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minhosbitterriver · 4 months ago

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────* ˚ ✦ CAUGHT IN THE ACT ( stray kids )

❛ The reactions of each member of Stray Kids' Hyung line when they're caught kissing you by another member.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.0k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 32 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was honestly so much fun to write! Reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Getting caught kissing, established relationship for every member, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

HYUNG LINE | MAKNAE LINE

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

You stepped into the familiar recording studio, the dim lights casting a soft glow on the walls adorned with musical equipment and notes scribbled in haste. A paper bag filled with snacks and drinks dangled from your hand, its weight a comforting reminder of your routine visits. Your smile radiates warmth as your eyes meet Chan's, who sat hunched over the mixing console. His gaze lifted, revealing a flicker of gratitude despite the heavy shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.

He returned your smile, a faint but genuine curve of his lips that spoke volumes about his weariness. You chose silence, understanding the unspoken need for peace in this creative sanctuary. With gentle steps, you crossed the room, your presence a soothing balm to his fatigue. Leaning down, you placed a tender kiss on his head, a simple gesture of affection that momentarily lifted the burden from his shoulders.

Reaching into the bag, you retrieved a pack of chips and a bottle, offering them to Chan with a reassuring touch. He accepted them gratefully, his fingers brushing against yours in a brief but intimate exchange. You then settled into your usual spot on the leather couch behind him, its familiar creases and scent a comfort in this shared space. With your phone in hand, you prepared to keep yourself entertained, a quiet guardian of his creative process. The studio's ambient hum and the soft rustle of snack wrappers became the soundtrack to this intimate moment, a testament to the silent support that flowed between you.

This had become your usual routine—a cherished ritual that intertwined your lives with comforting regularity. Every other day, you would find yourself here, in the sanctuary of the recording studio, offering your quiet companionship while he immersed himself in his work. Your role was not merely to be present but to eventually coax him away from his intense focus, ensuring he returned home with you for the rest he so desperately needed.

Tonight was no different. You nestled into the familiar embrace of the leather couch, your fingers idly scrolling through social media, a soft glow from your phone illuminating your face. The ambient sounds of the studio enveloped you, a symphony of creativity and dedication. The rhythmic tapping of buttons, the soft click of switches, and the occasional hum of equipment blended into a soothing background noise.

Every now and then, a sigh of frustration would escape Chan's lips, a testament to his tireless pursuit of perfection. You glanced up occasionally, observing the furrow of his brow, the determination etched in his features. His passion was palpable, filling the room with an electric energy that made your heart swell with pride and tenderness.

Despite the ambient hum and your digital distraction, you were attuned to his every move, ready to step in when the time came. The silent understanding between you both was a testament to the deep bond you shared—a bond forged in these moments of mutual support and quiet companionship. This was your routine, a beautiful dance of dedication and care, ensuring that amidst the whirlwind of his creative storm, he found a safe harbor in your presence.

Eventually, Chan wheeled around in his chair, his gaze locking onto you as you lay sprawled across the couch, indulging in a handful of sour gummies. His eyes softened, the weariness momentarily giving way to a tender appreciation for your presence. For a brief moment, he remained still, simply observing you with a small, tired smile.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted himself from his seat, the soft creak of the chair punctuating the silence. Each step he took toward you seemed to carry the weight of his exhaustion, yet there was a lightness in his eyes as he approached. Without warning, he let his body drape over yours, the suddenness of it eliciting a startled yelp from your lips.

His warmth enveloped you, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the sweet tang of the gummies you were eating. You quickly dissolved into giggles at his playful actions, your arms instinctively wrapping around his torso in a protective embrace. His presence was a comforting weight, grounding you both in this shared moment of intimacy.

The world outside the studio walls faded away, leaving just the two of you cocooned in a bubble of tranquility. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, a rhythmic reminder of his presence. Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his back, offering silent reassurance as he melted into your embrace. This was your sanctuary, a haven where exhaustion and stress gave way to love and connection, a beautifully ordinary moment made extraordinary by the simple act of being together.

“Break time?” you asked softly, your voice a gentle melody in the quiet room. Chan responded with a low grunt, his exhaustion evident in the simplicity of his reply. A light giggle escaped your lips, the sound a soft, comforting echo in the studio.

Reaching up, your fingers threaded through the strands of his hair, finding their way to the back of his head. With practiced ease, you began to scratch gently, your touch tender and soothing. Almost immediately, a contented hum rumbled from his chest, a sound that spoke of deep appreciation and relief.

His eyes fluttered closed, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away under your gentle ministrations. You could feel the subtle shifts in his posture, each exhalation a testament to the comfort he found in your presence. This simple act, a small gesture of care, held a profound intimacy that words could not capture.

The room seemed to cocoon you both, the dim light casting soft shadows that danced along the walls. Each scratch of your fingers was a lullaby, a tender reminder of the bond you shared. In this moment, amidst the ambient hum of the studio and the quiet hum of his contentment, time seemed to slow, allowing you to savor the tranquility of your connection.

His breathing deepened, a silent testament to the trust he placed in you, and you continued your gentle caress, your heart swelling with affection. This was your sanctuary, a place where words were unnecessary, and the simple act of touch spoke volumes.

After a while, you were almost surprised to hear him speak. His voice broke the silence, soft and drowsy, since you had been convinced he had fallen asleep on top of you.

His breathing had slowed, and his weight had settled comfortably against you, creating a warm, enveloping cocoon. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours had lulled you into a tranquil state, where the world outside seemed a distant memory.

“Good day today?” he murmured, his words a tender vibration against your skin. The question carried a quiet intimacy, a bridge between the waking world and the serene bubble you both inhabited.

You blinked, the unexpectedness of his voice pulling you from your reverie. A smile curled at your lips as you looked down at him, your fingers stilling momentarily in his hair. The soft light from the studio cast a gentle glow on his face, highlighting the subtle lines of fatigue that framed his eyes.

“It was alright,” you answered with a weak shrug, your eyes remaining fixed on the ceiling. The subtle patterns in the plaster seemed to shift and dance as you reveled in the closeness between the two of you, his warmth a comforting presence against your body.

As you lay there, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift, the quiet intimacy of the moment creating a sanctuary from the world outside. The soft rise and fall of his breathing against you was a soothing rhythm, grounding you in the present.

“I mostly kept to myself today,” you continued, your voice a soft murmur in the tranquil room. “It just felt like such a long day for some reason.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession that carried the weariness of the hours you had endured. Each moment of solitude, each minute that had dragged on, seemed to dissipate now in the comforting embrace of his presence.

Chan shifted, adjusting his position to place his weight on his forearms, which were now on either side of your head. This allowed him to lean back slightly, creating just enough space to gaze down at your face. The closeness of his presence, combined with the tenderness in his eyes, sent a flutter through your heart.

The dim light of the studio cast gentle shadows across his features, softening the lines of exhaustion and highlighting the quiet strength in his expression. His gaze held a mixture of empathy and understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the weariness you both shared.

“It really did feel like an unnecessarily long day for me, too,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that resonated in the small space between you. The words carried a weight of shared experience, a bond forged through mutual understanding and silent support.

His eyes traced the contours of your face, lingering on the subtle nuances of your expression. You could feel the connection between you deepening, each unspoken thought and emotion passing effortlessly between you. His proximity, the warmth of his body, and the gentle cadence of his words created a cocoon of intimacy that enveloped you both.

As you looked up at him, you could see the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a mirror to your own feelings. The shared acknowledgment of the day's trials brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that you were not alone in your struggles.

The room seemed to fade into the background, the ambient sounds of the studio becoming a distant hum. All that mattered in this moment was the quiet exchange between you, a sanctuary of understanding and support. His presence, so close and so tender, was a balm to the fatigue that had weighed heavily on you both throughout the day.

You reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, a silent gesture of reassurance and affection. His eyes softened even further, and a small, grateful smile played at the corners of his lips. In this moment, the long day seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of your connection and the promise of shared solace.

The hand that had been tenderly scratching his hair now shifted to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the delicate curve of his jaw. The touch was gentle, filled with a warmth that only deepened the connection between you. Chan immediately leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the contact, a soft smile gracing his lips.

His skin felt warm against your palm, and you could sense the quiet gratitude in the way he pressed closer, finding comfort in the simple gesture. The room around you seemed to hold its breath, the ambient hum of the studio fading into the background as the moment stretched between you.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Chan leaned down, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second, a silent exchange of affection and understanding, before he pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead. The contact was tender, imbued with a sweetness that made your heart swell.

As his lips brushed your skin, your eyes fluttered closed, the world around you dissolving into a haze of warmth and closeness. The kiss lingered, a silent promise of care and support that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. You could feel the soft exhalation of his breath, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the unspoken words that filled the space between you.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into an eternity of quiet connection. Your senses were heightened, every detail of the moment imprinted in your memory—the gentle pressure of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the soothing cadence of his presence. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, a sanctuary of love and understanding that transcended the weariness of the day.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes opened slowly, meeting yours with a gaze that spoke volumes. There was a softness there, a tenderness that mirrored your own feelings, and in that shared look, you found a renewed sense of strength and comfort. The weight of the day seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of his presence and the promise of more moments like this, filled with love and quiet understanding.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper that seemed to reverberate through the quiet studio. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, seeking solace in the warmth and familiarity of your embrace. His breath, warm and steady, brushed against your skin, sending a shiver of tenderness down your spine.

You could feel the sincerity in his words, each syllable carrying the weight of his longing and affection. The closeness of his body against yours, the way he nestled into you as if finding his way home, spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings. It was a quiet confession, one that wrapped around your heart and made it swell with love.

“All I could do was watch the time until you finally joined me here,” he continued, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to melt into the air around you. His words painted a vivid picture of his anticipation, the minutes and hours stretching out endlessly as he waited for the moment you would walk through the door.

The imagery of his longing played in your mind, each tick of the clock echoing his silent wish for your presence. You imagined him glancing at the time, his thoughts drifting to you with each passing minute, the studio filled with the hum of his work yet missing the comforting presence that only you could bring.

Your hand moved to gently stroke his hair, your fingers weaving through the soft strands as you offered silent reassurance. The tactile connection was a balm to both your souls, a physical manifestation of the love that flowed between you. His body relaxed further into yours, the tension of the day gradually melting away as he found peace in your embrace.

The room around you seemed to fade into the background, the dim light casting gentle shadows that danced along the walls. It was as if the world had shrunk to encompass only the two of you, a cocoon of intimacy where time moved at its own pace. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart against yours, created a symphony of togetherness that filled the space with warmth and connection.

As you held him, your heart echoed his sentiments. The hours apart had felt like a lifetime, each moment tinged with the anticipation of being reunited. Now, in the quiet sanctity of the studio, you reveled in the simple joy of being close, of sharing the same breath and heartbeat. This was your haven, a place where love and longing intertwined, creating a tapestry of moments that were as beautiful as they were fleeting.

A blush crept onto your cheeks, a rosy bloom spreading warmth through your skin as his words settled in your heart. Your smile widened, a reflection of the joy and affection that welled up within you. As Chan leaned back to face you once more, his eyes met yours with a gaze that spoke of longing and love.

Without hesitation, you leaned up to capture his lips in a kiss, the movement swift and eager. The initial touch was tender, a sweet brush of connection, but almost unconsciously, you found yourself deepening the kiss. The world around you seemed to blur, the boundaries of the studio fading into insignificance as you lost yourself in the moment.

Chan responded with equal passion, his lips moving against yours in a dance of fervor and intimacy. Each kiss, each caress, was a silent declaration of the emotions that words could not fully convey. The heat of the kiss ignited a spark that spread through your veins, a fiery rush of desire and affection that left you breathless.

As your lips melded together, you could feel his fingers busying themselves, threading through your hair with gentle yet deliberate movements. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, each touch a soothing balm and an electric thrill all at once. His fingertips traced patterns along your scalp, weaving through the strands of your hair in a tender, almost reverent manner.

The kiss deepened further, your senses heightening with every passing second. You could taste the lingering sweetness of his breath, feel the warmth of his skin, and hear the faint rustle of clothing as you both shifted closer. The world outside ceased to exist, the only reality the intoxicating blend of your shared breaths and the soft hum of the studio in the background.

Time seemed to stretch, each moment expanding to hold the fullness of your connection. Your heart raced, its beat a rhythmic echo of the passion that thrummed between you. The kiss was a symphony of emotions, a harmonious blend of love, desire, and an unspoken promise of togetherness.

Just as the kiss began to deepen, an unexpected sound shattered the moment—the door creaking open with an almost comical slowness. The intrusion was abrupt, and both of you were startled from your intimate cocoon. Chan, reacting instinctively, tried to detach himself from you with haste, his sudden movement sending him rolling off the couch.

The transition was less than graceful; he landed rather harshly on the floor beside you, the impact eliciting a low groan from him. He grimaced, immediately starting to rub his lower back in an attempt to soothe the jolt of pain from the fall. The couch, once a haven of warmth and affection, now stood empty and slightly disheveled, a testament to the sudden disruption.

Your eyes shifted to the doorway, where Jisung stood frozen for a split second, his own eyes wide with shock at the scene before him. The surprise in his expression was fleeting, quickly giving way to a playful smirk. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze dancing with mischievous amusement.

The contrast between the intense moment you had shared and the lightheartedness of Jisung's entrance was jarring. As the initial surprise subsided, the atmosphere shifted from one of intimate connection to one of awkward hilarity. The room, now filled with the soft chuckles of Jisung and the embarrassed, lingering blush on your cheeks, felt distinctly different.

You and Chan exchanged glances, your faces flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. Chan’s attempt to regain composure while still rubbing his sore back added to the scene’s comedic effect. In the midst of the disruption, the warmth of the moment seemed to dissipate, replaced by the easy camaraderie of Jisung’s teasing presence.

“I can come back later,” Jisung said, his voice carrying an unmistakable hint of playful suggestion. The words lingered in the air, charged with an amused undertone that made it clear he was fully aware of the scene he had just interrupted.

You responded with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, a playful gesture that contrasted sharply with the initial embarrassment. Your smile, though slightly flushed, held a warmth of shared amusement. The gesture was both a dismissal of the teasing and a silent acknowledgment of the lighthearted banter Jisung was introducing.

Chan, still seated on the floor, let out a soft scoff, the sound a mixture of mild frustration and reluctant humor. His expression, though slightly exasperated, softened as he met Jisung’s teasing gaze. The contrast between the seriousness of the moment and the levity Jisung brought was palpable, and Chan’s reaction spoke to the blend of embarrassment and begrudging acceptance of the interruption.

“Did you need something?” Chan inquired, his voice a mixture of curiosity and residual embarrassment as he pushed himself up from the floor. With a slight wince and a careful stretch, he made his way back to his chair, resettling into the spot he had vacated moments before.

Jisung stepped into the studio, his presence marked by the purposeful stride and the iPad clutched in his hand. He took a seat in one of the empty chairs, his movements deliberate and focused, a contrast to the playful banter that had just filled the room. The iPad, held like a cherished artifact, seemed to hum with the promise of creative endeavor.

“Yeah,” Jisung began, his tone shifting from teasing to serious. The change was palpable, and the lightness that had accompanied his entrance melted away, replaced by a more earnest demeanor. He glanced down at the device in his hands, the weight of his words evident in the subtle tension of his posture.

“I just finished writing this song,” he continued, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. “I thought I might ask you for some feedback.” His gaze met Chan’s with a mix of anticipation and concern. “I’m struggling to find the melody for it, though.”

The request hung in the air, a testament to Jisung’s dedication and the challenge he faced. The room, once charged with the intimacy of your earlier exchange, now buzzed with the promise of collaboration and the earnest pursuit of creative refinement. Chan’s expression shifted to one of thoughtful consideration, his earlier amusement giving way to the focused attention that Jisung’s request deserved.

As Chan prepared to listen, the studio seemed to take on a new energy, one of shared purpose and artistic exploration. The casual comfort of the space, with its soft lighting and the scattered remnants of your earlier moment, now became a haven for the exchange of creative ideas and constructive feedback.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

The only sounds that punctuated the tranquil evening were the soft clinks of ceramic and glass as they met and departed in gentle harmony. Minho's hands moved deftly in the soapy water, each dish emerging clean from the frothy embrace of the sink. He would pass the polished plates and gleaming utensils to you with practiced ease, and you would then guide them through a final rinse, the clear water cascading over them like a delicate waterfall.

This rhythmic dance of choreographed movements unfolded in a serene cocoon of silence, where each clink and splash became a soothing symphony of domestic tranquility. The dim light from the overhead fixture cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating the quiet intimacy of the moment.

You leaned closer, resting your head lightly upon Minho’s shoulder, finding solace in the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. The simple act of watching him, so absorbed in his task, filled you with a deep sense of contentment. The harmony of your shared routine seemed to weave a thread of comfort through the evening, binding you both in a quiet, unspoken connection.

Minho had prepared a sumptuous feast, each dish a testament to his culinary prowess. The table was adorned with a vibrant spread of delectable creations, each plate a masterpiece in its own right. As the meal began, the room was alive with a symphony of laughter and lively chatter, the air thick with the aroma of spices and savory delights. The members gathered around, their faces illuminated by the warm light of the overhead lamp, their voices weaving a tapestry of animated conversations.

But now, as the final morsels were savored and the last sips of wine enjoyed, a tranquil silence had settled over the room. The clamor of exuberant laughter had given way to a peaceful hush, the once-bustling table now a haven of contented quiet. The lingering scents of the meal mingled with the soft hum of satisfaction, creating an atmosphere of serene afterglow. Everyone leaned back in their chairs, basking in the lingering warmth of good food and even better company.

The plan had been simple and straightforward: you would take on the task of washing the dishes while Minho, who had diligently prepared the meal, would enjoy a well-deserved rest. Yet Minho, with his unwavering determination, had other ideas. His refusal to let you tackle the chore alone was as steadfast as it was endearing.

