn and strong-willed you can be.

      Just as he stops his writing, pen left to the desk, you get up in a hurry, attempting to go to the bathroom and ready to slam the door behind you. Hotch is quicker, getting up from his chair and grabbing your wrist to stop you from avoiding him even more.

      It doesn’t hurt. His grip is gentle and you know you can easily get away from it. But you don’t.

      “Hey, I’m sorry.” You nod at his apology, but he knows that won’t be all, so Aaron lets your wrist slip from his fingers and waits for the arguing he’s been avoiding to start.

      One beat.

      Two.

      Three beats pass before your mouth moves in sync with your drowning mind, “what exactly are you sorry about?”

      Right to the jugular from the start. He obviously instantly thinks of the easy answer: Everything. But that’s not the answer you’re looking for. Beyond that, he knows it would be unfair for both of you to gloss over the situation once again.

      You know Aaron isn’t stalling but actually thinking by the way his index and thumb rub together, his lips tightly pursued. Your stomach feels like it’s twirling, nervousness making an appearance now that this was about to happen. The talk. The admissions.

      Both of you are aware now shouldn’t be the time to talk it all over, there is a case to work, a hard day to rest from, but this is 10 years in the making. The flight response was already drained, only fight left.

      “I’m sorry for overstepping and turning our friendship into something confusing and uncomfortable,” he says slowly but firmly, but even so Aaron regrets his choice of words, more regret when he catches you rolling your eyes.

      “Confusing and uncomfortable, sure,” you reply with the same sarcasm you displayed earlier, your arms now crossed defensively over your chest, “I hope that’s not the best you’ve got.”

      “I’m trying here and I would appreciate a little less sarcasm.” His eyes are as piercing as his tone, you scoff at the manifestation of frustration, as if he had grounds for that right now.

      Your feet have a mind of their own and you start pacing around the room, “Hotchner, I changed my whole life around ten years ago for the sake of your comfort.” That wasn’t untrue, although it had a lot to do with your comfort as well, but he needed to be reminded of your sacrifices. “And the first opportunity you had to be a dick to me you not only took it but doubled down on it!”

      Hotch knows you are speaking about the gala and before he can control his tongue like he would in a time like this, " I got jealous! It took over me.”

      It’s good that he doesn’t expect that to stop you or take your breath away because if anything, you’re angrier now.

      “You have a girlfriend! You have no right to be jealous of me! You were married, Hotch! And I never did something like that to you.”

      “You left! I love you and you left,” he notices his mistake and quickly tries to recover, “I loved you. You’re back and I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.”

      He sits at the edge of his chosen bed, elbows to his knees, hands to his face and you finally stop on your heels, not knowing how to react to the confession you both have been denying yourselves from speaking out loud.

      You swallow dry, sitting on the edge of your bed, right in front of him.

      “I loveーI loved you too.” Your hands find home on his knees and his drop to hold them.

      “l don’t know what to do. I want to do the right thing.” He sounds pained and you have to fight that desperate lover girl in your mind begging you to tell him to choose you.

      “I can’t help you with that,” it’s what you actually end up saying, “I’m sorry.”

      “I’m sorry too.”

[asterias-record-shop]

mommy kink dave lizewski please and thank you ? 😋 i love your work sm and would be so happy if you decided to write this !!!! 💓😖

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— make me a mommy

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

Nympho! Reader who never wants to stop having sex after her and Dave take each other’s virginity and wants him to get her pregnant so they can start their family early. **also, lactating can start as early in a pregnancy as a few weeks

“Dave, stop it!” You whine, tugging on his shirt as he leaned over the table looking at ads that were put out saying ‘NOW HIRING’ in big letters. “We bought a house and daddy’s covering the bills for a year, you don’t need to work!”

We didn’t buy a house, your family bought a house for you both to live in. You were a daddy’s girl, and whatever you wanted, your father was surely going to get it for you no matter how much of a dent it put into his extremely deep pockets. Your father didn’t necessarily like Dave, but he didn’t necessarily dislike him either - he just wanted you to be happy.