With a warm, insistent smile, Minho proposed that you both share the task, transforming the mundane chore into a collaborative effort. His eyes sparkled with a mix of stubbornness and affection, a look that left little room for argument. Despite your initial reluctance and the mild exasperation that accompanied it, you found yourself yielding to his gentle insistence.

The prospect of working side by side, immersed in the rhythmic clinks of plates and the soothing warmth of soapy water, began to take on a new charm. Minho’s determination to be your partner in this small yet significant task softened your resistance, allowing you to embrace the shared experience with a touch of reluctant but genuine fondness.

As Minho passed you the final cup he had washed, the delicate glass cool and smooth in your hands, he turned his attention to rinsing his own hands. The kitchen was bathed in a soft, amber glow from the overhead light, casting gentle shadows that danced across the room. He dried his hands with a kitchen towel, the fabric absorbing the last traces of moisture with a quiet efficiency.

Watching you with a tender gaze, his sharp features softened into an expression of serene affection. The contrast of his usual intensity with this gentle demeanor created a moment of profound intimacy. As you felt the lightest brush of his lips on the crown of your head, a shy smile unfurled on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the warmth and closeness between you.

After you had finished rinsing the last cup, Minho reached out, offering you the towel he had used. The gesture, simple yet laden with care, spoke volumes of his desire to share this small, endearing ritual. His touch lingered with a quiet intimacy, as if the act of handing you the towel was another way of weaving a thread of connection into the fabric of your shared evening.

"Dinner was delicious, as always, my love," you murmured with a contented sigh, letting the kitchen towel slip from your fingers and fall gently to the floor. You moved closer, enfolding him in a tender embrace. Your arms wrapped around his lean torso, drawing him into the warmth of your affection.

Resting your chin on his chest, you tilted your head upwards to gaze at him with adoration. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek provided a soothing backdrop to your heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you," you whispered softly, your voice a tender caress against the quiet of the evening. In that moment, the simple act of holding each other spoke volumes, a silent testament to the depth of your shared love and appreciation.

A playful twinkle sparkled in his eyes as he looked at you, his smile radiating warmth and affection. His fingers, gentle and reassuring, wove through your hair with a tender touch, as if savoring the moment of closeness.

"I’m glad you enjoyed the meal," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against the quiet. The sincerity of his words was mirrored in the affectionate way he stroked your hair, his touch both soothing and intimate. In that shared, tranquil moment, his gaze and gentle gestures spoke volumes about the care and joy he found in seeing you content.

What began as a fleeting, tender kiss on your cheek had swiftly transformed into a fervent embrace of lips. The gentle touch of his lips ignited a spark, leading to a passionate kiss where your tongues engaged in their well-practiced dance, exploring and intertwining with a fluid grace.

His hands cradled your face with an exquisite tenderness, as though he feared that any more pressure might shatter the delicate connection between you. The way his fingers caressed your cheeks, with such gentle reverence, conveyed a deep sense of reverence and care. Each touch seemed to convey an unspoken promise, a silent pledge to cherish and protect the fragile beauty of the moment.

“Oh—!” A sudden, startled yelp pierced the air, shattering the intimate bubble that had enveloped you and Minho. Heads whipped around in unison to find Yongbok standing at the kitchen entrance, his expression a mix of surprise and awkward hesitation.

He lingered at the threshold, caught between the decision to either step into the room or retreat to the safety of the living room. His stance, poised mid-step with uncertainty written across his face, underscored the unexpected intrusion into what had been a moment of tender privacy.

"Ah," Minho exhaled with a playful whine, his head tilting to the side as if weighed down by exaggerated exasperation. He squeezed his eyes shut, the corners of his mouth curving into a mock frown that was both endearing and dramatic.

"I can’t seem to have a moment of solitude in here," he lamented, his tone laced with a humorous undertone. The theatrics of his gesture and the melodramatic sigh added a layer of lightheartedness to the interruption, making his feigned annoyance all the more charming.

A deep blush colored Yongbok’s cheeks as he bowed his head slightly, offering a silent apology that spoke volumes. His embarrassment was palpable, yet he moved with a purposeful grace, stepping into the kitchen with a mix of shyness and determination.

He made a beeline for the freezer, his movements quick and somewhat furtive. With a swift motion, he retrieved a brand new tub of ice cream, the cool container a stark contrast to the warmth of his cheeks. As he slipped back toward the door, his voice broke through the quiet with an embarrassed yet earnest, “Sorry!” His hasty retreat, accompanied by the muffled sound of the freezer closing, left a lingering trace of his red-faced mortification.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unfolding scene, the sound a soft ripple of amusement in the otherwise quiet room. Your hands gently rested on Minho’s biceps, feeling the subtle strength beneath his shirt as you turned to face him once more.

Minho was already gazing at you with a look that combined mischief and amusement, his eyes sparkling with a playful light that drew you in. The sight of his tender, yet mischievous expression made your heart flutter, an involuntary blush creeping across your cheeks. The warmth of your blush contrasted with the coolness of the evening, adding a delightful layer to the already enchanting moment.

“Should I escort everyone who doesn’t reside here out?” Minho mused aloud, his index finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. The gesture was deliberate, a small ritual of contemplation as he considered the crowded scene around him.

He sighed softly, his gaze drifting towards you with a mix of longing and humor. “I’d really appreciate a moment of solitude with my lover,” he continued, his voice tinged with playful exasperation. The desire for privacy was clear in his words, a heartfelt wish for a brief respite from the throng of people that seemed to encircle you both.

Your cheeks flushed deeper at his remark, the warmth of your blush spreading as you playfully slapped his chest with a gentle, teasing motion. “No, I actually enjoy having them here,” you replied, your voice carrying a soft, affectionate tone.

Minho’s reaction was swift and dramatic—he pouted, a look of mock offense crossing his features. His expression was almost comically wounded, adding a layer of endearing charm to his demeanor. “You love them here, too,” he retorted, his voice tinged with a hint of playful reproach. “We don’t get many chances to spend time like this, surrounded by everyone we care about.” His words carried a mix of sincerity and affection, highlighting the rare and cherished moments of togetherness amidst the lively company.

Though Minho recognized the truth in your words, he couldn’t resist the dramatic flair of throwing his head back in an exaggerated display of exasperation. The gesture was both theatrical and endearing, a playful prelude to the amused smile that soon graced his lips as he turned back to face you.

With a gentle peck on your forehead, his affection was palpable and tender, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes. Minho then shifted slightly, subtly encouraging you to step back and make room for him to maneuver. Together, you both ventured back into the living room, where the lively banter of the other members filled the air. Their animated debate over which movie to watch created a backdrop of joyful chaos, adding a touch of familiar, comfortable noise to the evening’s unfolding scenes.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

As you stepped into the familiar confines of the gym, the echo of your footsteps reverberated through the empty space. The dim lighting cast a soft glow on the rows of pristine equipment, all neatly aligned yet untouched, giving the place an almost ethereal quality. It was a sanctuary of solitude, the usual clamor replaced by a serene silence, the gym technically closed to the public. But Changbin, with his special privileges, had always been an exception.

Changbin's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he turned to you, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "What are you going to be working on today?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet brimming with enthusiasm.

You took a moment, savoring the tranquility, before taking a swift sip from your water bottle. "Today, I’ll focus on my arms and chest," you replied, your voice steady and resolute. "But I’m starting with cardio."

Changbin nodded, his expression one of approval and understanding. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss onto your cheek, the warmth of his lips lingering like a delicate whisper. He then gently nudged you towards the treadmill, his touch both encouraging and affectionate. "Today's leg day for me," he declared with a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with determination.

As you began your workout, the rhythmic hum of the treadmill filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft rustle of your movements. The gym, though silent and still, seemed to come alive with the shared energy and quiet companionship, a testament to the unspoken bond you and Changbin cherished.

Just like that, you both found yourselves immersed in your own worlds, each movement and breath synchronizing with the rhythm of your workouts. The gym seemed to fade away, leaving only the steady cadence of your heartbeats and the pulsating energy of your exertion.

Your large headphones enveloped your ears, cocooning you in a bubble of high-energy music. Each song, meticulously selected for its invigorating beat, propelled you forward, every stride on the treadmill matching the tempo of the powerful tunes. The music was your fuel, igniting your determination and driving you through each passing minute.

Meanwhile, Changbin was equally engrossed in his routine, his focus unwavering as he pushed through the burn of leg day. The clang of weights and the soft thud of his movements created a rhythm of their own, a testament to his dedication and strength.

When the thirty minutes finally elapsed, you both reconvened, seeking each other's presence for a much-needed respite. Your breath came in shallow pants, the exertion evident in the slight sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. The treadmill had tested your endurance, leaving you flushed and glowing with the heat of your efforts.

Changbin, too, bore the marks of his intense workout. His face was flushed, and beads of perspiration trickled down his temples. He lifted his water bottle, tilting it back to down a generous portion of the cool liquid, the refreshing sensation bringing a momentary relief from the heat.

As you caught your breath, the shared silence was comforting, a mutual understanding that needed no words. The gym, still hushed and serene, felt like a haven where both of you could push your limits and find solace in each other’s presence.

"I was watching you while you were running," Changbin remarked after wiping his mouth, his tone carrying a playful edge that made you smirk. His dark eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and mischief as he continued, "You look so good, it’s not even remotely funny or fair."

You couldn't help but scoff, rolling your eyes at him, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Stepping closer to your boyfriend, you felt a surge of affection. The scent of his cologne mingled with the fresh, clean aroma of the gym, creating an intimate bubble around you both.

In one swift motion, you captured his lips with yours, the kiss light and teasing. You giggled, delighting in the surprised look on his face as you pulled away before he had a chance to react. His pout was adorable, a mixture of mock annoyance and genuine desire.

Not one to be outdone, Changbin leaned down, closing the distance between you. His lips found yours again, this time more firmly, conveying a deeper passion and a hint of possessiveness. The kiss was a promise, a silent affirmation of his feelings, and you responded in kind, melting into the moment.

The gym, with its quiet solitude and dim lighting, faded into the background. All that mattered was the connection between you two, the electricity in the air as your lips met and parted. It was a stolen moment of tenderness and playfulness, a testament to the unique bond you shared.

As you should have expected, Changbin wasted no time in reaching up to cradle your face, his fingers tender yet firm against your skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and his intent was clear: he wanted to deepen the kiss, to lose himself in the moment with you.

The world seemed to fade away as his lips moved against yours, each touch a testament to his longing. However, before the kiss could escalate, a sudden, sharp sound shattered the tranquility. The door banged open with a loud thud, startling you both apart, your hearts pounding not just from the exertion but from the abrupt interruption.

You and Changbin turned simultaneously, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of annoyance, to find Jeongin standing by the door. His expression was a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, a sheepish smile spreading across his face as he took in the scene.

"I'm sorry," Jeongin began, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't know you guys would need some time—"

He hesitated, glancing between you and Changbin, the awkwardness of the situation apparent. The silence stretched for a moment, thick with unspoken words and the remnants of the interrupted kiss.

Jeongin's smile turned a bit more genuine as he added, "I can give you five minutes to finish, though."

The jab had you cackling, the sound echoing through the gym. Changbin, however, feigned offense, playfully yelling, "Hey! I can last a hell of a lot longer than some measly five minutes!" He huffed dramatically, his pout exaggerated to drive home the point. Jeongin laughed, shaking his head slightly, amused by the spectacle.

"What are you even doing here?" Changbin asked after a beat of silence, curiosity piqued.

Jeongin cocked his head to the side, his expression almost puzzled. "You…we agreed I’d meet you here tonight to work out…" His words trailed off, the memory slowly dawning on him as he spoke.

As if struck by sudden realization, Changbin gasped theatrically, slapping his palm against his forehead. "That’s right! I’m sorry, come in." His apology was earnest, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and amusement.

"Oh, I’d rather not be a third wheel, thank you very much," Jeongin teased, a playful glint in his eyes. You rolled your eyes at him, unable to suppress a smile. The banter was light-hearted, a testament to the easy camaraderie between you all.

Changbin, on the other hand, wasn't about to let his friend off the hook that easily. "Oh, no you don’t!" he called out, his voice booming through the gym. He rushed forward, grabbing Jeongin by the shirt as he attempted to leave, pulling him back into the gym with surprising strength.

Jeongin's protests were half-hearted, more amused than anything else. The scene was almost comical, the gym’s solemnity broken by your laughter and the playful antics of your friends. It was a moment of shared joy, a reminder of the bonds that held you together even in the most mundane of settings.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

You whine softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you press your hand against Hyunjin's forehead to push him away. His persistence is unwavering, though, and he keeps returning with puckered lips and mischievous eyes that sparkle with playful intent. The soft glow of the television casts a warm hue over the room, illuminating his features and accentuating the twinkle in his eyes.

For quite some time now, Hyunjin had been trying to capture your lips with his own, his attempts at stealing kisses becoming increasingly daring. Yet, your focus remained steadfast on the movie playing on the screen. The film’s storyline had finally ensnared your attention, and for once, you wanted to see it through without distractions. You couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, knowing how much Hyunjin craved these intimate moments, but the timing just didn't feel right.

Besides, the living room of the apartment he shared with his roommate, Changbin, didn’t seem like the ideal setting for such affection. The thought of indulging in romantic gestures here, even with the knowledge that Changbin was away at the gym, felt unsettling. The echo of his presence lingered in the air, and the mere idea of it dulled the allure of Hyunjin's advances. The movie provided a convenient shield, a reason to resist the pull of his playful charm, as you both sat close yet worlds apart on the couch.

"Come on," Hyunjin complained, his voice tinged with a playful whine as he pouted, his lips forming a perfect, exaggerated curve. The sight of him like this, with his bottom lip jutting out and his eyes wide with mock disappointment, sent a ripple of amusement through you. Unable to suppress a giggle, you found his expression irresistibly adorable, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

"Just a little bit, and then I'll leave you alone," he pleaded, his tone a mixture of enticement and surrender. His persistence was endearing, a testament to his desire for your attention and affection. You sighed theatrically, rolling your eyes with feigned exasperation at his dramatic antics, yet a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Hyunjin's charm was a force to be reckoned with, and even in moments like these, he knew exactly how to push your buttons.

"The movie is almost done," you stated, glancing at the television screen and pointing with the remote in your hand. The film's climax was nearing, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and relief. "Once the movie is done, I'm all yours — fair?" Your words hung in the air, a promise of undivided attention once the credits rolled.

Hyunjin huffed in playful defeat, his breath escaping in a soft, theatrical exhale. With a resigned nod, he agreed, then settled himself comfortably on the couch, laying his head on your lap while his feet dangled off the armrest. The weight of his head on your thighs felt familiar and comforting. A chuckle escaped your lips as you unpaused the movie, your fingers instinctively weaving through his long, silken hair, the strands slipping like liquid gold between your fingertips.

There was something endearing about Hyunjin's behavior, how he could be so clingy and needy despite his usual claims of not being a fan of physical affection. It amused you endlessly, this dichotomy of his personality, and you couldn't help but smile at the contrast. His presence was a delightful distraction, one that added a layer of warmth and intimacy to the moment.

As the movie continued to play, you found yourself getting drawn back into the plot, though not without the occasional commentary meant to elicit laughter from Hyunjin. Your whispered remarks and shared giggles created a cozy cocoon of companionship, the outside world fading away as you reveled in the simple pleasure of being together. Each touch, each laugh, each whispered word added another stitch to the tapestry of your shared moments, weaving a bond that felt unbreakable.

When the movie finally came to an end, you barely had a moment to register the closing credits before Hyunjin practically launched himself at you, his lithe form straddling your lap with an impish grin lighting up his face. His eyes sparkled with a playful mischief, and without warning, he began to pepper your face and neck with a flurry of kisses. Each feather-light touch sent delightful shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but giggle loudly, the sound filling the room with infectious joy.

Despite your best efforts to push him away, your attempts were half-hearted at best, your resolve weakened by the sheer delight of his affectionate onslaught. Hyunjin, ever the tease, quickly caught your wrists in his grasp, pinning them securely to his lap. His grip was firm yet gentle, and his eyes danced with laughter as he resumed his barrage of kisses. The sensation of his lips against your skin, warm and insistent, left you breathless and giddy.

You wriggled and squirmed beneath him, your laughter rising in pitch as you became a squealing, giggling mess. The room seemed to blur around you, the only clarity being the closeness of Hyunjin, the feel of his body pressed against yours, and the sound of his laughter mingling with your own. His kisses were relentless, each one a playful declaration of his affection, and no amount of squirming seemed to deter him.

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only you and Hyunjin, caught in a whirlwind of shared laughter and tender kisses. Your attempts at defense were futile, each wriggle and squeal only serving to encourage him further. Yet, beneath the playful struggle, there was a profound sense of happiness, a blissful contentment that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

Lost in your own bubble of joy and affection, neither of you noticed when Changbin returned from the gym. He stood silently by the doorway, his phone poised in front of his face, capturing the endearing chaos unfolding before him. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he recorded the scene, amused by the playful display of intimacy.

It was only when you turned your head and caught sight of him that a startled yelp escaped your lips. The sound jolted Hyunjin from his revelry, his expression shifting from delight to confusion. "Hey! What are you doing? Are you filming?" you asked with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. The sudden shift in your tone finally alerted Hyunjin to his roommate’s presence.

Changbin’s boisterous laughter erupted, filling the space with a rich, hearty sound. He quickly turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, but not before Hyunjin had leapt from your lap, his face a mix of mock outrage and concern. “That’s an invasion of privacy!” Hyunjin declared with exaggerated drama, his voice ringing through the room.

Your laughter mingled with Changbin’s as you shot Hyunjin a teasing look. “Baby, we’re in the living room. This is not a private space for you to be saying that.” Hyunjin’s face fell into a pout, his lower lip jutting out as he glanced at you.

“Whose side are you on, huh?” he asked, a playful edge to his tone.

Changbin, clearly entertained by the bickering, shook his head with a chuckle as he turned and made his way towards his bedroom. His amusement lingered in the air, a lighthearted reminder of the everyday warmth and camaraderie that filled the apartment. The door closed softly behind him, leaving you and Hyunjin to continue your playful exchange, the echo of laughter still dancing in the room.

꒰ 🏷�� ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

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🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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novlr · 27 days ago

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I have a bad habit of never finishing writing I start - I work hard on a story, make it to 3/4 of the way through, then lose passion for it and start something else. I know the key to overcoming this is discipline, and I’m trying very hard to make myself keep going with my current story that I like very much and spent so much time researching and outlining, but it’s a struggle every day to make my writing goal. Any advice for how to re-ignite writing spark or how to push through to the end?

We can lose our drive to write for a lot of reasons. It often indicates a growing maturity as an artist — you understand the craft better and your own (current) limitations better, and so you begin to feel overwhelmed in a way you didn’t before. It can also be that external anxieties are getting in the way or simply that you’ve lost interest in your current project.

Hope is not lost. Read on for some tips on reclaiming your writing spark.

Shift gears

Sometimes, all you need to reignite your writing spark is to engage your brain in a different way. If you’re struggling with your novel, take a break and try writing a poem or a piece of flash fiction. Or, you could try drawing sketches of your characters, a map of your story’s world, or some possible outfits for your climactic battle scene (it doesn’t have to be good. No one’s going to see it).

The trick is to stay creative but to approach your work from a different angle.

Change location

If you’ve been trying and failing to write at your desk, surrounded by crumpled up dreams drafts and last week’s candy wrappers, you may be suffering from an environment with stagnant energy. Try taking yourself on a writer’s date: go to a location that fits the tone of the project you’re working on (lux hotel lobby, seedy theatre bar, the wilds of a nearby park), and see if that gets your creative wheels turning.

Dress [in]appropriately

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg has a chapter called “Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out Your Mouth”. By this she meant, “Use outfits and props to step outside yourself and get a new perspective”. You might find it helpful to have a special “writer’s sweater” that you only wear when you’re writing or to dress like someone confident and cool enough to smash writer’s block in the face.

Do some soul-searching

What’s really going on here? If the above tricks aren’t doing it for you, there may be some bigger issues at play that are inhibiting you from connecting to your writing spark.

Write letters

I’ve written about the restorative powers of letter writing before, and I’ll mention it again: handwritten letters are a great way to get the words flowing. You don’t actually have to send them when you’re done (although you can if you want to); the recipient doesn’t even need to exist. Simply by putting your thoughts down in a low-risk way, you’re unclogging your creative pipes.

Join a writing group

There’s power and accountability in numbers. You can find writing groups online, through community centres and writers centres, or by sticking a flyer up in a bookshop and starting your own. There’s even a Novlr writing community on Discord where we share tips, struggles, and just generally talk craft! By inviting other people into your writing practice, you’ll have some support and encouragement to keep you going.

Find your writing spark with writing prompts

The internet is awash with writing prompts. These can be a helpful way to get something down on paper and stretch out your writing muscles. Whether it’s a premise, an opening line, or a character study, writing prompts can give you a gentle, creative push and even inspire new work.

Experiment with found structure

If writing a traditional story feels like pulling out your own teeth, try a found structure story. This means using fictional “found material” like shopping lists, calendars, to-do lists, ticket stubs, banking records, and so forth to create a narrative.

Here’s an example: Imagine a week in which a bride-to-be prepares for her glorious wedding, is left at the altar, rages in misery, and ultimately emerges healthier and stronger. Now, write her shopping list for each day of that week. How does it change from beginning to end? How much emotional detail can you communicate to the reader through the items that appear on these lists? This can be a fun way to create a story without the anxiety of writing it.

Set a petty life goal

I am a proud champion of the value of pettiness as a motivator. There are plenty of noble reasons to write: to share powerful stories, to help readers in need of healing, to inspire others to write stories themselves, and to draw attention to important social issues or minority identities.

There are also some really inane and selfish reasons to write: to become more famous than your ex, to appear on TV and make your ex regret everything they’ve ever done to you, to have your book made into a movie and receive casting consultation rights and pitch your favourite actor in the lead role and allow them to take you for coffee as a thank you. But the thing is… these are the motivations that are really going to pull you out of the dirt when you need it most. Find the silly driving goal that really gets under your skin and hold onto it for dear life.

Forgive yourself

Many writers experience a lot of shame when they aren’t writing as much as they feel they should. Needless to say, this shame only makes the writing harder. Allow yourself the space to take some time when you need it, process your struggles, and return when you’re ready. The page will be waiting when you get back.

#writeblr #writing tips #writers of tumblr #writing community #writers #writing #creative writing #creative writers #writing inspiration #writerblr #writing advice #writing resources #writers on tumblr #ask novlr #writing blog #helping writers

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wwwquickpakinccom · 6 months ago

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Flow Wrap Equipment – Why Flow Wrap?

Flow Wrapping, or Horizontal Form-Fill and Seal (HFFS) is the process of making a horizontal bag from a single roll of film. Heat is applied to the bottom and ends of the film to form a sealed, flexible package already filled with products. Flow wrap packaging is used for a variety of products from food and baked goods to regular household items and stationery.

Why use a flow wrapping machine?

Fast Change Overs: Flow wrapping equipment is easy to change over from one packaging size to another. The integrated conveyor systems are easily adjustable guides that adjust quickly to the needed width. Flow wrap film rolls use corrugated cores that make swapping film sizes simple.

Increased Throughput: Flow wrap packaging machines offer a high speed, automated alternative to traditional bagging practices. Flow Wrap equipment is a perfect packaging solution for products packaging from speeds up to 70 packs per minute.

Flow Wrap is Customizable: Flow wrapped products provide excellent opportunities for increased branding. Clear flow wrap films provide customers with an unobstructed view of your products. Optimal for produce packaging, these clear films can increase product visibility and improve retail sales.

An Added Layer of Protection: Flow wrapped products benefit from an added layer of protection from outside contamination. This contamination can be in the form of dust, moisture, or harmful UV rays. Flow wrapped products also benefit from less direct handling. This limits “pick through” damages that can occur at retail.

To see if flow wrapping is right for your application call Quick Pak Inc @ 813 242 6995 or reach [email protected]

#pricing news #quick pak inc #stretch film pricing #resin pricing #fw550 flow wrapper #smipack shrink wrappers #youtube #free pallet wrapper #coreless film

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emrich · 8 months ago

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Maximizing Efficiency: Emrich Packaging Equipment's Horizontal Flow Wrapper Revolutionizes Product Packaging

In today's fast-paced consumer market, efficient packaging is paramount to success. Emrich Packaging Equipment's Horizontal Flow Wrapper stands as a pinnacle of innovation in this regard.

This blog explores how these cutting-edge machines revolutionize the packaging process for a diverse range of products, from confectionery delights to everyday essentials like soap and biscuits. By keeping the term "horizontal flow wrapper" bold throughout the content, readers will grasp the significance of this technology in streamlining production and enhancing product presentation.

Contact- Web - https://www.emrich.com.au/horizontal-flow-wrappers/ Ph - 1800 801 243 / +61 3 9540 0255 Address - 1/14-18 Venture Court, Dandenong South VIC 3175, Australia.

#horizontal flow wrapper #flow wrapper

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Sum of All 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your legs feel empty, like there’s no blood flowing beneath your waist. You walk beside Rogers, feeling as if you might fall on your face at any time. That’s probably not a good idea seeing as you’ve already knocked out twice within the last hour or two.

He stops and steps ahead of you. He points to a door before he pushes it open, “in here.”

You enter as he waits. For a moment, you worry it could be a sinister trick. That he’ll slam the door and lock you in. But why would he do that? Well, why would he beat a man in the middle of the street?

Thinking of it again, you feel nauseous.

You look around the room. There’s a desk with folders stacked on it. The chair looks like it was manufactured during your great grandfather’s war and the rug can’t be much newer. The curtains are damask and the walls are real hardwood.

“It’s... nice,” you say, “vintage. Looks like the floor’s been refinished.”

“You’re not here to discuss the decor,” he retorts.

“Of course,” you agree as you twiddle your fingers. “What exactly am I here for, er, sir?”

“You’re an accountant.” He states.

“I am.”

He sighs and crosses to the desk. You cautiously follow. You could tip over all over again.

“Sir, do you mind if I sit?” You ask.

He just waves a hand toward the chair. You thank him and gratefully claim the seat. Who knew fainting was so exhausting?

“Man named Warren. I need you to tally it all up. Tell me what you find.” He explains.

“Alright, so I’m balancing his ledger,” you nod.

“Sure,” Rogers sniffs and tucks his hands into his pockets. He backs up and paces across the end of the rug. “You need some water? You gonna check out again?”

“Oh, I have some,” you put your briefcase on the desk and pull out your water bottle. “Thank you. That’s super kind. I can, uh, start on all this.”

He turns back to you, “fine.”

You smile as best you can as his hand runs up his lapel and draws your attention. Again, his knuckles fill you with queasiness. The bruises are the cherry on top of this whole messed up situation.

He pulls his hand back and looks at it. You realise he caught you staring. You clear your throat.

“Looks pretty bad,” he remarks.

“Um, yeah. Pretty bad,” you agree softly. “Look like they’re swelling. Could probably use some ice.”

He examines his hand further and clicks his tongue, “probably.” He drops his arm. “Well, get to work. Don’t got time to waste.”

“Got it,” you assure him and reach for a folder.

He goes and you glance up right as he disappears through the door. He might be gone but your anxiety lingers. These are dangerous men, this is a dangerous place.

While you wouldn’t want an old lady like Geraldine caught up in all of this, why did it have to be you? It’s just like Mr. Brenner to be tangled up with criminals. And now you’re looking through promissory letters and gum wrappers with scribbles on them. This isn’t going to be easy, especially without a computer.

Rogers returns. He sits in the leather armchair near the window. He holds a bundle wrapped in a cloth against his hand. It must be ice.

You pull out a receipt. Half of it is illegible beneath the crimson stain. Little droplets trail over the numbers you can kind of make out. Oh.

“Is that blood?” You ask out loud, then feel yourself plunging forward.

Your head hits the desk. You’re a bit foggy but still awake. You gurgle and push yourself up. You fall stiffly back against the chair and it lurches with your weight.

Rogers appears across the desk from you. You stare at him as you grip the armrest and blow out between your lips. He squints as he comes around to your side.

“Hey, sweetheart, stay with me,” he grabs your chin and you whimper. “Eh, don’t--”

He taps your cheek with his fingers. It’s a gentle gesture. His hand is cold from the ice.

“I’m good,” your murmur. “I just... I’m not a violent person.” You carefully touch his wrist and he lets you go. “Not that I’m saying anything about you. Or what happened earlier. I’m just... look at me, right? Just an accountant.”

He nods.

“You think I overreacted,” he intones.

“I didn’t say... it’s none of my business, right?” You move aside the bloody receipt and wheel closer to the desk. “Numbers are my business.”

He hums, “sure.”

You concentrate, or pretend to, on the folder before you. There’s a lot to sort out, and you mean, more than the clutter. Your mind is racing and you can’t quite decipher anything you’re reading with the fear coursing through you.

“I’ll be back,” he says abruptly as he backs away. “Don't leave this room.”

You don’t need him to give the command. You wouldn’t dare wander around this place on your own. You nod, “I won’t, sir.”

He spins on his heel and struts across the office. You only look up as he gets to the door. He leaves and you lean back in the chair. You can’t let your panic take over. The quicker you get through this, the quicker you can get out of here, and hopefully, never ever come back.

You set yourself straight, fixing your posture, and set to your mission. You might not have the most experience, but you’re determined and you do know what you’re doing. All those places that never replied or sent you those template rejections, they have no idea.

You hunker down, filling the margins in the ledger, row by row. You are enthralled the more you do. It’s like a story unfolding before you. Dates, amounts, locations. Huh, well, this might be some bad news. You really don’t want to be the one to deliver it.

Don’t be too eager. That’s only the first folder. You scratch down another number and flinch as something lands on the desk.

You sit up and stare at the paper bag. Rogers watches you across the desk. Your brows twitch in confusion. He huffs and opens the top of the bag.

“Figured you might not pass out if you eat something,” he takes out a wrapped bagel and holds it out. “Cream cheese, sesame seed.”

“Oh, yum, I mean, thanks,” you accept it. “That’s really... considerate.”

“I can be,” his eyes narrow.

“Of course, I wasn’t saying... anything. Just thank you,” you slowly unwrap the bagel.

He takes out his own and sits in the armchair. You peel back the paper and take a quarter of the bagel. You bite into it, careful not to get any crumbs on the desk.

It might not be the best day, very close to the worst, but you can’t complain for a free meal.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #au #mob au #sum of all #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

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epigstolary · 10 days ago

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Incubus

Tw: Non-consensual supernatural feeding and gaining

Shadows crawl around the corners of the room in the shifting light of the tv, making the fast food wrappers and empty microwave meal containers appear to dance and flicker on the living room floor. Yet you hardly notice as you relentlessly, rhythmically, joylessly chew your way through the last of several enormous burgers. Your chins and cheeks and tits wobble with every bite, and your belly, spilling out well beyond your knees, rises and falls slowly with every labored breath you take. Finally choking down the last bite of burger, you lean back, letting your ample fat settle back on top of you; and you hear the chair cracking and resettling with the shift in weight. Just as you think you’re finally done with your dinner, having packed away an enormous meal, you clearly hear his voice — though where it comes from, you can’t tell — and you know he has more planned.

“Wouldn’t you like to check and see what’s in the fridge?”

His voice throbs in your ears — closer than close, muffled and distorted, forceful enough to be heard clearly and never disobeyed, yet still with a lover’s soft tenderness. It’s been months since you first heard it, a quiet whisper at first, but one that grew steadily louder until you could no longer discount it as a figment of your imagination. The physical signs grew stronger along with it — at first, a light touch or a quick brush from thin air, but steadily increasing in force to a grasp or a pull, until finally it was a limb and a person you could see and touch. Except, not a person… and more than a person, you remember with a shudder. You remember, too, what you looked like when the voice started. Before you started eating like this. Before all this embarrassing, obscene weight. But the voice insists; it won’t be kept waiting, won’t be denied.

So no sooner do you hear it than you find yourself on your feet, all 700-plus pounds of you, wandering toward the refrigerator. Your body aches under the still-unfamiliar weight, joints screaming, muscles straining at their limit to move your tremendous bulk. You feel them working as the thick fat covering every inch of you now sways and wobbles with your steps — perpetually working its way out of your clothes, bulging out from under shirts and flowing over waistbands, gradually trying to undress you. You have to pull everything back into place, again, as you finally plant yourself in front of the refrigerator, breathing heavily and already beginning to sweat from just these short few steps.

It takes your eyes a moment to adjust from the darkness of the room to the gleaming light of the refrigerator, your engorged and bloated body casting an even larger shadow on the far wall in its harsh glare. As usual, the fridge is stuffed full except for a neat cubby where the beef patties you just finished used to be. Towers of pizzas, piles of wrapped sandwiches, cases of soda, heaps of burger patties and sliced cheese, and countless takeout orders fill the space, waiting for your appetite to turn them into more fuel for your constantly growing blubber. You don’t buy it yourself; you don’t even know where it comes from. But it’s always full now.

“Doesn’t it all look so good? Maybe a pizza would hit the spot…”

You feel a hitch in your side at the thought of eating anything else — your belly is already so full that your breaths are coming short and quick from the pressure. It’s so painfully stuffed that even with your hand pressing into your side, almost buried under your topmost love handle, you can hardly catch your breath. You can’t possibly eat more, you realize; there’s no room.

“No… no, I don’t need a pizza…” you say weakly, wary of the response you’ll get. “I’m already too full…”

A distant rumble pulses through the house, the lights of the tv and fridge dimming and flickering in tandem. The first sign that he’s here. You feel two strong, cold, impossibly muscular arms reach around from behind you, slowly wrapping you in an embrace despite your wide girth. One takes a loving but powerful grip of your blob of an upper arm, overwhelmed by fat and pathetically weak in comparison to his; the other sinks into the thick, flowing rolls at your side, lifting them to make room and squeezing them with evident enjoyment. At the same time, you feel a sensation that’s become all too familiar — a tingling feeling like a limb waking up, part numbness, part stimulation — that spreads throughout your body. This is how it feels, you know, when he begins to take hold. You can see, too, the familiar but no less unsettling shadowy tendrils spreading down your arm, spidering over the hanging curve of your belly and into the folds of your sweeping rolls.

The first few times, you tried to resist — tear yourself away from him, run from the fridge, do anything to try and stop more food from going down your throat. Nothing worked. He always found you and always found a way, usually a much less pleasant one than just submitting would have been. That’s usually what you do, now that you know better, but he still likes to see you wrapped in those shadows. Maybe just to be careful — maybe just because he likes to see you bound.

“You can’t be full. You’ve hardly eaten anything. And you’re so thin, like you’re wasting away. You have to have something…”

The hand releases its grip of your arm and slowly, fingers trailing over the blubbery bulges of your dimpled elbow and puffy forearm, cups the back of your hand, gently guiding it toward one of the takeout containers. The package is dense and heavy as you take it from its place, and as you open it, you see why: it’s filled with what must be at least five pounds of pulled pork, about half gobbets of fat mixed in with the shredded meat, all swimming in a pool of thick barbecue sauce. A fork slides gently into your other hand as the first brings the pile of food closer to your lips, close enough that you can smell the sweet, smoky sauce. The tendrils tighten around your blubber, your fat squeezing between them in plump bulges; and a buzzing thrill runs through your body.

Without even bothering to warm the food up, and now unmindful of the pressure in your stomach, you begin shoveling forkfuls of meat and sauce into your mouth. Nothing in you wants this food, but you feel something compelling, driving you to have more, using the aroma of the sweet, spiced sauce and the sensation of the unctuous meat sliding over your tongue to simulate a convincing-enough facsimile of an appetite for you to keep eating. You’re dimly aware of your fat bulging more and more insistently beneath the shadowy, veiny grip; of growing bulkier and heavier with each bite; and of the tendrils spreading under your belly and up your thighs, sending waves of the tingling numbness rumbling through your very core. A gasp bubbles through a mouthful of sauce. Your heart races even faster.