Dave wanted you to be happy too, he really did, or he wouldn’t have proposed right after graduation. He was looking for a job so that he didn’t live up to your family's expectations of being a horrible person for you to marry. Dave truly did want you to be happy with him, and make sure your parents loved him just as much as you did - not in the same way though, of course.

"I'm almost done, baby, let me just put in this application in." Dave mumbled, inhaling as you slowly came behind him, rubbing his shoulders as you pressed soft kisses to his neck.

"Come on baby, we have stuff to get to remember? I'm ovulating and I found positions for us to try because missionary gets boring," you whispered, your hands pushing down his shirt as you looked over his shoulder at the applications. "You as a firefighter would be pretty hot."

"I don't know about that, honey," he whispered back with a sigh. "You got to go to school and training and whatever."

"What about that?" You suggest, tapping the position for an IT technician. "My daddy said they need one at his company. He can get you a good salary."

Dave shook his head, sighing. "No baby, I don't want any more handouts from your dad. I think a weapons dealer would be hot, don't you?"

You laughed, shaking your head as you tapped another square about the military. "What about that?"

"How would I be able to do that-"

"You being Kick-Ass and not having pain sensors in most of your body," you responded, giggling. "Come on, I would make an amazing military wife. Now put those up..." you pushed the magazines to the side, humming. "And come put a baby in me."

Dave swallowed as you grabbed his wrist, tugging him to your shared room as easily opened the door before jumping on the bed. "So, the article said that if I leaned over the bed a little bit, the sperm will find its way past the cervix quicker because of gravity. Do you think that's true?"

Dave blushed, shrugging. "I-I mean... gravity is real?"

You giggled, sitting up only to slip off your clothes before your stomach started to twist. You burped softly, covering your mouth before rushing to the bathroom and leaning over the toilet. You groaned loudly as you vomited into the toilet, Dave immediately following you and pulling back your hair while holding your shoulder.

For fucks sake, was this it?

When you finally stopped, he passed you a water bottle he got from your shared bedroom, watching as you swashed the water in your mouth before gurgling it and spitting it out. "David, give me a test."

"Y-Yes ma'am," he pulled out the drawer, grabbing you one of the tests as you stood and flushed the toilet, quickly doing your business and cleaning yourself up before flushing and pacing. "Y/N, honey, it's going to be okay."

"I want to be pregnant, Dave," you whisper, inhaling as you push back his hair. "I want to be pregnant with your baby, want to have so many babies with you. I want to be a mommy, Dave."

"You'll be an amazing mommy," Dave assured you, holding your hips as he stared down at your tits. They were already fuller; you had said that lactation can start as early as three weeks after talking to your gynecologist. "Such an amazing mommy."

You paused, looking down at your tits with a slight smile. "Do you want to see if it's... happening?"

He blushed, shaking his head. "I-I don't... I don't think that's right, honey."

"Why does it matter? They're not born yet, they don't need it," you whisper, smiling as you looked back. "Shall we see if it's true?"

"Of course."

You turned around and gasped, squealing. "I'm pregnant!"

Holy shit.

You jumped into his open arms, giggling as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, Dave spinning you around in excitement. "We're going to be parents! You're going to be a mommy, holy shit," Dave laughed as you stroked his cheeks. "You're going to be the most amazing mommy ever."

"And you're going to be the best daddy ever," you giggled, smiling as his hands ghost the sides of your tummy, eyes trained on your pretty tits. "Want to see if it's happening? We could celebrate with it."

"What, are you going to be my mommy too?" He teased, watching as your cheeks started to tint, smiling down at him. "Oh."

"Well come on. I'm going to be a mommy soon, I should get used to someone calling me that."

Maybe that's how you got here, Dave sucking on your tits as his hips rutted uncontrollably against yours, desperate to be deeper inside of you. "F-Fuck mommy, fuck, you taste so good, I need more."

You were so out of it, your hips unconsciously bucking into his in desperation to cum, to get that high as his hands paw at your tits, squeezing and letting his thumbs glide over your nipples. "I-It's early, Dave, maybe there's not much!"

He had been sucking and pinching, making you cum at least three times just from his work on your tits, oversensitivity flooding your entire body. Every thrust he made had you seeing white, every slide of his thumbs along your hard, pebbled nipple making your eyes roll back, each drag of his cock along your walls and his tip hitting what felt like your cervix.

"You said constant stimulation will make it produce more, right? Please, please mommy, I need more," he groaned, cursing when none was squeezed out of your tit. "Fuck!"

"D-Dave, there's no more, fuck! Just wait, wait a few minutes." You whimpered, staring down at your swollen nipples, gasping when he pulled it back into his mouth.

"Just a little longer, mommy? Please?"

You inhaled, sighing. "Okay."

What kind of mom would you be if you said no, hm?

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© asterias-record-shop

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Dave Mustaine being the reader's stepfather and they fall in love and have sex (pet names, praise kink, size kink)

A/n: I wish this was longer bc I love this prompt so much for reasons that I should tell a therapist, I'm also assuming you meant grandma Dave but I just had this thought with 90's Dave, I think it could work no matter what era you think of it as that's just the era I had in mind while writing this <3

(I lied he must have stubble ☺️)

Warnings: Smut, age gap, riding, size kink, praise kink (kind of?), pet names, hints to oral (f receiving) but not explicitly stated or described, pantie stealing, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Your mom was young, she'd gotten pregnant with you when she was 19. She had a tendency to rush into relationships so when she told you she was moving the both of you into her boyfriends house you didn't think twice of it, you just got your stuff packed and kept it that way, sure that you'd be moving out in just a minute.

Your mom had a long list of partners, some were better than others but one rule remained the same. You wouldn't meet them until at least a year into the relationship, so you moved in with no idea who this man was, and you were pleasantly surprised with who you were met with.

Dave was, to say the least, fine. He was tall, at first glance distinguished and nice. He saw that you weren't big on talking with him so he didn't push you to do so, he let you hide away in your room as much as you needed.

The first week, anyway.

After the initial meeting he tried to get to know you better, he'd ask your mom about your favourite things so he could try to start conversations but it didn't seem to get him anywhere.

He honestly thought you hated him. You did too, but then you were in his lap.

It was late, you were just watching a movie on your laptop in bed when he came in. You weren't sure how you got naked, when you straddled his lap, it was a blur but suddenly he was inside you and your were bouncing on his length.

His big hands were on your hips, guiding you on his cock. Maybe it was the position or maybe it was your mind running laps but he seemed so much bigger than you, from the way he looked at you to how he bruised your insides.

"Oh, fuck, taking me so good, aren't you?" He mused, staring at you, right where he kept disappearing into you.

"Ngh, fuck, daddy~" You moaned, eyes rolling back. Your hands were on his shoulders, using him as support as you rode him.

"Go on, princess, you're doing so good for daddy, aren't you?" He praised. "Don't need any instructions, just needed permission to get off on me, didn't you?" You nodded, eagerly agreeing with him.

He was so fucking hot, his long hair reaching his perfectly perky nipples you had an oddly faint memory of licking, smudged lipstick covering his chest, those kind eyes and encouraging smile. Fuck, just everything.

"Daddy-daddy, m'close, 'm s'close." You whined, focusing more on your own pleasure and reaching down to rub your swollen and neglected clit.

"Look at you being a good girl and making herself feel good." He said with a smile. "Go on and cum on daddy's cock, hm? You can do that for me, princess, can't you?" Again you nodded.