You feel your body go limp but stay upright, your sense of time and place abandoning you. All you’re aware of is the dimness filling your eyes, the ringing in your ears, the muscular embrace from behind you pressing ever more insistently against your yielding flab, and of course the food passing through the hasty chewing in your mouth. It feels constant, endless, but kaleidoscopic, the taste of the barbecue blurring into greasy cheesiness, into the creamy sweetness of chocolate, into buttery pillows of potato, into the sweet rush of bubbly soda, into syrupy fruit and crispy crust, and on, and on, and on…

“That’s more like it. That’s how you should be eating. You’re going to feel so much better after you finally start eating right…”

Amidst the meandering flow of flavors, you gradually become aware of a feeling of your surroundings closing in on you. The dimness feels that much more oppressive, the ringing that much more insistent, the heat that much more stifling as it seems to wrap you, envelop you, smother the breath out of you and sap you of what little energy you still have. You try to struggle up from the darkness, focus on something other than the flavors, catch your breath at last; and for the longest time, you feel muscular hands reaching out from the dark, trying to draw you back in, feeling and grabbing for you until you finally, somehow, dodge the last of them and break free.

When you come to, the dimness clearing and the ringing subsiding, you find yourself leaning against the frame of the open refrigerator, a labored wheezing rumbling in your chest. Rivulets of sweat trickle over your rolls… trickle, you notice, for a strangely long time. Only then do you realize that the refrigerator is totally empty, save for a few crumpled takeout containers that look as if they were savaged by a wild animal. Only then do you feel the changes: the unfathomable weight crushing the frame of your body, the heft of the inhumanly large belly now pressing against your shins, the rolls of gelatinous lard flowing over your ankles and wrists, the thick fat smothering you in all directions, and the sheer volume of blubber keeping you from bending hardly at all. You didn’t break free — not even close.

However long you were made to eat, you can tell you must have eaten yourself most of the way to a ton by now. Your body is unrecognizable — as you, as human, as anything other than a literal pile of lard. You are easily more fat than person by now. Everywhere you touch, you’re met with rolls of heavy, jiggling blubber. Every time you try to move, a wall of fat feels like it’s in the way, the slightest movement taking the effort of a full workout. The enormous bags of fat hanging off your body everywhere continuously crush the air out of you, leaving you lightheaded, gasping, hardly able to stand. Each step is agony under this much weight, the hundreds of excess pounds not only taxing your frame to its limit but making you fight their wobbling inertia with every movement. In this sad state, you’re barely able to waddle backward a few inches from the refrigerator, heart pounding, stomach dropping at the blurred sight, reflected in dim stainless steel, of what you’ve done and what you’ve become.

The strobing light of the tv reaches the kitchen, illuminating your stretched, shapeless, impossibly fat body in a series of still images, as racing lines of shadow trace new dark channels over the yielding flesh. You feel your vast weight being pulled back now, tight against a tower of firm muscle — now grasping you not so gently, not so tenderly. An angular face settles into the crease where your double chins melt into a roll of neck fat running around your shoulders, hot breath coming in snorts down your nape. You feel his searching fingers, exploring your vast new bulk, clearly relishing the sight and feeling of your lard-packed body. It’s clear to him, and to you, that you’ve been fattened so completely as to be utterly helpless. And with the realization, you hear that deep, distorted voice, rumbling into a growling chuckle.

“There, doesn’t this feel so much better? Now you’re perfect. Now you’re MINE.”

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #gaining #gainer stories #weight gain story

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

19 - Push & Pull

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: slow burn, whump, fluff Summary: Everything that happens in 3x2 - the good, the bad, the ugly, what you see and especially what you don't see. Warnings: themes of suicide, non-consensual sexual encounters, infidelity, alcohol, physical violence that feels like the filthiest smut, CM case details, P***r gets mentioned Word Count: 21k - you can start feisting now Dado's Corner: Despite the fact that a good third of this chapter was fever-fueled - yes, I'm still a helpless victorian child rotting in bed - this has to be my favorite in the series. The complexity, the blend of themes, the highs and lows… It was an emotional rollercoaster to write. Please tell me I didn't waste your time and show me some love because I'm never writing such a long chapter like this ever again. Honestly, it was challenging on every level, but I could say, I'm satisfied about how it turned out.

masterlist

Gideon, your mentor, was unraveling.

His office had turned into a reflection of his mind: cluttered, chaotic, littered with unfinished reports, half-eaten meals, and newspapers strewn like remnants of thoughts he couldn’t quite piece together. The deep shadows beneath his eyes grew darker with each sunrise, his sharp instincts dulled by an overwhelming sense of doubt that he wore like a second skin.

It was Reid, in his quiet, persistent way, who seemed to keep Gideon tethered to the here and now. Every night, after the bullpen had emptied and the hum of activity quieted, Reid would slip into Gideon’s office with his well-worn chessboard.

No words were needed between them - Reid would simply set up the pieces, and they’d play, the clink of pawns and knights the only sound breaking the stillness.

Sometimes, Reid would ramble on about obscure facts, statistics, or philosophical musings - trying, in his own way, to coax Gideon out of the fog.

And sometimes, it even worked.

Gideon would nod, listening, though his eyes were always distant, like his mind was trapped in some other place, some other time.

You noticed it all.

You saw the way Gideon was slipping further into himself, withdrawing into a shell built from old scars and fresh wounds, and despite your own burdens - the ceaseless grind of paperwork, the weight of decision-making - you couldn’t help but stay.

Late into the night, you’d linger in his office, your own files spread out on the corner of his desk as they played chess in the background.

It wasn’t planned.

No one spoke of it.

But the three of you were drawn together by the silence, by the shared weariness that seemed to fill the room. There was a strange, unspoken bond forged in those long hours, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

One particularly late night, you noticed Gideon had barely touched his dinner.

A dry sandwich sat untouched on his desk, the wrapper barely peeled back. His gaze was fixed on the chessboard, but you could tell he wasn’t really seeing it.

Across from him, Reid spoke softly but quickly, his usual stream of physics trivia flowing in a rapid, soothing rhythm. As much as you wanted to follow along, the complexity of it eluded you, your focus drifting instead to Gideon.

He wasn’t listening to Reid either.

Not really.

His gaze flickered toward the younger profiler as if searching for something in him - a reflection, a glimpse of the man he used to be. It was as if Gideon believed that, if he looked long enough, he might find in Reid the younger version of himself - the idealist who still found meaning in the smallest details, who once believed in the unshakable rightness of the work.

That’s when you decided it was time to lighten the mood, if only a little.

Without a word, you began rummaging through your bag, searching for the small box you always carried for nights like these.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Finally, your fingers closed around it - a box of espresso-filled chocolate truffles.

You pulled it out and placed it on the table between them, the soft rustle of the box breaking the silence. Both Gideon and Reid looked up from the chessboard, their attention caught by the unexpected offering.

“Thought we could use a pick-me-up,” you said, giving them a small smile. "Chocolate, sugar, caffeine, all the essentials.”

Reid’s eyes lit up immediately, his love for sweets rivaling his encyclopedic knowledge. Without hesitation, he reached for one, already unwrapping it before you even finished speaking.

“Just be careful,” you cautioned, watching him with amusement. “Make sure to eat it all in one bite, the center is-”

Too late.

Reid bit into the truffle with enthusiasm, only for a stream of espresso to spill out, running down his chin and splattering onto his shirt. His eyes went wide with surprise, his fingers frozen mid-bite as the liquid dripped onto him.

You stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow as you glanced over at Gideon, who had paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-liquid,” you finished, a little too late, but the playful tone wasn’t lost on either of them.

Reid blinked down at the mess, flustered. “I… should’ve listened,” he muttered, grabbing a napkin as you chuckled softly.

For the first time in days, Gideon let out a genuine laugh—the sound warm and rich, cutting through the tension that had gripped the office for weeks.

It was contagious, and soon you found yourself laughing too, shaking your head at Reid, who was frantically dabbing at his shirt with a napkin. “Well,” you teased, trying to suppress your grin, “at least now you get a second truffle, Reid.”

Reid shot you an exasperated look but reached for another anyway, this time more cautiously. He ate it in one swift motion, nodding with appreciation at the taste.

As the laughter faded, Gideon leaned back in his chair, still smiling softly. “I have to say, it’s nice being included in you and Hotch’s little long-lived tradition,” he remarked, his tone light but carrying an edge of nostalgia.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “It’s not a tradition, Gideon. Just an act of kindness.”

His smile grew, though weariness hung at the edges. “Sure, but you and Hotch have always had your... gestures. I’ve seen it over the years.”

Feigning offense, you shot him a playful glare. “Are you accusing me of being too nice?”

Gideon chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. But there’s always been something different between you two. Even in the quiet moments, you’ve had each other’s backs in ways that most people couldn’t even see. It’s unusual, how quickly he let his guard down with you.”

You deflected with a smirk. “Well, I was the only one slipping him chocolate across the desk. If you or Rossi had tried, maybe you’d have broken through that wall too.”

He didn’t laugh this time, his voice lowering slightly. “It’s not just about the chocolate...”

You knew exactly what Gideon meant, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you, but thankfully, before you could respond, Reid - oblivious to the underlying tension - cut through the moment. “Gideon, your move,” he said, eyes still fixed on the chessboard.

And just like that, you saw it - the way Gideon’s focus shifted, retreating inward.

His face darkened, leaving behind a man questioning everything: the cases, his instincts, his very place in the team.

Your heart clenched.

This was the man who had taught you to trust your gut, to peel back the layers of darkness in others to find the truth, that had brought you right where you belonged. He’d been your mentor, the one who shaped you into the profiler you had become. And now, watching him crumble, piece by piece, felt like losing something vital, a part of yourself that had always drawn strength from him.

And so, you stayed.

You overstayed your office hours, finishing your paperwork in Gideon’s office instead of Hotch’s. It wasn’t a solution, but it was something.

And Reid, with his boundless loyalty stayed too, playing chess with Gideon night after night, keeping him tethered to the world for just a little longer.

But as the days passed, you saw it, every time you caught him staring off into the distance, you knew he was drifting further into the abyss.

In those two weeks, you did everything you could to hold him together.

You brought more truffles, more late-night conversations, more quiet companionship. But you knew, no matter how much you tried to anchor him, he was already gone - retreating into the darkness of his own making.

But you stayed anyway, because that’s what you and Hotch had always done for each other. And even though Hotch wasn’t there, you carried on the tradition.

Because that’s what partners do.

---

As the weight of the last night as Unit Chief night pressed on, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You already knew who it was before you glanced at the screen.

Peter.

You sighed softly, your thumb lingering over the screen for a moment.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you said, quietly excusing yourself as you stood from Gideon’s desk. Reid and Gideon were still staring intently at the chessboard, though Reid’s eyes flickered up to meet yours when you moved toward the door.

He gave you a questioning glance, and without saying a word, you lifted the chain around your neck, revealing the engagement ring you always kept there. You gave it a playful swing, making a mock-embarrassed face, knowing full well they understood why Peter was calling so late.

“Trouble at home?” Gideon teased, his voice soft but filled with implication. He knew the tension between you and Peter had been simmering lately.

You forced a smile. "Just the usual check-in,” you said, stepping out into the hall, feeling the weight of their eyes on your back.

As soon as you closed the door behind you, you answered the call. "Pete, I know what you're going to say," you began, leaning against the wall, trying to keep your tone measured, but your exhaustion was seeping through.

"And you know why I’m calling," Peter’s voice was tense, irritated. "You’ve been in the office for days now. When are you coming home?”

"I’m still here because of Gideon,” you said, your voice dropping as you glanced back toward the door. “I’ve told you this before. He's not... he's not doing well, Peter. He needs someone keeping an eye on him."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "He’s a grown man, Y/N. Gideon’s been through a lot, but you can’t babysit him. He’s a legend in the field, you really think-"

"I’m not babysitting him," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "I’m making sure he doesn’t fall apart. You don’t know what he’s been like these past few weeks. He’s barely eating, barely sleeping. You worked with him too, you should understand how serious this is."

Peter sighed, the sound heavy and tired. "You know I worked with Gideon for years, but you’re acting like it’s your job to save him. What about us? What about our life?"

You pressed your lips together, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise sharply in your chest. "Pete, I’ve seen this before. I know the signs." The words were quiet but filled with a heaviness that made your throat tighten. "When someone stops caring, stops trying... and then, if they suddenly seem calm, peaceful even, it’s because they’ve already made their choice."

There was a heavy silence on the other end, the kind that seemed to stretch into forever, the kind that made you wish he would say anything - anything but what you knew was coming. Peter’s voice cut through the quiet, blunt, almost cold. "Y/N, you can’t save everyone – especially when they’re not asking for your help in the first place."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, cold and final, the truth of them sharp but unwelcome. Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, even the bullpen across from you seemed too small. How could he say that? Didn’t he understand?

"I can’t just let it happen, Peter," you whispered, your voice breaking, the pain barely held back. "I won’t."

His frustration seeped through the line, thick and undeniable. "You always do this, Y/N. You get too involved. If you couldn’t control it in your own home, then what makes you think you can with Gideon? You can’t keep carrying this guilt with you everywhere you go."

His words were biting, an ultimatum thinly veiled as concern. "You need to come home. It’s past midnight, Y/N. This isn’t even your responsibility anymore. Hotch is back as Unit Chief, so stop clinging to this. You’re supposed to be going back to the Academy, back to teaching. You need to remember where you belong, because this - " he paused, letting the weight of the moment hang between you, "this needs to end. Everything’s supposed to go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" you echoed, the bitterness of the words catching in your throat.

As if the past few weeks could be erased.

As if Gideon spiraling wasn’t your concern anymore.

As if you hadn’t been holding everything together, here and at home.

But most of all, as if the cracks in your own life could just be mended overnight.

You sighed, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, making your shoulders sag. "Alright, Pete. Just... give me some time. Let me say goodbye, and I’ll come home. I promise."

There was a brief pause on the other end, a moment where you almost expected him to soften, to understand. But when Peter spoke again, his voice was colder, sharper. "Fine. But don’t take too long. And remember, I love you, okay? I’m doing this for you. You should be grateful I put up with this, most men wouldn’t."

The words stung, but you were too tired to react, too worn down to really let them sink in. "I am… sorry... I love you, too."

"Good," he replied, and there was an edge of something dark there, something you couldn’t quite touch in the moment. "And when you come home, don’t say you’re tired. You’ll find a better way to apologize, won’t you?"

Before you could respond, the line went dead, leaving you standing in the dim light of Gideon’s office. The ache of everything unsaid, everything unresolved, tightened in your chest, but you pushed it down. You had to. There was no space for that kind of pain right now.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and walked back toward Gideon’s office. When you pushed the door open, you found them right where you’d left them, both hunched over the chessboard, though they looked up almost in unison when you stepped in. There was an unspoken awareness in the room, like they could sense the shift in your mood before you’d even said a word.

Reid offered a small, tentative smile before glancing back at the chessboard, his brow furrowing as though trying to solve a puzzle. Gideon, on the other hand, didn’t speak right away. His fingers were idly tapping the edge of the board. It wasn’t until you approached the desk that he finally broke the silence.

“Everything sorted?” he asked, his voice soft, though he didn’t look up, as if giving you space to decide how much you wanted to share.

“More or less,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. You lingered near the desk for a moment before continuing, your voice a little quieter now. “Just... wanted to say goodbye before I head out.”

That made him pause.

Gideon’s head lifted, his sharp, discerning eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours. It was as if he could see right through you, past the walls you were so desperately trying to keep up. His gaze softened, but it was Reid’s reaction that caught you off guard, that really hit you.

Reid’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, as though the reality of your departure had only just dawned on him. “You’re... leaving?” His voice was soft, almost childlike in its sadness, like he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was the rawness in his tone that caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the way his question lingered in the air, fragile and aching, or the fact that you hadn’t truly accepted it yourself until that very moment.

You nodded, forcing a light smile despite the tightness in your chest. “Yeah, but don’t worry. Hotch will be here in seconds. Knowing him, he’s probably already waiting for me in the elevator, like we’re two Swiss guards changing shifts.” You tried to make it sound casual, but even the humor felt bittersweet. “You won’t be alone here for long.”

Gideon’s chuckle lingered in the air. “Oh, don’t I know it. You two,” he began, his tone tinged with something deeper now, “like some inevitable force of nature. You’re out here burning the midnight oil, and Hotch... he’s already pulling the sun back up. It’s funny, really. Like the two of you are stuck in some cosmic dance. Push, pull. Night and day.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though his words stirred something heavier inside you. “Hey,” you teased lightly, trying to brush off the weight of it, “we balanced each other out.”

“Balanced? You two were an overworking disaster,” Gideon said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, his tone light but his eyes reflective. “The only relief was seeing you separately this time around.”

He paused, his expression softening, becoming more contemplative. “It reminds me of something from one of Heraclitus’ fragments: ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same.’ That’s what you and Hotch are, not just balance, but two sides of the same journey. You push him deep into the night, and he pulls you back into the day. It’s not just about working together - it’s about how you exist together. Two halves of one whole.”

He glanced at you with a knowing smile. “That kind of partnership... it’s rare. Don’t ever take it for granted.”

And then his mind drifted to more than ten years prior, back when he stood before his class on that first day, the low hum of shuffling papers and whispers settling into silence as he prepared to speak suddenly all came back to him – now.

In his first class there was a routine he had mastered - a careful choreography of words and images designed to unsettle the students, make them question the very foundations of their understanding. These future profilers, most of them ex-cops, were here to learn to see beyond the obvious.

And what better way to start than with a puzzle they wouldn’t expect?

He clicked the projector, and Heraclitus appeared on the screen - his shadowed face staring out from antiquity. The image was his favorite weapon, a portrait of philosophy’s "dark" and "obscure" mind, someone no one in this room was likely to recognize.

It was an intimidation tactic, plain and simple.