You could feel your high approaching, it was so close yet so far out of reach. You kept bouncing on him, moaning as you felt the veins on his cock pulsing and dragging against your gummy walls, no matter how fuzzy everything became you had one goal. You could swear it was just there, that knot in your gut ready to snap but it stopped.

"Princess? C'mon, you can't sleep out here, princess." You heard. It was Dave's voice. He was crouched next to you as you lay on the couch, a movie set up in the TV but it must've ended after you fell asleep.

Dave had been shaking you trying to get you up. "It was a dream..." You mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"Yeah, guess so." Dave said, pushing a few strands of your hair behind your ear. You couldn't believe it, all those feelings, those words, it was gone. Well, not really. It couldn't be gone because it was never technically there. "I came to get something to drink and heard you mumbling to yourself on the couch."

You froze and your eyes widened.

"I-I was..?" You asked nervously.

"Yeah, something about your 'daddy' needing to come..?" He asked. You stared at him, how could he be so oblivious? Thank God he was but how?

You spewed some bullshit about your 'dad' and he accepted that.

"Well, it's late, you should get to sleep. In your own bed, that is." He helped you up and kept an arm around you as he walked you back to your room.

There was a stinging between your thighs and you could've sworn you'd tied your sweats, they must've come undone while you slept.

Dave tucked you into bed and kissed your forehead, a strange wetness clinging to his stubble.

He got up and walked to the door but before he left he turned back to you. "By the way," he started and pulled a small piece of cloth out of his pocket, "I'm keeping these." He held your panties like a reward before he left, closing the door behind him.

[hotchner-edu]

Intertwined | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: Following the bullet you took for Aaron, he must pick up the pieces of himself to face the awful realization of what comes next. — part 2 of THIS

Pairing: Father-figure!Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader (Platonic)

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, happy ending, descriptions of blood/feeding tubes, medical inaccuracies—

In spite of how dangerous being an agent in the field was, and how often Jack’s pediatric appointments occurred, Aaron never grew accustomed to the overwhelming stench of sterileness.

It coated every surface of every room, pervading his senses to remind him of the hollowing anxiety that swirled in his chest— the feeling of utter helplessness in the face of impending doom.

His eyes were rimmed red, stinging from exhaustion and unshed tears. He's slumped in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as his eyes stared unblinkingly into the vinyl floor.

Guilt was trapped in his heart, tugging and stabbing as he replayed the conversations he had with you the day prior. He knows he's been unfair with the team as of late because of the divorce proceedings with Haley, but unfair doesn't even begin to describe his treatment toward you.

You were young and careless. He hated how careless you were. It made you susceptible to slip ups, it made your heart too soft, and it made you take that damn bullet for him. And now you were being operated on by every competent staff member in the damn place, echoes of his desperate yells and furious shouts ringing through his head.

He'd lost all composure in front of the hospital staff— in front of his team. But he found it hard to care, every ounce of his energy circling around the memory of blood rapidly gushing from your neck.

Derek had started to chew him out at the scene, but stopped when he saw his horrified face, eyes glued to the paramedics who were urgently trying to resuscitate you.

His jaw shifts, clenching hard as the burning of tears stirs in his eyes once again.

He feels something cold press against the back of his neck, momentarily causing him to close his eyes.

"Pull yourself together." Dave's voice comes out calmly, trying to comfort Aaron to the best of his ability.

"She looked dead." He whispers out, voice quiet but etched with regret.

Dave shakes his head— he can see it in his peripheral, and the older man moves in front of him, squatting down to catch Aaron's eyes. "But she's not."

"How can she not be?" He mutters, shoulders sagging as his mind instantly shoots toward the worst case scenario, imagining himself having to fill out the case reports— having to fill out the papers explaining how you were killed on the field.

Dave's eyebrows raise slowly, speaking softly. "Do you want me to get Reid over here to read off some statistics?" He attempts to joke, glancing over at the rest of the team as they all sat in silence down the hallway.