The baffled faces around the room were predictable, a symphony of confusion and unease. Gideon could feel the atmosphere shift as students glanced nervously at one another, trying to decipher what that unknown face had to do with the world of behavioral analysis.

But then, in the front row, there was something Gideon hadn’t expected.

A single discordant note in his well-rehearsed composition: a smile.

It came from you.

Gideon’s focus narrowed, his routine thrown ever so slightly off course.

Who was this young student, barely old enough to be in the Academy, wearing an expression of recognition?

Not confusion, not fear, but understanding.

It was unsettling, rare - intriguing. He couldn’t help himself. His curiosity got the better of him, and he went off script.

“What’s so funny about that picture?” Gideon asked, his voice sharper than intended, but charged with genuine interest.

All eyes turned to you, the youngest in the room. For a moment, the room held its breath, waiting for the usual nervous fumbling.

But you didn’t falter.

Instead, you met Gideon’s gaze, confident and steady.

“That’s Heraclitus,” you said, your voice clear, unmistakably sure of itself.

The simple statement landed like a lightning strike in the room. Gideon raised an eyebrow, impressed but still testing. “And what exactly do you find so amusing about Heraclitus?”

Leaning forward slightly, your excitement bubbled beneath your measured tone. “Heraclitus, the ‘Obscure,’ the philosopher of contradictions and paradox. No one expects philosophy in a behavioral analysis class, but he fits perfectly”

Gideon’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though he masked it quickly. "Go on," he said, his tone a challenge.

You straightened in your seat, your eyes meeting his."Heraclitus also talked about the unity of opposites, how things that seem in conflict are actually interdependent. ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same,’ he said. It’s like the way we study both victims and unsubs in this field. They seem like opposites, but understanding one helps us understand the other. Just as pain and joy, light and dark, can’t exist without each other, neither can the criminal and the victim in our analysis. They’re part of the same story, the same journey."

Gideon felt a rare flicker of pride - not for himself, but for the potential sitting in front of him. You weren’t just reciting textbook philosophy; you were applying it, weaving it into the very fabric of the discipline you were there to learn.

And you weren’t done yet. Of course, you couldn’t resist - you had to link it to one of your all-time favorite philosophers. You leaned forward, a glint of excitement in your eyes.

"Even Hegel was profoundly influenced by Heraclitus. He said that there wasn’t a single proposition of Heraclitus that he hadn’t adopted in his own logic. Heraclitus' idea of 'becoming,' the flux between being and non-being, deeply influenced Hegel’s dialectic. It’s similar to what we see in criminal behavior - the constant push and pull between identity, choices, and circumstances. It’s never just one thing, it’s always in motion, always evolving."

That was the first time Gideon’s never-failing intimidation tactic had faltered, the only other time it would happen again would be years later, with Spencer Reid.

Heraclitus had marked your first interaction, a bridge between minds.

And now, as he watched you walk toward the elevator for what would unknowingly be your final moment together, Gideon couldn’t help but reflect on the strange symmetry of it all.

Heraclitus - the philosopher of change, of things never staying the same - had also marked your last exchange.

It felt fitting, like the end of a cycle, the completion of a journey.

In that instant, as you turned your back, unaware of the farewell lingering in the air, Gideon felt something unexpected - peace.

A peace that had eluded him for so long, now settled quietly in his chest.

He had done it.

He had left something behind, something more enduring than cases closed or criminals caught.

You.

Spencer.

His legacy.

Not just students, not just colleagues, but two minds shaped by the very philosophy that had shaped him: always seeking, always questioning, always flowing with the deeper currents of human behavior.

Suddenly he was no longer burdened by the weight of leaving. He could let go now, because he would never be truly gone – because his presence, his wisdom, lived on in both of you.

In your intellect, your understanding, in the way you would carry on the work with your own brilliance and compassion. You were the continuation of the journey, just as Heraclitus had once said: the way up and the way down are one and the same.

He had done his part.

Peaceful.

Grateful.

And finally free.

Today was the day.

The day Aaron had both longed for and dreaded in equal measure.

Every action since the moment he opened his eyes had been deliberate, as if each small motion was preparing him for the weight of the hours ahead. His body was already drained, conserving what little energy remained for the mental battle he knew was coming. It was like walking in slow motion, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Haley moved quietly around the table, as if she could feel the tension radiating from him without a word spoken. She handed him a fresh cup of coffee on the table, its dark aroma rising between them like a silent acknowledgement of what loomed.

Aaron ephemerally glanced up, offering her a smile - small, tired, and fleeting, the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. She didn’t need to ask; she already knew. The weight of the day sat between them, unspoken.

“Thanks, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and strained.

“Yep,” Haley replied simply, though her eyes lingered on him longer than usual, filled with quiet concern. She stepped behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders, applying a gentle pressure. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Aaron nodded, though it felt more like a reflex than an honest answer. His shoulders stiffened under her touch, his mind far away. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Across the table, Jack was giggling as he tried to scoop cereal into his mouth, his little hands fumbling with the spoon. Kuna, the pine marten plushie, sat propped beside him as if it, too, was waiting for breakfast. Jack giggled again, offering the toy a bite of cereal as Aaron watched, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with love.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Haley said softly from behind him, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of certainty, as if she could sense the turmoil inside him.

Aaron nodded again, staring down into his coffee, his fingers tracing the edge of the cup. “I know,” he replied, though the words tasted hollow. He knew it, but he didn’t feel it. The decision he was about to make—requesting a transfer to Strauss—gnawed at him. He could hear her words ringing in his mind: “If it were solely up to me, you would never get these credentials back.”

It wasn’t just about work, though.

It was about purpose.

These last two weeks had been torture, not because he didn’t love spending time with his family, but because the stillness, the helplessness of suspension, had chipped away at him. Aaron was never the type to sit still.

His entire life had been built around momentum, around action.

These past weeks, he had felt himself slowly unraveling, checking in with you more often than necessary - not to oversee your work as interim Unit Chief, but because he missed it.

He missed the pulse of the job, the sense of purpose that came with it. He loved his family more than anything, but he couldn’t deny the restlessness eating away at him.

"Getting suspended was a blessing in disguise," Haley continued, her hands now gently massaging his tense shoulders. "We deserve a normal life."

Aaron took a slow breath, the words sinking in. He loved Haley, loved Jack, loved the idea of a normal life for them all. But was he even capable of that? Was "normal" ever really going to fit him? He felt the weight of her words more than ever, yet they didn’t soothe him like they should have.

"I love you," Aaron said quietly, turning his head slightly to meet Haley’s eyes, his tone filled with sincerity but also the unspoken conflict that still lingered beneath.

“I love you, too,” she replied, her hands slipping from his shoulders as she gave him a tender smile, though there was something unspoken between them as well. The past two weeks had been hard on both of them, in different ways.

Jack, unaware of the tension, looked up at his dad with a beaming smile. "Sok, Kuna!" he chirped, holding up his sippy cup toward the plushie, as though offering it juice.

Aaron blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a surprised laugh. He couldn’t believe it. His two-year-old son had just said a sentence - albeit a grammatically incorrect one - in Croatian. Aaron laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Aaron’s grin widened, the tension in his chest easing for just a moment. Of course, Jack would learn that word. You’d been playfully insisting on reading The Adventures of the Pine Marten in its original Croatian to Jack ever since you’d gifted him the book, mostly to humble him as usual.

At first, it had been a challenge, but after a few butchered attempts, Aaron had managed to learn a couple of basic words. “Sok,” which meant juice, and "Kuna," the name of the pine marten character, were the ones that stuck.

Aaron leaned forward, grinning at his son. “Kuna wants some juice too, huh, buddy?”

Jack, as if determined to correct his father, beamed and repeated, “Sok.”

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking his head in disbelief. It was one of the few moments lately that lifted the dark cloud hovering over him. "Sok," he repeated with a grin. "Of course, Jack. Juice."

Haley, who had been watching the exchange with an amused but slightly exasperated expression, raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell her that Jack learned to say 'Kuna' before 'Dad'?”

Aaron groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh no, she can never know that. You think she’d ever let me live it down? I’d hear about it for the rest of my life.”

Haley smirked, shaking her head, though there was a subtle edge to her amusement. “Only your son could pick up two words in Croatian by the age of two. Seriously, do you even know how many words a two-year-old should know?”

Aaron didn’t hesitate, slipping into profiler mode as easily as breathing. "Between 100 and 500 words. So the fact that Jack knows even 0.5% of that in Croatian is... pretty impressive," he said, pride swelling in his chest.

Haley rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "Out of all the words, it’s 'Kuna' and 'sok.' You’re really proud of that, huh?"

Her words had a playful tone, but Aaron couldn’t help but notice the underlying frustration. It wasn’t the first time Haley had made comments like that. “That’s my fault, the only words I can actually pronounce are 'Kuna' and 'sok.'”

Haley let out a short laugh, but it had a bitter edge. “Out of all the bedtime stories you could read, you’re reading that Croatian book. Sometimes I wonder... I swear, Jack reminds me so much of you and her. If this keeps up, he’ll be in university by fifteen.”

Aaron laughed, though he could sense the underlying tension. "Hey, those words - 's,' 'k,' and 'n' - they’re great for his pronunciation. He’s got a head start." He ruffled Jack’s hair, feeling a surge of fatherly pride.

Haley gave him a look, half-joking but with an edge. "Are you going to be mad if Jack grows up to be a linguist instead of a lawyer like you?"

Aaron hesitated, his gaze drifting to Jack, who was happily babbling to his stuffed marten, Kuna. The thought tugged at his heart, and his mind inevitably wandered to you, at the profound impact you'd had on him, his life, and, in subtle ways, on his family.

You’d only met Jack twice, but your influence was undeniable.

It was woven into bedtime stories, casual conversations, even the way Jack’s eyes would light up at words in other languages.

Aaron spoke about you way too often, sharing stories of your time together, your intense passion for languages and philosophy - all those hours you spent digging deep into human nature and meaning.

He’d done it even when Jack was too young to understand, planting seeds that somehow, in his son’s little world, had started to bloom. He liked to imagine that some of your passion had seeped into Jack - through stories, through osmosis, through that connection he always felt when talking about you.

“I wouldn’t mind if Jack grew up to be a linguist like her,” Aaron said softly, a warm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagined Jack inheriting that same thirst for knowledge, that wide-eyed wonder at the world.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at him - Jack’s repeating words like “Kuna” and “sok” was innocent, even charming.

It was just a toddler picking up on the rhythm of language, right?!

But what if one day Jack started rattling off philosophical musings - your philosophical musings?

Aaron wasn’t sure he could handle that.

The thought of raising a mini-version of you was both amusing and daunting.

He adored you, truly, but he also knew how relentless you could be when it came to deep conversations. Would Jack grow up with that same fierce, intellectual curiosity? Aaron wasn’t surely ready for that, especially not from a toddler.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, trying to imagine the future. “You know what I’d really be worried about?” he asked, his grin returning despite the weight still lingering in his chest. “If he starts talking about philosophy like her.” He smirked, a playful glint in his eyes as he glanced at Haley, trying to lighten the moment. "Can you imagine? My worst nightmare would be hearing my son say the name Plato."

Haley raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a knowing smile. "Oh, please. You love it when she starts talking about philosophy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t secretly be proud."

Aaron’s smile softened at that, his heart swelling with the truth of her words.

Of course, he would be proud.

Just like he was proud of everything Jack did - whether he followed in his footsteps or carved his own path.

But imagining his little boy spouting off Plato or Hegel at the dinner table, at two years old? That was another story.

Before Aaron could respond, Jack, as if sensing his father’s thoughts, piped up from his high chair with a grin. “Plat!”

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock, his heart skipping a beat.

There was no way.

Jack couldn’t possibly be saying Plato, could he?

"Kuna wants some more cereal on his plate?" Aaron asked quickly, trying to redirect the conversation, his voice a little too cheerful as he pointed to the bowl in front of Jack. "This is called a bowl, not a plate, buddy."

But Jack giggled, delighted by the attention, and in that mischievous, toddler way of his, he declared loudly once again, “Plat!”

Aaron glanced at Haley, who was now biting her lip to keep from laughing, and he realized he wasn’t out of the woods yet. His son’s innocent mimicry was hitting far too close to home. But as if to make matters worse, Jack giggled again, this time saying something that sent another shockwave through Aaron's system.

“Heg!”

Aaron froze, staring at Jack with wide eyes.

There was no way his son was about to say Hegel.

He couldn’t possibly.

Not Hegel.

Not the philosopher you mentioned the most.

Frantically, Aaron scrambled to recover. "Eggs, buddy? You want eggs?" he asked, laughing nervously, already planning his escape route for when Jack inevitably started quoting full passages from the works of ancient philosophers. He could feel his heart racing at the thought.

Jack, still giggling, waved his hands as he played with Kuna, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he was causing his father. Meanwhile, Aaron glanced at Haley, who shook her head, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"You know," she teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes, "if he keeps this up, he’ll be rattling off entire philosophical arguments before he’s five."

Jack’s giggles filled the room, and Aaron let out a shaky laugh, grateful that his son wasn’t quoting philosophers just yet.

But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time.

The day Jack said "Socrates," Aaron would have to get creative - maybe "sausages" could be his go-to deflection.

---

There was only one person yet to be informed about his transfer request from the BAU.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

Even though he knew you were probably heading out to teach your first class of the day at the Academy - something you'd been looking forward to for weeks - he had to do it now.

‘She deserves to know’, Aaron thought, as his thumb hovered over the call button. He took a deep breath and pressed it, listening as the line rang.

"Unit Chief?" your voice answered, light and full of warmth. The sound of your happiness struck him, and he could hear the bustle of students in the background.

You sounded truly happy, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Aaron couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’d taken on so much in his absence, and despite your talent for compartmentalizing the stresses of work and life, he knew it hadn’t been easy for you.

He admired how you could move through the chaos and still find joy, something that felt foreign to him these past few weeks.

"How does it feel being back?" you asked brightly, already celebrating his return as if you were right there in the bullpen with him.

Aaron swallowed hard.

He couldn’t pretend everything was normal.

"I requested a transfer," he said, his voice flat. The words spilled out faster than he’d intended, but he couldn’t hold them in any longer. They were burning a hole in his chest.

The line went silent. One of the few times Aaron ever remembered it feeling uncomfortable between you two.

"Where did she tell you to go?" you asked, your voice quiet but laced with a sharp understanding. You didn’t ask ‘where did you choose?’ or ‘where are you headed?’

You already knew this wasn’t truly his choice, it would never be.

"White-collar crime," Aaron answered, his voice dripping with bitterness despite his best efforts to keep it neutral.

You scoffed, disbelief dripping from your voice. "Seriously, Aaron? Did you put down 'coin collector' in your ‘fun facts about me’ section, and Strauss decided that made you the perfect fraud detective? What was her logic? ‘Oh, he can spot a rare penny, let’s put him on white-collar crime!’" You let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "Honestly, your talent - the Aaron Hotchner, wasting away in the land of paperwork and forgeries. Your skills are being thrown in the trash. Why would she do that?"

"She said it’s because I was a prosecutor," Aaron explained, though he didn’t even believe it himself. The words felt hollow as they left his mouth.

"Then she must really hate you," you said, your tone shifting, half-joking but carrying the weight of truth underneath. You always teased him about his past as a prosecutor, poking fun at him for being a 'suit' - but today, there was no laughter nor banter, just an undercurrent of anger.

There was another beat of silence, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Aaron could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind as you processed what he had told you.

"Peter works in white-collar crime too," you said softly, trying to find common ground, trying to make it make sense. "He was a profiler, just like me. Just like you."

Aaron could hear the strain in your voice.

You were trying to offer some kind of comfort, but he could feel the tension, the unspoken weight of something much deeper between your words. Before he could respond, you continued, and this time your voice carried that unmistakable philosophical edge that always made him stop and listen, no matter the situation.

"But you’re different, Aaron," you began, your voice softening as it delved into deeper waters, the kind you knew Aaron always paid attention to. "What sets you apart isn’t just your skill - it’s your empathy. That’s what makes you irreplaceable. White-collar crime... it’s sterile. To them, criminals are just reduced to numbers, a name on a file, detached from any sense of their human nature. They’re stripped of complexity, of identity. But you..."

You paused, feeling the weight of what you were about to say, "You see criminals for what they truly are: people. Broken, flawed, yes. But human."

Aaron’s grip tightened slightly on the phone, but he remained silent, waiting, knowing you were just getting started.

And he was right.

Talkative, as usual.

"It’s easy to see the humanity in victims," you continued, your voice laced with both tenderness and conviction, "because we’re conditioned to feel for them, to mourn them. But you… you do the impossible. You see the humanity in the people who commit the crimes, the ones we’re taught to loathe, to cast aside. You see the hurt, the trauma, the reasons behind their actions. You see them as more than the sum of their worst mistakes. That, Aaron, is rare. That’s what makes you exceptional."

You paused again, the emotion thick in your throat as you tried to find the right words, knowing you had to make him understand. "We were taught to break people down into patterns, behaviors, motivations. But you don’t just analyze - you connect. You see through the layers of darkness and you recognize that beneath the surface, there’s still something worth understanding. You bring out the human element in a job that demands detachment."

Aaron’s throat tightened. How did you always manage to articulate things in a way that made the abstract suddenly feel so tangible? You were right - he knew it - but hearing it from you made the reality of his decision even heavier.

"You can’t reduce people to their actions," you continued, "not the way they do in white-collar crime. Not the way Strauss wants you to. You see beyond that. You’ve always seen beyond that. And that’s why this transfer isn’t just a waste of your talents - it’s a loss for everyone who relies on you to see them, really see them, when no one else can."

Aaron let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight of everything - the decision, the transfer, the exhaustion - pressing down on him.

"And the hardest part?" you added, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "The hardest part isn’t just leaving the BAU. It’s knowing that you’ll be asked to abandon the very thing that makes you who you are. That’s what white-collar crime will do to you - it’ll strip away your empathy, piece by piece, until all that’s left is someone you don’t recognize."

You were right, as alwa – most of the times.

But that wasn’t why he requested the transfer.

"Does Peter come home at a normal time?" Aaron asked abruptly, knowing you would catch the subtext.

There was a brief pause, a hesitation that he immediately picked up on. You paused for a fraction longer than usual, and that was all Aaron needed to understand that something wasn’t right. "Yes," you said, your voice quieter, more resigned. "He’s home most of the time, if that was your worry. He’s home even more than I am, actually."

Aaron could hear the bitterness beneath your words. "Does that make you happy?" he asked gently

There was another silence, longer this time. Aaron’s stomach tightened. He could feel it, something was wrong. But what?

The truth was, Aaron had no idea what had happened between you and Peter last night. And when you came home? It had turned ugly.

You could still feel his hands on your body rough, demanding. His words about how you owed him an apology, about how you were supposed to show him you were sorry. You’d been exhausted, drained from everything with Gideon, not after the emotional toll of the past few weeks.

But Peter hadn’t cared.

He hadn’t listened.

He’d just acted.

Aaron’s voice on the phone brought you back to the present, but you were struggling to keep your composure. He was asking questions, trying to understand, but how could you tell him what had happened? How could you explain that everything in your life was falling apart?

"Does that make you happy?" Aaron asked again, his voice gentle but pressing.

You hesitated again, knowing that Aaron could read the smallest of pauses.

But how could you answer?

How could you tell him that everything was wrong, that nothing made you happy anymore?

---

He had barely begun to sort through his books and personal items when Garcia had come in, a mixture of sadness and hope in her eyes.

"Is it appropriate to ask whether I could talk you out of it?" she had asked , almost pleading, yet her tone tinged with the sort of desperate optimism that only her could muster.

Hotch couldn’t look at her.

"Heard you got a bigger office," he said, forcing a half-smile as he stacked the tomes on top of each other.

She played along smiling though her attempt at lightness fell flat. "A swanky new map and everything."

Hotch had paused mid-pack, his gaze drifting toward the stack of files on his desk. He saw her hesitate, holding a file in her hands as if she wasn’t sure whether to give it to him.

"It’s the Milwaukee file. JJ wanted me to give it to you."

His heart clenched. The familiar burn of curiosity flared up inside him. "I’m not working it."

Garcia’s face was tight, holding back something she didn’t want to say. "I’m just following orders." She pressed the folder into his hand, her voice quiet. "They found a new body this morning. The others are headed straight to the scene."

That was hours ago, and yet it felt like only moments had passed.

Now, sitting alone in his car, Aaron stared at the case file in the passenger seat. He knew he should leave it behind, let it go. It was the right thing to do - for Haley, for Jack, for the fragile promise of a normal life he’d been trying so hard to grasp.

But the push of the manila folder was almost unbearable, like a gravitational pull that he couldn’t ignore. It called to him, with a magnetism that felt almost sinful, the kind that wormed its way into his thoughts until it was all he could see.

He knew it wasn’t just curiosity - it was the desperate need to still feel like he was part of the team, like he hadn’t been stripped of his identity, relegated to a role he wasn’t ready to embrace. The file promised him a lifeline to who he used to be, to the life he was being forced to leave behind. He craved the rush, the sense of purpose that only the job could bring.

‘I’ll just put it away in my office’ he tried to reassure himself, even as his fingers twitched toward the folder. But the moment he stepped through the front door, the stillness of the house hit him like a wave, pressing down on him.

His home office, once a safe haven where he could lose himself in the work, felt cold and unfamiliar now - tainted by the distance growing between him and Haley.

He couldn’t go there. She’d notice. She’d feel the shift.

So he waited.

His body was coiled, tense, like a spring, listening for the sounds of Haley moving upstairs with Jack. He held his breath to her soft footsteps, waiting for the gentle click of the nursery door. And when it finally came, he slipped onto the living room couch, the file in his hands, feeling the now-familiar forbidden thrill quicken his pulse.

It was a silent kind of betrayal, opening the file right in their living room, yet the push was too strong, the pull too insistent to take any longer. His hands seemed to move of their own volition, sliding open the manila folder so that the scent of fresh ink and paper filled his senses, hitting him like a drug he'd been too long without.

The rush was immediate -a heady cocktail of thrill and terror - and his sight blurred for a moment as he scanned the introductory paragraphs. The words for one fleeting instant began to shimmy before him, fuzzy, out of focus.

So unlike him.

Always present.

Always focused.

But now?

Everything else paled into insignificance in that single fragment of time: the burden of his transfer, the oppressive silence of the house, the chasm widening between him and Haley. In that swift heartbeat, he was just Aaron Hotchner, or better - Hotch - holding a case file in his hands.

It was a fraction of a second he would wish he could reclaim, the sweet ignorance of what was to come, the last breath of ordinary before everything would begin to break apart.

A fraction of a second, that’s all he had.

And then came the clarity.

Dark blue ink.

Gel pen.

0.7mm tip.

It was immediate.

It hadn’t been JJ who asked Garcia to hand him the file,

It had been you.

The blue ink screamed against the page, a jarring contrast to the black-and-white case details.

The familiar shade of deep blue you always used, the pen that seemed to bear the weight of every observation you made, every thought you trusted him to read.

Your handwriting - one constant in his life - appeared now like an intrusion.

You had pulled him back in, a lifeline disguised as an anchor, tethering him to a life he was already struggling to leave so much.

He knew why you’d done it, felt your intentions through the words you’d scrawled on the side of the pages: a subtle reminder of who he was, a steadying hand.

But it stung, a betrayal dressed as support, calling back his instincts, awakening the part of him that craved the hunt. He resented it, hated how you knew what he needed even when he was trying to silence it.

He didn’t want to be pulled back in.

Not by you.

Because he could always manage to silence his own voice, but yours? Yours never.

He couldn’t stand the way your presence in his mind made him doubt, the way it nudged the conscience he was desperately trying to bury.

But in the silence, he had buried something else - he hadn’t heard the faint sounds of Haley’s footsteps, hadn’t sensed her presence beside him until she was already there.

“Is Jack still napping?” The words slipped out instinctively, a reflex to buy a moment - not to divert her from the case file laying on the coffee table she’d surely already noticed, but to protect the one thing he could still preserve.

He could keep Jack from witnessing what was about to unravel.

Haley’s gaze was steely, scrutinizing him with an intensity that seemed to cut through every layer of defense he had.

"I thought this was over," Haley said, stretching her palms as if grounding herself, her voice tight and hard.

"It is," he said firmly, choosing his words in consideration, measuring each with the deliberation of a man who stood too close to a precipice. “I’m just curious.”

Haley let out a sharp breath, her mouth twisting into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a shadow of the warmth he used to see there. They stood locked in a silent standoff, a lifetime of shared memories flickering between them like ghosts. He could feel the argument waiting to break free, simmering in the quiet between them, unspoken words just waiting to pierce the space they once shared.

And then the phone rang.

A shrill, jarring sound slicing through the tension like a blade. It was the household line, buzzing on the table before him. Aaron reached for it, desperate for even a momentary escape from the heaviness that weighed on his chest, but it was a fleeting, fragile illusion of comfort.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Haley’s hand reaching towards the photographs on the table, swiftly flipping them facedown as though the sight of them was something she couldn’t bear.

In that brief, almost tender moment of closeness, he felt nothing but the icy distance between them, a void that had grown too wide to bridge.

“Hello” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Silence answered him back, a silence that stretched far beyond the line. He tried again, "Hello?" he repeated, the word hanging in the air like a plea, but the line remained dead.

Before he could turn back to Haley, before he could face the storm gathering in her eyes, the phone rang again.

Only this time, it wasn’t the house phone.

The sound echoed from across the room - from her purse, sitting neatly on the side table by the door, ringing insistently, demanding attention.

Her personal phone.

The sound echoed from the side table by the entrance, and both of them turned, their movements perfectly synchronized in that single instant - the first time they had moved together, effortlessly in tune, amidst the discord of their unraveling world. A bitter note of perfect harmony, a heartbeat of shared motion, in a symphony that had become painfully out of key.

And with it came the undeniable truth, creeping in like a cold shadow, that the life they had built was no longer whole.

Clarity.

A chill ran through him, Haley’s gaze flicked from the purse back to him, her face clouding, a flicker of panic in her eyes before something else - a defiance, a kind of worn resignation - surfaced. She looked like the criminals he’d seen in interrogation rooms just before they confessed, her body a canvas of the truth she hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

His heart was shouting at him, urging him to stop analyzing her with his profiler’s eyes, the ones that stripped away any illusions. If only he could switch off that part of himself, maybe he could still live in blissful ignorance, cling to the delusion that his worst fear wasn’t unraveling right before him.

But that was the curse of his job - it defined him, for better or worse.

He was trained to see the truth, to read between the lines, and now there was no unseeing it, even though it felt as if she were the one sleeping with a gun underneath their bed.

The pieces continued to assemble themselves in his mind unbidden, swift and unforgiving, and he saw everything.

He remembered his father.

The infidelities everyone had known about.

The shame he had carried in silence, back when Haley was the only one who’d comforted him, promising he’d never be like his father, that they would build something unbreakable, something lasting. She had seen him through those years of shame and anger, through the wounds his father had left behind.

And yet, here she was.

She had hurt him in the very way that had once broken him.

"What did the Section Chief say?" She asked, her voice tense, her hands moving to her hips - a stance he recognized all too well. It was her defense mechanism, a way to regain control of the conversation, to shift the power back to her.

But the phone was still ringing, hanging in the air like an accusation she refused to acknowledge. He fixed her with a hardened gaze, silently willing her to explain. Instead, she ignored it, raising an eyebrow in a silent demand for him to answer her question.

Only when the phone finally stopped ringing did the silence grow heavier between them.

“She suggested I transfer to a white-collar crime task force,” Aaron said, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with the weight of what was slipping away. He turned his gaze away from her, looking anywhere but at the face he had once known so well. The pain in his chest throbbed, a wound that felt like it would never heal.

And he moved there it was again, that echo - blue.

Blue, scattered all over the margins of the case files.

He could almost hear your voice in the back of his mind, unbidden, stirring memories he had tried so hard to bury.

“It’s a beautiful metaphor, Aristophanes tells us that when two halves find each other, there is a recognition, a knowing. It’s not just attraction or desire - it’s a profound sense of homecoming, of finally feeling whole.”

He remembered that day, the pride he felt when you stood up at his wedding, your words carrying a weight that felt like destiny. How he had looked at Haley then, feeling so sure, so hopeful that he had found his missing half, the person who made him whole.

“Aaron and Haley, you are each other’s missing halves. You are each other’s home. And today, you stand before us, not as two separate people, but as a whole, as something that the world tried to keep apart but couldn’t. You’ve found your way back to each other, just like you were always meant to.”

Your words were a promise, one he had clung to during every argument, every moment of doubt. He had kept the pages of your speech hidden in his desk drawer, reading them whenever he needed reassurance that they were meant to be, that they could weather any storm.

But now, that certainty felt like a lie, a broken promise that tasted bitter and hollow.

"Would you have to travel?" Haley asked, and there was no curiosity in her voice, no real concern - just a rote question.

“No,” he replied. “I’d have a nine-to-five life.”

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

The foundation they had built together was already crumbling.

She nodded, the motion mechanical. "Then it’s a no-brainer," she said, but there was no relief in her voice.

No joy.

Just finality.

An ultimatum.

Then she walked away, her bag clutched tightly in her hand, leaving him frozen in place, staring into the emptiness she left behind. The silence swallowed him whole, and all he could hear were the echoes of his own thoughts, the relentless surge of guilt washing over him like a tidal wave - his oldest, most familiar companion. It weighed heavy on his chest, pushing him down until he felt hollow and exposed.

There was only one thing he knew he couldn’t fail at—the one thing that never failed him.

His job.

With a steadying breath, he picked up the phone - the same one that had rung into nothingness only minutes ago - and dialed.

"Hey," Morgan's voice came through the line.

Hotch immediately replied “How’s it going?”

---

Hotch dressed himself with deliberation, his mind continuously repeating a mantra he clung to - the team needs me - as he methodically went through his motions with the practiced efficiency that was his trademark. He tied the knot on his tie carefully, almost ritualistically, and took the gun from the safety box on the nightstand with silent certitude. His mind was already in Milwaukee, with the team, miles away from where he stood.

Haley burst in as if she were a sudden gust of wind that broke his focus. "What the hell are you doing?" Haley's voice was sharp, almost desperate, echoing with anger and fear.

"Keep your voice down," he calmly but firmly returned, his eyes never meeting hers while continuing to fold the clothes from the dresser. He couldn’t afford to lose his composure now.

"Gideon didn’t show in Milwaukee, and the team needs me," he said, his voice calm but unyielding. He didn’t lift his gaze from his task, already knowing Haley could sense it - the unwavering resolve, the wall she couldn’t break through.

There was no point in arguing, he had already chosen, and nothing she said would change the path he was on.

“I don’t believe this.” Haley shook her head, disbelief etched in every line of her face.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even look at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone overly steady, betraying how much he was trying to control the situation. “It won’t affect my transfer if I’m working on an existing case.”

His hands moved mechanically, pulling clothes from the dresser and laying them on the bed, his attention focused on his preparations. The meticulous packing felt like his only control in a situation spiraling away from him.

“You’re not working on this case,” Haley demanded, her words clipped, biting. She was trying to reach him, trying to make him see what he was sacrificing, but he remained unmoved.

“I can’t just switch off my loyalty, Haley.” The words came out like an admission, his gaze finally meeting hers.

Loyalty.

What a word, what an irony.

“They suspended you for two weeks,” she said, her voice rising with urgency. She was trying to make him see what he was throwing away. “Who are you being loyal to?”

“The team needs me,” His voice was firmer now, more resolute.

He could have said more, could have pointed out her own failings with the concept of loyalty, but he didn’t.

There wasn’t time, and in his heart, the job came first.

Always had.

He could never be satisfied.

“Aaron, you’re allowed to be satisfied. You’re allowed to find happiness outside of work. It doesn’t make you any less dedicated. You’re not the man you were back then. You’re better.” Your voice slipped into his mind as he stared blankly into the distance. Just allowing your words to surface was already a victor, —he could never shut you out completely.

But looking back, he realized—no, he was even worse.

“I wish it were that simple. I want to believe you, but I keep feeling like… I’m never satisfied. No matter how much I achieve, no matter how far I go, it never feels like enough.” He admitted, not even aware the confession had escaped his lips..

“Aaron, happiness isn’t a destination,” you had said, your response almost immediate. “It’s not something you can chase down like a criminal or lock away like a case file. It’s messy and imperfect, and sometimes, it’s just allowing yourself to be enough. It’s letting go of the ‘what ifs’ and the regrets. You have a chance to rebuild something with Haley, to find that piece of your life you thought you’d lost. Why not take it?”

I love you – here’s why.

He wished he’d had the courage to say what he felt back then. Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he had.

Instead, all he had left was the silent regret - I loved you, and that was his burden to bear.

Back to this hollow routine, back to a crumbling marriage that left him feeling more empty than fulfilled. If it had been you, he thought, you would have understood without him having to explain. You would have stayed by his side just as he would have stayed by yours, without the pain, without the pretense.

Too late.

“No, they need Gideon,” Haley shot back, the desperation in her voice barely masked. He could hear her fear, her anger, the worry she tried to hide beneath her frustration.

Hotch moved to the bathroom, collecting his essentials, his voice echoing off the tile. “Do you know what this guy’s doing to women in Milwaukee?” His voice was tight, his words clipped - almost a challenge.

He was asking because he knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. Because the truth was ugly, and he couldn’t turn away from it.

"I don’t want to know," she said, her voice breaking with emotion, but he continued, unable to stop himself.

“He’s using his son to lure them, he’s holding them, and then he’s cutting their hearts out.” His tone was clinical, detached - a profiler’s voice.

The urgency, the danger, had overtaken everything else.

The case was all that mattered now.

“Aaron, stop!” she shouted, and he froze, finally turning to face her. The look in her eyes - pain, anger, desperation - was like a slap to the face.

“Don’t make me the monster here,” she pleaded, her voice softening, the anger draining from her as she looked at him with something close to resignation. “I feel sick about these women, but when this case is over, there will be another one. And another one and another one. It is never going to stop.”

He held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle like lead in his stomach. “This is who I am,” he said simply, and the raw truth in those words cut through the tension like a knife.

“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, sadness and frustration mingling together. “This is what you do.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, and tried to explain himself. “I’m trying to do the right thing, here and there,” he began, but his voice cracked, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. “And I would really appreciate a little support.”

Haley’s laugh was short, bitter, a scoff that cut deep. “That’s right, ‘cause you always need to be the hero,” she said, her voice laced with resentment.

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, his own anger flaring, but she didn’t back down.

“No, obviously, a happy life isn’t enough for you,” she said, her words like ice, hitting him with the weight of a truth he didn’t want to face. He looked at her, his eyes burning with unshed tears, knowing he couldn’t argue, knowing she was right in ways he couldn’t admit.

“But you deserve it, Aaron. You deserve to find the kind of happiness that doesn’t come with strings attached, that doesn’t make you feel like you’re constantly running.”

His gaze fell to where your hands touched, his thumb brushing yours. I love you. That’s the only thought his mind managed to form. But he couldn’t say it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been the one keeping me steady, reminding me why I do this. You make it bearable.”

“I’ll always be here,” you said, your voice trembling. “No matter what. Even when it’s hard, even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. I’ll be here.”

I love you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “For everything.”

I love you.

He zipped up his go-bag, the sound unbearably loud in the tense silence that had fallen between them. Haley’s eyes were glassy, the fight leaving her as he turned to go. “Aaron, I need you here,” she said, her voice cracking, a final plea.

He stopped, his back to her, the words hanging heavy in the air. “And I will be here, as soon as this case is over,” he said, his tone detached, determined, before walking out the door, not daring to look back.

As he descended the stairs, her voice rang out behind him, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Yeah, well make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.”

Jack. His whole world.

Then the memory played in his mind like a haunting melody - Jack’s small face lighting up the moment he first began stringing words together.