Aaron doesn't react to the joke. "Why did she push me out of the way, Dave?" He asks, searching futilely for an explanation as he stares at his friend.

"The same reason you would have done the same for her if you were in her shoes." Dave states with a sad smile, patting his shoulder before handing him the cold water bottle.

By three in the morning, six hours since you've been in surgery, Aaron can see that most of the team has fallen asleep in their chairs. He's still sat in the same spot, back protesting the odd position he's put himself into as he busied himself with catastrophizing.

He only musters up the energy to sit up when the OR doors open, a visibly disheveled and exhausted surgeon walking toward them. He shoots up from his chair, joints cracking as he hurries toward the woman.

"For Y/N L/N?" She asks gently, gazing at him with an inscrutable expression.

Aaron nods quickly, mouth dry. "Yes. Is she okay?" He asks urgently.

"She pulled through. A few centimeters to the right and her carotid artery would have been severed. She likely won't wake up for a while, and we'll need to put her on a nasogastric tube for a few weeks since swallowing will be difficult." The woman explains.

Aaron's ears ring in relief when he realizes you're alive, but the more he hears, the more his stomach sinks. You were going to be enduring hell for the next few weeks.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers breathlessly and rubs a hand across his forehead.

"She'll be situated in the ICU. However, you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to see her." She explains, flashing a glance over his shoulder to look at the rest of the team.

Aaron has to be dragged from the hospital that night, the team urging him to go back to the hotel to clean up and sleep so that he could visit early.

A part of him felt a bit of shame for falling apart, needing his team to reorient him as he seemed to be stuck in a perpetual daze.

He's unable to sleep for more than two hours, waking up in cold sweat with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears as he sits up. He's sure his mind is tricking him, but he's almost certain he can hear the sound of the bullet piercing through your flesh in the back of his head.

Aaron is driving off to the hospital again before most of the team is even up, rehearsing what to say to you in his head as he is reminded of the cruel words he spat at you in the precinct.

Everything is moving in a blur for him, and by the time he's by your bedside, he isn't even able to remember when he even parked and walked into the hospital.

He pulls up a chair to sit by your side, eyes studying the bruising around your neck that’s peeking out from the bandages wrapped around your stitched-up wound.

The only thing assuring him of your breathing was the rhythmic beeping from the vital monitor that echoed like a backtrack for his jumbled thoughts.

He could swear you weren't breathing.

Maybe the machine was deceiving him? Did the nurses hook everything up right?

Maybe the job was finally getting to him and he was losing his mind.

"Can you hear me?" He croaks out, hand moving to cover your limp one. "Y/N?"

You can see colors warping, dancing and spinning before melting into a soothing darkness. It felt like you were floating, then wading through water, then being lifted into suspension again.

You felt nothing, but you also knew there was something you needed to remember.

Like a sponge soaking up water, bit by bit, you could feel your senses returning. For a split second you could feel every muscle in your body, every sound around you, and then nothing again.

"Y/N?"

The sound was deeper and worn down. Yes, that was your name.

Willing yourself to move, you felt a tingle run down your body.

Your eyes peel open and you're blinded by brightness, stabbing into your nerves and triggering blossoms of dull pain to erupt around your body.

When you're fully awake and cognizant, the memories come pouring in like an irrepressible tsunami. Your neck was pulsing in pain, and it takes you a moment to understand why.

"Y/N? Hey, hey. You're up..."

Your eyes shift over to your side and you're met with the sight of a disheveled Aaron Hotchner who looked like he just survived a combination of natural disasters.

A part of you feels pity for his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance, realizing he was probably at his wits end from worry. Then, you're slapped over the head with the memory of his acerbic words.

You're still deeply wounded from what he said to you, the image and esteem you held him in faltering with every replay of the memory.

"How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain? Wait, let me get a nurse." He rushes out breathlessly, turning around to leave the room.