Each syllable a small miracle, a bridge to understanding, but the very first combination of words he’d uttered had been “Dad. Work.”

But now he brushed it off.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Because the job was all he had left.

Dad. Work.

---

“I told you, I hate politics,” Emily said, her voice steady but resigned as she stood in the kitchen, the weight of her decision heavy in the air.

“Come to Milwaukee,” Hotch pressed, his voice firm, not backing down. He saw it - the hesitation in her eyes, the uncertainty.

It was enough to make him push a little harder. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his tone softening. “If your ready bag isn’t here, packed, I won’t bother you anymore. But if it is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case.”

Emily sighed, the conflict clear on her face. “I already turned in my badge and my gun,” she said, the words feeling empty, as if she didn’t fully believe them herself.

“That’s just hardware,” Hotch countered gently, his eyes not leaving hers, sensing the crack in her resolve.

“Give me five minutes,” Emily said, her voice resigned, the decision made.

He won. He was good at his job.

“Good,” he replied giving a slight nod. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car” His voice was steady, calm, as he turned and left the room, leaving her alone with the weight of the choice she had just made.

The ride to the hangar was excruciating, the car barely moving in the gridlock of DC traffic. Hotch’s gaze was fixed ahead, focused on the road, but as they neared a familiar intersection, his eyes darted - just for a second – on something standing on the right of the road, toward your apartment building.

It was a reflex, a momentary flicker of concern, as if he needed to reassure himself that everything was in its place.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Emily caught the movement, her profiler’s instincts picking up on the subtle shift. She turned her head, recognizing the building immediately.

“Y/N’s one of the best profilers we’ve had,” Emily said, breaking the heavy silence. “In just two weeks, she surpassed everyone’s expectations. She belongs in the BAU” Her voice was steady, confident.

“I know,” Hotch replied, his voice flat. It was all he could say because he did agree. He knew you belonged with them. With him.

“Then why aren’t we going to get her?” Emily pressed, her brow furrowing.

“I’m not Unit Chief,” he said, the tightness in his voice betraying his struggle. “I can’t authorize her return.”

Emily shot him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on. I resigned, you requested a transfer, and yet here we are, headed to Milwaukee together.” She let the words hang in the air, then added, “What’s the real reason, Hotch?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, staring straight ahead. “That is the real reason, Prentiss,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction, and they both knew it. They barely moved in the traffic, only inching forward, and they were trapped together in this car, with nowhere to hide.

“Have you even asked her?” Emily’s tone was sharper now, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily.

“She can’t,” he said, his words clipped, almost desperate.

“She wants to,” Emily said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “Look, she’s living a life that’s not really hers, and we both know why. She wants to be back with the team, Hotch - our life, not some half-life she’s pretending to be okay with.”

His grip loosened on the wheel, but his face remained his usual stoic mask. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, trying to focus on anything but the truth Emily was forcing him to face.

Emily softened, just a bit. “Hotch, I don’t like you for a lot of reasons,” she said with a small smile, “but if there’s one thing I respect about you, it’s that you don’t quit. You’d do anything for the team, even if it costs you everything. You’ve never given up before - don’t start now.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “The Section Chief won’t like this,” he said, but even as he spoke, his hand was already turning the wheel to the right, aiming the car toward your apartment. “How did you know I was looking at her building?” he asked, a trace of amusement flickering across his features.

Emily’s smirk widened. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” she said with a light laugh. “Last Friday, we finished early and Y/N invited me, JJ, and Penelope out for drinks at that bar near her place. I don’t remember much about the apartment building because, well... let’s just say the drinks were strong. But I remember the bar, and it’s just down the street. We all crashed at her place.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “And you made it to work the next morning?”

Emily chuckled. “Nope. She gave us the weekend off. I told you, she’s fantastic. Hell, she even mentioned how she’d love to try out that new theory they’re testing in Europe, the four-day workweek. Called them ‘exemplars of virtue.’ I don’t think I’ve ever loved philosophy more,” she said with a grin. “And just so you know, she was always the first one in and the last one to leave. She’s more obsessed with this job than you are.”

A rare, quiet chuckle escaped Hotch’s lips. “Sounds exactly like her,” he said softly, a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there all drive.

Since he rang your doorbell, Aaron hadn't heard anything but the rhythmic click of heels that was getting closer and closer with every step down the hall, the pulsation of his heart immediately tuning to it and making anticipation grow till everything stopped. He held his breath as you opened the door, cautiously, slowly, revealing the face he’d been waiting to see.

He had first glimpsed your smile - slightly surprised, yet lit from inside by something deeper, a feeling of pride hiding beneath a few loose strands of hair framing your face, the only testament to your long day. Then you moved more fully into the light, no longer half-hidden behind the door, he immediately recognized your own version of uniform – a total black three-piece suit.

The close-fitting vest, the shirt buttoned right up to your neck, but with the cuffs folded up to the elbows that showed those light smudges of blue marker on your forearm - a subtle hint of your time spent writing on the board.

It was a small yet telling difference from the past two weeks, a sign of this old rhythm you'd settled back into. The jacket, hanging neatly on the entryway hook, added to the scene, highlighting that you’d just come home from a lecture. You were still in your heels, you hadn’t even had the chance to slip them off yet.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in a strange yet familiar silence. The way you looked at him - unafraid, warmly, and with a hint of pride - made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t been in weeks.

Accepted for who he was – and what he did.

“Hotch” you finally said, and he almost flinched, caught off-guard by the weight of that name. You hadn’t called him that in years. Between you, it was always something different, something uniquely crafted only for the two of you, of your partnership that felt as if it had been woven by fate.

It had always been ‘Partner’, your go-to,

‘Lawyer’ when you wanted to tease him on something, it probably was his personal favorite,

‘C3-PO’ that one primordial on-hit-wonder, thankfully only used once after your first case,

‘Unit Chief’ came later, after his promotion a title he saw you’d always used with pride,

‘Aaron’ only in those rare moments when it was just you two, away from the intensity of the Bureau.

One of the few people who was allowed to call him by his name, Aaron. Always Aaron.

Yet today, you chose “Hotch,” and it didn’t feel like distancing - calling him by the name anyone else on the job could use. Instead, it was a recognition. It was a nod to who he could finally be again - the strong, steadfast, but also overworked Unit Chief.

With a straight face, you extended your hand in a playful, formal greeting, as if you were strangers meeting for the first time. It was a parody of the professionalism that defined your roles, a subtle reminder of the colder side of your work. But you two always had a knack for weaving warmth into even the smallest gestures - like this one - turning formality into an unexpected moment of connection, catching him off guard.

He sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took your hand, meeting your playful formality with his usual steady, intense gaze. The moment his fingers wrapped around yours, a subtle shift passed between you, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended, his hand lingering in the handshake. There was so much he wanted to tell you - how grateful he was for passing the file to Garcia, for understanding without him having to ask. Yet somehow, the words caught in his throat, and he found himself simply holding on, hoping you could sense everything he couldn’t quite say.

“Of course,” you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his, your smile radiating reassurance as you released his hand, stepping aside to let him in.

Walking down the hallway together, he was struck by a wave of nostalgia, seeing you both in your familiar work attire. So much felt the same, yet somehow everything was different. If he squinted, it was almost like those countless evenings at the BAU, the tailored suits and easy professionalism bringing back memories.

As you walked ahead, he noticed the subtle change in how your suit now hugged your form a bit closer, accentuating your figure. It was as though you'd embraced a different rhythm - lecturing definitely didn't require for you to have a full range of motion chasing unsubs through the mud had.

“I didn’t come just to thank you,” Hotch began, his voice firm, but there was a vulnerability in his gaze as he searched yours for any hint of a response. “I know you’re not satisfied with only two weeks at the BAU.”

You looked back at him, and though you didn’t say a word, something in your expression softened, your eyes reflecting that familiar, unspoken understanding. He could see the weight you carried, and there was no denying that you wanted to be part of the team again. He continued, his tone more intimate now, almost pleading.

“The team needs you, Y/N. And I need my partner back. We had a deal.”

"Promise me that you’ll only leave me if you get tired of me. Otherwise, I’ll always fight to have you back - and you have to let me. Deal?"

Your lips curved into a faint smile as a soft sigh escaped between them. "You and your deals," you whispered, your words laced with a hint of desperation.

He held your gaze, a glimmer of hope surfacing. “I can read you as well as you read me. You pulled me back into the BAU, let me do the same for you. I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t know you wanted it too.”

For a moment, your gaze dropped, a flicker of longing overshadowed by resignation. “There’s nothing I want more than to come back,” you admitted softly, a hint of pain in your voice. “But Peter… he won’t be happy about it.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, already bracing himself. “Let me handle Peter,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “Just let me try.”

But then, before either of you could say another word, Peter entered, his presence breaking the moment like a shattering glass. “Aaron, everything alright? Why are you here?”

Aaron glanced at you with the corner of his eyes, waiting for even a slight nod, some permission to move forward.

No response.

Unusual.

Instead, your gaze was fixed on a blank spot on the wall since Peter had entered, a detail that unsettled him. He noticed the slight tension in your shoulders, the guarded distance in your posture. A realization dawned on him, a sinking feeling deep in his chest. You were avoiding making eye contact with Peter.

Preoccupying.

Only then you turned to look at him, as if sensing his analyzing eyes on you. As you made eye contact, he saw your expression shift subtly, eyebrows lifting just a fraction. Hotch’s trained eyes caught every detail, the slight tremor in your gaze, the way you held yourself like you were guarding something fragile.

Shame – he read.

He looked at you, his stomach twisting. His profiler instincts connected this moment to the hesitation in your voice during that phone call—the pauses you hadn’t been able to hide. He had sensed something wrong then, but now it seemed painfully clear.

Yet he needed to be sure.

It couldn’t have happened, not to you.

With a slight tilt of his head, he asked you silently, ‘What happened?’

He watched as you exhaled softly, the faintest shudder in your breath. Your eyes glistened, fogging over with unshed tears. You hadn’t once looked in Peter’s direction. That small, vulnerable expression shattered something in him.

Avoidance.

Fear.

That was all he needed to know.

A fierce, uncontrollable rage surged through Hotch, flooding him with a fury he rarely allowed himself to feel. His fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms as every fiber of his being strained against the violent urge to rip Peter from the doorway, to make him feel the weight of every unspoken bruise, every flicker of fear he’d seen reflected in your eyes.

But he forced himself to stay rooted. He had to be steady, composed - for you. This wasn’t just about vengeance, it was about being the pillar you needed, holding back the storm that threatened to consume him.

"Y/N is needed for a case in Milwaukee,” Hotch said, his voice low and unyielding, a hard edge replacing any trace of the diplomacy he had planned. His gaze stayed locked on Peter, cold and unwavering, the words landing like an order, not a request.

Peter’s face tightened, but he didn’t back down. “She can’t go,” he replied sharply. “The contract was clear - just two weeks at the BAU. Those two weeks are up, Aaron.”

Hotch's jaw clenched as he turned to you, his eyes scanning for some sign of how Peter's response had impacted you. Your silent, pleading expression said it all: the unspoken hurt, the vulnerability glimmering in your eyes, became a catalyst to rush a wave of protectiveness through him and once again make the promise to be your shield when his anger boiled over.

Peter couldn’t see it - refused to see it - but Hotch did.

And as he held back the fury simmering beneath his composure, one thought pulsed through his mind: ‘Peter should be grateful for every breath I’m letting him take right now’.

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice turning colder, each word cutting and precise. “This is pre-existing case. Any agreement with Strauss doesn’t apply here - I’m simply requesting her consultation. That’s her choice, not yours.” There was no warmth in his tone, Peter wasn’t owed that. Hotch leveled him with that piercing, unyielding gaze - one that could cut straight through, leaving a person regretting they even graced this Earth.

Peter turned to you, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Did you ask him to come here?” Hotch noticed something unsettling in Peter’s gaze, a hardness he hadn’t seen in over a decade of knowing him. There was a volatile edge, almost aggressive.

“I thought I made myself clear last night,” Peter continued, his voice taut with anger. “If you go back to the BAU, we can’t build a life together. You don’t have to drag Aaron in here to defend your selfish choices, making me look like the bad guy.”

Before you could respond, Hotch cut in, his voice ice-cold and unyielding. “Peter, if you were as perceptive as you claim, you wouldn’t need to ask her something that obvious. I came here on my own. She had no part in this.” He paused, his eyes never wavering from Peter’s. “Shut up and let her decide for herself.”

Peter’s face twisted with disbelief, and he snapped, “Really, Aaron?”

Hotch’s hand clenched involuntarily, his patience on edge. But as you noticed and found the strength to intervene, your tone steady yet pleading. “Pete, it’s just one case - I’m asking for that much. It won’t impact our life as much as you think.”

“Won’t impact us?” Peter’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “What will happen when this case over? When come home too exhausted to even look at me? Too tired to even take off your jacket? How can we build a life when you’re always drained?”

You exhaled deeply, shaking your head, “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure we will.” You turned toward the corridor that led to your bedroom, determination etched on your face. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” you declared, glancing pointedly at both Hotch and Peter. “And if I see either of you with even a scratch on your face, I swear I’ll beat you both senseless.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, raising a finger for emphasis, looking at him with a disappointed piercing look on your face. “We are beings graced with reason so let’s engage our intellect instead of our fists. As Aristotle said, ‘Man is by nature a political animal’, which means we should sort out our conflicts through dialogue, not by throwing punches. I would hate to resort to that, so do me a favor and keep it civil, okay?”

Hotch nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, he definitely didn’t expect a scolding from you in your teacher voice. “Understood.”

“Good,” you replied, disappearing down the hallway.

Afraid that Hotch and Peter would end up in the ER, you packed your go-bag in a frenzy, barely taking the time to change from your suit you wore for your lesson into a looser – too many buttons and too little time. You only swiftly traded your heels for your usual leather loafers, and with no time to style your hair properly, you simply tied the front pieces back to keep them out of your face.

As you returned to the living room, you found Hotch and Peter standing on opposite sides of the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You approached Peter first to say goodbye, reassuring him once again. You wore your engagement ring prominently, hoping to remind him of the bond you still shared. But he remained silent, avoiding eye contact as you two exited the apartment.

As soon as the door closed behind you, a long sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at Hotch. “Thanks for having my back,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a soft whisper as you waited for the elevator.

Hotch glanced at you, his expression serious, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes. “Always. Do you want to talk about it?”

You offered a faint smile, appreciating his offer, but shook your head. “Not right now. We have a case to solve.”

His tone remained serious, and you could feel the weight of his words. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be here. Just don’t use the case a shield to avoid what you went through.”

“I won’t,” you promised as the elevator arrived with a soft ding. As the doors slid open, you both stepped inside, and the momentary quiet enveloped you, a mix of anticipation and unspoken emotions swirling around. Hotch pressed the button for the ground floor, the hum of the machinery filling the silence.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Hotch said, breaking the quiet, his voice laced with a gravity that made you turn, eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a brief second, like he was choosing his words carefully, a weight settling between you. “Morgan told me Gideon didn’t show up in Milwaukee, and he’s not answering his phone. Reid... he’s struggling, not handling it well. I’m concerned for him.”

He exhaled, softening slightly. “I know this affects you too, but you’ve always being able to keep focus, to compartmentalize, no matter what’s happening.”

Hotch paused, his eyes brightening up. “Three days into your assignment as Unit Chief, Reid started a philosophy bachelor,” he revealed, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You raised your eyebrows, caught off guard.

Reid hadn’t told you.

“I honestly thought it’d take him at least a week to get actually hooked by your metaphysics,” Hotch chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with bittersweetness.

“He looks up to you, Y/N,” Hotch continued, his voice quiet but certain. “He needs someone he trusts, someone who can get through to him.” His gaze met yours, sincere, and you could see the depth of his worry, for Reid, for the team, for everything this absence had disrupted. “I know I’m asking a lot, especially now… but he’ll listen to you. You’re the one who can really help him through this.”

You held his gaze, feeling the responsibility settle over you. “It’s not too much to ask, Aaron. I know how much it can help to have someone there when it feels like everything is falling apart,” you said, a small, appreciative smile edging onto your face.

He furrowed his brows, keeping a straight face as he pretended to be surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“To you? Not even close,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Then your tone shifted to serious. “But you need to promise me something in return.”

“Anything,” he replied immediately, and then regretted it as you extended your hand, palm up.

Of course.

He sighed, handing you the car keys, his fingers lingering for a second as if hesitant, you grinned, a spark of excitement in your expression. “Bet we’ll get to the hangar in half the time now?”

He crossed his arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “When I said you were a ‘good driver’ nine years ago, I didn’t mean ‘racecar-level.’”

“Please, I’m practically an F1 prodigy,” you shot back, pocketing the keys. “I promise to obey the law. Mostly.”

“They’re called guidelines,” you teased, striding confidently toward the car. “Besides, I remember a certain Unit Chief who used to be my copilot during most of those drives. Didn’t hear any complaints then.”

“Oh, I had complaints,” he replied, trying to maintain his seriousness. “Just don’t take any unnecessary risks,” he warned, though his voice was laced with humor. “I can’t afford to lose my partner on the road, too.”

“Relax, Hotch. I promise I’ll drive like my mom is in the passenger seat,” you replied, smirking as you walked to the car.

“Good,” he replied with a smirk, “because I’m not sitting there - Prentiss is.”

As you slid into the driver’s seat, you greeted Emily with a grin while Hotch climbed into the back, securing himself with an almost exaggerated seriousness.

“How come you’re not driving, Hotch?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow as you revved the engine, giving it an amused look.

“Just keeping the pressure off me,” Hotch replied dryly, crossing his arms. “But I fully expect to hear all the wild driving stories, Teach.”

You glanced back, grinning, eyes on the road. “Actually, you feature in most of mine… Should I start with the one on August 23, 1999, or save the best for last?”

“The best?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in.

“You know, the one that was… memorable in all the wrong ways.” You shot him a knowing smile.

Emily’s interest piqued, and she leaned forward, looking between the two of you. “Okay, I need to know. What happened on August 23, 1999?”