You could tell he cared for you just by how he was conducting himself at that moment, but a nagging voice in your head was convincing you that he was just doing this to alleviate the guilt and pity he felt for himself.

You didn't need him attending to you just to clear his own conscience. It was a bit juvenile, but you wanted him to suffer a bit more.

True to your initial resolve, over the next following days, you stay cold toward Aaron. When the team first got word that you had woken up, you were nearly blinded by the sheer volume of colorful balloons Penelope brought.

And tears. So many tears were shed for you that you were sure they thought you were going to drop dead at any given second.

Everyone was taking turns acting like a mother hen toward you, and Derek even toned down his jibing in exchange for playing his various playlists for you. Spencer took to reading to you everyday, citing that he didn't want you to strain your eyes.

Emily and JJ talked about everything under the sun with you, making promises and plans for the next few months— shopping trips, movie dates, and anything else they could think of.

Well, you weren't able to really talk yet so they mainly chatted with each other while looking to you for nods or headshakes.

Penelope entertained you by pulling up private information on anybody you could name from your past (which was maybe a little illegal, but the things she did for you.)

Rossi indulged you by recounting some anecdotes from his time serving in the Marine Corps.

Aaron was probably your most constant visitor, dropping by everyday and staying for hours. You barely looked at him on most days, but when the team is called back to Quantico after a week, he becomes your only companion after he decides to take a few weeks off to take care of you.

You could see how disheartened he was getting everyday you ignored him, and you cursed yourself for feeling awful about it.

Two weeks have since passed since the rest of your team returned to DC, and Aaron was lucky to get a few words out of you everyday. You're currently watching a rerun of an old sitcom, trying to distract yourself from the awkward tension between you and Aaron.

"The doctor said you're not allowed to fly for a while, but you can be discharged by tomorrow since you're able to eat soft foods now." Aaron speaks softly, leaning forward in his seat before reclining again, a nervous habit of his.

Staying quiet, you gently prod the tube in your nose that was being removed in a few hours.

"Do you feel ready to leave?" He asks kindly, voice patient and soft.

You nod once and you can see him smiling a bit from your peripheral.

"That's great, sweetheart. I'll ask the doctor for all the medication you'll need." He says before hesitating. "I'll drive us back to DC. It'll take three days or so."

Your head snaps to look at him in shock, wincing a bit as the sudden movement causes a sharp pain to cut through your neck and shoulder.

Aaron can see your shock and indignance at the news. "I'm sorry." He whispers. You're not sure if he's apologizing for making you endure his constant presence for three days on the road, or if he's apologizing for everything that happened prior, but you just exhale through your nose and look away.

Being bedridden for most of your stay caused your muscles to be significantly weaker. Your legs were like jelly when you attempted to shuffle off your hospital bed, meaning Aaron had to help you around.

You were sinking further into confliction. A part of you wanted to wholeheartedly accept his help, the appreciation for his fatherly tendencies growing stronger. In the weeks that you've stonewalled him, he stayed by you and was always jumping to attend to your every need.

It was hard to forget the one night you woke up in blinding pain, huffing and hissing silently. Aaron had woken up in a matter of minutes, holding your hand and trying to soothe you back to sleep.

Maybe he did care.

On the first day of your drive back to DC, you're sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, the pain medication you're on making you relaxed and drowsy.

Aaron doesn't try to talk to you until you're two hours into the drive. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You stay silent, having expected him to bring up the topic sooner or later.

"I was being completely unfair to you. I won't make excuses for what I said and did because I should have been able to keep myself in check, but I failed." He continues, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"I want you to know, above all else, that I don't think you're incompetent or unskilled— you're a crucial part of the team, and I'm sorry if I made you doubt that." His voice wavers slightly, growing heavy with emotion as he seems to be unleashing everything he's been holding in since you woke up.

Your chest rumbles softly as you speak quietly, voice weak from the lack of speech in the past few weeks. "I always saw you as like a father to me."

The moment those words left your mouth, you almost wanted to take them back as the heartbreak in Aaron's face was clear as day. He swallows hard, clearly becoming even more emotional from your declaration.

It clearly meant a lot to Aaron since he knew how poor your relationship with your father was growing up. So to have your trust, something that's been battered by others and locked away inside of you, it reminded him of the hurt he carried because of his own father. It reminded him that he once was like you, vying for that affection and care when everyone's backs were turned.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, clenching his jaw as his eyes well up.

"Do you really care about me?" You ask, looking ahead at the road.

"Yes. I always have." He answers back, voice almost inaudible as he sounds a it choked up. "Because the same way you view me as a father, I always saw you as my kid. My reckless and soft-hearted kid that I needed to protect."

Tears fall from your eyes at his words. "I don't know if I can forgive you." You whisper candidly.

"I know." He nods and blinks away his tears. "But I just... I hope that the light inside of you never dies. This job... it takes everything from us. It almost took you from us. So we need you to keep that fire inside of you alive."

You feel very small at that moment, wanting nothing more than to shrink away and abandon everything. But despite that pervasive feeling, you can't help but continue clinging onto the hope and safety Aaron provides you with.

"Promise that you care about me?" You ask almost childishly, not wanting to be strong and alone any longer. The medications you were on certainly made you feel less inhibited, your honest feelings pouring out of you.

Aaron's words are almost hushed as he's quick to reassure you. "Yes. I promise, you can cry on me and depend on me. I promise that it's okay to be tired."

"I... I'm so tired." You whisper softly.

"You've endured so much all this time. I'm sorry I couldn't see it before." He says quietly.

Neither of you say anything after that, letting the conversation slip away as some semblance of closure blankets you both.

When the sun begins to set, the sky a canvas filled with an array of oranges and purples, you let yourself relax.

You can't pinpoint when you fell asleep, but when you're conscious again, Aaron is by your side, gently patting your shoulder. "There she is." He says softly when he sees you blinking awake. "It's almost midnight, I thought it'd be better for us to rest up for a few hours. I also need to check on your wound dressings."

Grumbling a bit, you slowly sit up and look through the windshield to see a roadside inn in front of you both. Nodding, you let him help you out of the car and toward the check-in desk.

"Does your neck hurt?" He asks quietly.

"No. Just sore right now." You whisper back tiredly, limbs feeling heavy.

When you're both checked into a room for the night, you waste no time dragging yourself toward one of the beds.

"Don't lay down just yet." Aaron is quick to say, placing your bags down and going to wash his hands.

You reckoned that if he weren't such a great agent, he'd fare well as a nurse from the way he was deftly redressing the bandages on your neck, disinfecting and cleaning like it was second nature to him.

He can sense your questioning gaze and he huffs a bit sheepishly. "I, uh, asked Reid for some pointers on the phone. And searched the internet."

"Let me guess, WebMD?" You smile weakly.

Aaron's face breaks out into a small grin and he chuckles. "Yeah, and ReidMD."

You snort a bit at his joke. "That was awful."

"Jack says I'm getting really good at making dad jokes." Aaron quips back playfully.

"I'll have to teach him that it's not good to lie like that." You muse, hiding a small smile as he narrows his eyes at you in fake offense.

It felt like you were gaining a bit of normalcy back, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss being able to talk freely like this with Aaron.

"Alright, done." He sighs and hesitantly rests his hand on your uninjured shoulder. "Anything else you'd like me to do?"

You caught onto his true meaning, knowing he was trying to make further amends with you. Considering it for a moment, you shake your head gently and smile tiredly. "No, you're all good."

Aaron lets out a shaky exhale before leaning down to hug you, being mindful to not press on your injuries. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too." You whisper back and pat his back reassuringly.

You would be out of commission for a while and that reality weighed down on you, but Aaron's reassurance and presence provided you with some relief.

You were tired, but for now you could rest.