Hotch’s voice was almost comically serious. “Confidential”, he deadpanned.

---

“Look who’s here,” Reid said gleefully, his eyes lighting up as you, Hotch, and Emily stepped into the Milwaukee police station.

Emily settled into the chair next to Reid, flashing him a grin. “Hey, where do we start?” she asked, already scanning the room for files.

You approached, settling in beside JJ and Morgan, giving a small nod as Reid handed you the case file. “Thank you, Doctor,” you said with a smile.

Hotch entered last, carrying the weight of the room’s attention. He placed his bag on the floor and shook Morgan's hand, who seemed to look visibly surprised yet grateful and relieved to see him.

Then he positioned himself between Morgan and you, standing still on his right, and after a beat, immediately swapped places with you, that subtle instinct kicking in - a sense that something just wasn’t quite right until you stood on his left.

It was a nearly imperceptible movement, yet one that anchored you both. That formation had become natural, a silent tradition. Your right side close to his left - a setup that always allowed each of you to feel covered and focused, knowing where the other would be.

A comfort in the subtle code you shared, where neither words nor looks were needed to communicate an understanding that ran deep. Once positioned, you felt that inner switch flip, both of you immediately present, ready for whatever the case had in store.

Emily, glancing over at JJ, grinned. “How fast can you get us up to speed?”

JJ smirked, holding up a file. “How fast can you sit down?”

As Strauss settled into her seat, the tension still thick in the air, you shared a wordless exchange with Hotch. His eyes, steady and unwavering, held a trace of amusement behind his seriousness, as if to say, “Here we go.”

Your raised eyebrow and slight smirk replied, “Always making friends, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head a fraction, a subtle, almost invisible shrug. “Comes with the job.”

Your expression softened, silently saying, “You think she’ll hold her tongue until later?”

He replied with the smallest hint of a smirk, “If we’re lucky.”

You resisted a chuckle, responding with a quick, subtle nod, “Guess we’ll find out.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if to say, “Maybe you could scare her off with some Aristotle”

You slightly raised your eyebrow, “No need to ask me twice, Lawyer”

---

Hotch reached out instinctively as Strauss tripped on the ramp, steadying her with a gentle but firm grip while she clutched the iron fence to regain balance. “Are you all right? You okay?” he asked, his tone professional but soft.

Strauss’s face twisted in horror, eyes filling with tears as she looked at the body. “I-I stepped on her hair,” she stammered, visibly shaken.

Hotch’s voice remained steady, a blend of professionalism and quiet empathy. “If you need a second, take a second.” He watched as Strauss covered her mouth, attempting to pull herself together.

He continued gently, “This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down.” After a beat, he helped her turn back up the ramp.

When his eyes met yours, you gave him a small nod, silently volunteering to handle Strauss ‘I got her, you go ahead with the team’. He acknowledged it with a brief, grateful glance before moving on.

You led Strauss a few feet away from the body, keeping your voice low to ensure no one from the press overheard. “Alright,” you said gently, “we’re going to stand here and pretend we’re discussing the case. Take as much time as you need. Just breathe.”

As she composed herself, you continued smoothly, “The unsub changed the dumping site. He usually used the Third Ward, but it seems the only pattern is choosing areas without much public traffic. See? Look around - do you see any residential buildings nearby?

“No,” she replied. You continued using this technique, asking questions to help her focus and steady herself, calming her down bit by bit.

“Good. Now, one more thing,” you said with a warm, gentle smile. “This might seem unrelated, but you do have children, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking slightly puzzled but following along, starting to piece things together.

“Exactly. Say you’re at the supermarket, buying your kids a packet of chips. When you’re putting items in your shopping bag, you likely place the chips on top, right? They’re fragile - otherwise, you’ll end up with just crumbs. But if you’re in your head or in a rush, you probably don’t store them with the same care as usual.” She nodded, still piecing it together but following along.

You continued, "Apply this logic to the crime scene here. The unsub chose a low-traffic area with no prying eyes, yet he left the body right at the start of the ramp. He could have moved it a few more feet towards the wall, and you wouldn’t have stepped on her hair. But he didn’t. So, what does this tell us?"

“He was rushed,” she replied firmly.

“That’s a good observation,” you reassured her with your teacher voice, adding, “Or it could also mean he’s escalating, becoming less meticulous. Which is even more dangerous.” You nodded, acknowledging her insight.

“Go brief the team, Agent Y/L/N,” she instructed, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, you took at as a win.

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied, nodding before turning back to the team. As you walked over, you noticed Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss approaching a man who was rushing closer, his face etched with desperation.

He stumbled toward the police barricade, calling out her name, “Claire!” His voice cracked, filled with a futile hope that maybe, somehow, the officers were wrong - that it wasn’t her lying there, cold and with her heart brutally carved out.

“Claire!” he screamed, the sound shattering the quiet like a final, haunting echo. No matter how well you compartmentalized, this part - the raw ache of those left behind - always managed to somehow creep under your skin, always reminding you of the relentless grief and helplessness in the aftermath of violence. But that was a good thing. It comes with being human.

As you got closer towards the body you overheard Hotch say, “Morgan says you're worried about Gideon,” his gaze shifting briefly to you as you walked over, stopping just inches away.

You leaned over beside Reid, bracing your hands on your knees. Sitting at his eye level would have definitely been more ideal, but given your limited range of motion, this position would have to do.

You could feel Hotch's questioning gaze on you, clearly unaccustomed to seeing you in such an unusual stance - almost like a quarterback before kickoff, it felt so… out of character? Probably that’s what he thought, as he looked at you as if to ask ‘Quarterback?’

You arched a brow back. ‘Either this or a body in my living room.’

His eyes momentarily drifted to the necklace hanging from your shirt before he shot you a deadpan look that implied, ‘Not mine.’ Then he immediately shifted his gaze back to Reid.

Reid glanced up at Hotch, his face clouded with worry. “I keep calling him, but he doesn’t call back,” he admitted, his voice strained with concern.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he thought of Gideon’s familiar retreat. “He’s probably at his cabin,” he said gently, his eyes distant. “It’s where he goes when he needs to… get away.” He paused, then added with a preoccupied look, “Reid, I need your head in this.”

Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. “I know.” Hotch gave him one last steadying look before heading toward the car.

“I need you to put your heart into this too,” you said, catching Reid’s gaze as you both walked toward the SUV. “The way Gideon would.”

Reid’s voice dropped, his tone laced with sadness. “That’s… not easy.”

"I never said it would be. Why hand you basic multiplication when I know you can tackle differential equations?" you replied with a sly smile. “But if you bring even a part of Gideon’s approach to this case, show up with the same heart, then in a way - he’s here with us,” you continued “By focusing on what’s present, the essence of what Gideon represents lives through you. Husserl’s phenomenology.”

“Edmund Husserl, the mathematician?” Reid asked, a spark of interest lighting up his eyes.

“Philosopher first, mathematician second,” you jokingly corrected him with a soft smile. “I totally recommend diving into his work. You’d find his ideas on consciousness and experience fascinating…and useful.” You paused, the corners of your mouth lifting. “By the way, since we’re on the topic of philosophy - a little bird told me you’ve started to study for your philosophy degree recently”

He tilted his head, brow raised. “A bird?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Judging by his appearance, I'd say it was a great horned owl - a 6’2” stressed, overworked, and somewhat emotionless owl in a suit,” you teased, a grin spreading across your face as Reid’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing the nod to Hotch.

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you about it, Teach. I’m sorry,” Reid admitted, his gaze downcast.

You shook your head, a soft smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not mad, I could never be. But I’ll take it personally if you don’t choose me as your thesis supervisor. And if you graduate with anything less than honors, well… that would just be unacceptable.” A playful glint sparkled in your eyes. “After all, if you choose me, you’re guaranteed honors.”

Reid raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “I thought only co-supervisors could be from outside the university.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “I have a friend who used to be a prosecutor who’s exceptionally skilled at bending the law, so you might want to start considering your options.” You grinned, the reference to Hotch hanging in the air like an inside joke. Reid chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

The two of you were standing on either side of the SUV; you by the driver’s door and Reid by the passenger side.

With a swift flick, you tossed the car keys over the top of the car. Reid managed to catch them mid-air, almost fumbling. “You drive,” you said firmly, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.

The gesture wasn’t just about who got the wheel, it was a subtle way to keep Reid grounded, away from his spiraling thoughts. As he took the keys, his expression softened, and he seemed to relax just a bit.

For the few minutes it would take to drive from the crime scene to the station, his focus would be on the road rather than his thoughts. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy him some peace, if only for a short while.

---

“David Smith, the name of the child,” you said firmly into the phone as you hurried out of the school, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you’ve already taken out the car keys of the SUV. Reid and JJ followed closely behind, their expressions matching your urgency. “He left school early with the nurse on duty. They’re headed back to his house. She might be the next target. I sent you the address the school provided.”

“Alright, see you at his house,” Hotch instructed, his tone steady and authoritative. “Slow down a few houses before the unsub’s. I’m seeing it’s a low-density residential area, you could be noticed.”

“Copy that, we’ll wait for you there,” you replied, glancing back at Reid and JJ, who were already strategizing their approach as you made your way to the car.

Every second counted.

---

“How's she doing?” Strauss asked, her eyes on Prentiss, who was being tended to by the paramedic, her face bruised but calm.

"She’ll be okay," Hotch replied, his tone steady, though his jaw clenched slightly.

Strauss continued, “You know, I can’t officially approve of how this all went down.” Her words held a warning, her gaze fixed on him.

“The arrest was clean. Breaking up this team would be a mistake.” His voice was controlled, but a flicker of frustration lingered beneath. Bureau politics, always standing between him and the work that mattered most.

Strauss’s expression shifted. “None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?” He turned away, needing to separate from her cold rationalizations.

But her words echoed, a slow, unwelcome realization: this life, the BAU, his team - it was slipping from his grip.

At home, he’d face Haley, their marriage hanging by a thread he couldn’t pull taut. He’d have to muster the words, once again, to explain why he needed this, why the BAU was the only stability he had left. He wasn’t just fighting to keep the job, he was fighting to keep himself together.

The job would always be his calling, but a gnawing ache tightened in his chest as he watched his team—specifically you, sharing a laugh with Prentiss. Emily was teasing you about the FBI bulletproof vest you were wearing over your outfit.

“Teach, let me say it: with that vest, you kind of look like a pimp,” Emily grinned, the paramedic finishing up her forehead treatment.

“A pimp?!” you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re saying this only because you’re dying to try it!” You began to unbutton your vest before even finishing your sentence, playfully handing it over to Emily.

You turned your back as she slid it on, raising her eyebrows and asking for your opinion. “Now you look like a magician at a child’s birthday party” you quipped keeping a straight face, and laughter erupted between you two. Hotch nearly chuckled himself, grateful to see you fitting in so seamlessly.

Working with you again after all these years, witnessing your deepening bond with each team member, was a reminder of what he had missed in his life. The connections, the laughter, always having each other’s back - it all felt like coming home.

What had once felt like a distant vision, a hope he could barely allow himself, was now real: you, him, and the team, together. Hotch couldn’t help but let that settle in, a weight of happiness and something like relief.

He couldn’t imagine giving this up not after the seven years it took to get you back to him. Even if he couldn’t sit across from you at your old desks, at least you could always stand by his side.

On his left.

And him on your right.

“I’m seeing you tomorrow, right?” you asked, catching him off guard with your nearness. He hadn’t realized you’d moved closer, the warmth of your presence both grounding and distracting.

He hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

You gave him a familiar, disappointed look. “You haven’t called Haley yet, have you?”

Hotch’s expression shifted to something darker, more serious. “I’d rather have this conversation face-to-face.” Then, after a beat, he asked, “Has Peter answered?”

Your half-smile was wry, maybe a little weary. “Which one of my 23 calls?” You always softened things with humor, but he could hear the edge in your voice.

“Any,” he said, irritation simmering as he thought of Peter’s silence.

Your ironic grin said it all. “None.” Hotch scoffed, shaking his head, and you gently deflected. “A part of me kept thinking coming back wouldn’t be the same as it was, that working with you would turn into working for you. That’s scary.” You met his gaze, sincerity shining through. “But actually watching you step into your role, I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today.”

He sighed, your words striking a deeper chord. “I really needed to hear that, thank you.” he replied quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. “And… you know, for me, you’ll always be my partner. I hope you still think of me as yours.”

You met his gaze, steady and warm. “I do,” you answered softly, a reassurance in your eyes. “But I still expect all my partner privileges, though.”

A grin played on his face. “Your transfer will be the first paper I file.”

“Caught you!” You raised an eyebrow, catching him in his words. “Filing implies you’re still part of the team, which means you’re morally obliged to show up tomorrow, Unit Chief.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Morally binding? That’s circumstantial at best,” he replied. “You’ll need a statute or at least a binding contract if you’re going to get me to commit. Moral obligations don’t hold up in court.”

You laughed, but he could feel the seriousness in your tone “Call your wife, Lawyer.”

And that’s when he convinced himself.

He was determined to fight for this life, for you and this team - even if it meant returning home to another confrontation. But fighting alone wasn’t possible, it takes two to spark a conflict, and one person couldn’t sustain it.

You can’t fight if you’re the only one left standing in your own home.

It takes two people to start a conflict. One wasn’t enough.

“Haley?” The word felt like a scream in the stillness of his house, yet it came out as a whisper, more an expression to himself than a call for her. The only answer was an echo, his question bouncing back at him.

He had always argued against responding to a question with another question. But there it was - the truth, indifferent to his profiler rules, obeying only its own logic.

In that moment, everything went blank, his mind shut down. For several moments, he struggled to formulate something – anything - but nothing came to him. Then, only one thought broke through the fog, taking center stage in his mind, grounding him.

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

every idea – thesis,

inevitably faces opposition - antithesis,

leading to a resolution – synthesis.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He ascended the stairs, each step echoing the weight of his thoughts.

Thesis: his resolve, the first step upward, filled with hope this was just happening in his head.

Antithesis: the second step, shadowed by doubt and the painful memory of the love he had just lost.

Synthesis: the third step, an ephemeral blending of grief and determination, a bittersweet acknowledgment of what was and what could never be again.

And then again-

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

The synthesis then becomes the new thesis,

sparking further conflicts and resolutions in a continuous cycle of development.

Hegel believed that conflict is essential for progress.‘

-Hegel for Dummies.

Another step-

Thesis: “This is who I am”, “No, this is what you do.”

Antithesis: “I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today”

Synthesis: …

But what happens when he is left alone, unable to reach synthesis?

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

When there is no synthesis, conflict can lead to chaos.

Without a resolution, opposing ideas may continue to clash

without progress,

resulting in frustration,

confusion,

or a breakdown of understanding.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He should have called Haley at least once.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing here, paralyzed in the doorway of the empty bedroom, a haunting silence enveloping him like a shroud. The air was thick with the remnants of a life that felt painfully out of reach.

She had left, taking Jack with her, and with them went the laughter that once filled these walls.

Thesis: He was a terrible father and husband, forever tethered to his job, sacrificing family for duty. He deserved every consequence of his choices - Jack’s first combination of words echoing “Dad—work,” a reminder of his absence, Haley’s betrayal, and the stark realization that his family had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Antithesis: Yet, his work was the only thing that made him feel whole, a place where he could be competent, useful, the only identity he knew how to embrace. It was where he found purpose, and, for a fleeting moment, a sense of self-worth.

Synthesis: Three buzzes from his phone that pulled him back to reality, and he immediately glanced at the screen, his heart racing.

Philosopher:

I noticed Emily was feeling down, so I convinced her to join me at the bar.

I told her that the big scar on her head would make for a great conversation starter. (I was totally right)

Penelope, Derek, Jennifer, and EVEN Spencer - our kind-hearted colleagues - suggested that Emily and I, the re-integrating members, should fund all the drinks in the spirit of “teamwork”.

Please come rescue our wallets, we’re at the bar between 12th Street and K NW. I owe you a pint, maybe even two.

No pressure, though - stay with Haley and Jack if you need to. The situation hasn’t escalated... yet.

He didn’t have to think it twice, you were all he had left.

---

Aaron arrived at the bar not long after your message, quietly slipping into the group, trying to shake off the hollow feeling that had been creeping over him.

His eyes found you almost immediately, as if magnetically pulled to you, laughing with Emily and the team. But just as he began making his way over, he noticed the entire white-collar unit entering, with Peter at the front.

If he thought he’d hit rock bottom before, he realized now that apparently, there was even a basement below even that. What a perfect timing for a little reunion wasn’t it?

Peter, already a few drinks in, caught sight of you and wasted no time making his way over, his expression tainted with something meaner than usual. “Look who’s here,” he sneered, his voice carrying a sarcastic bite. “The BAU swoops in, disrupts lives, and sweeps my fiancée back into its arms. All so you can play hero.”

The laughter and conversation at the table went quiet as the team noticed the shift in tone. You froze, unsure of what to say, giving him a wary look. “Pete, this isn’t the time or place,” you replied, keeping your voice calm and somewhat quiet, despite the tension building around you.

“Oh, right.” Peter rolled his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Gotta keep the BAU's image all pristine.”

Peter leaned in closer, his words loud enough for everyone to hear, his gaze lingering on the team around you. “Funny, though, you have all this dedication for them, but no time for… bedtime. You still want this ‘us’ you’re promising me, or was that just a story?”

Oh, he really wanted to punch Peter in the face.

Although Aaron’s face remained impassive, his eyes sharp, his tone calm but lethal. “You know,” he began, stepping closer, “I’ve looked the other way when you’ve crossed lines before. But if you disrespect her like that again, I’ll have no problem spending a night in jail.”

Peter laughed bitterly, turning to him with a mocking smirk. “What, she needs you to fight her battles now? Hate to break it to you, but I’m the one she said yes to, Hotchner. Maybe it’s time you got over it.”

Everything stopped.

The tension inside him turned hot, searing through his last shred of patience.

Aaron didn’t even hear the sounds around him as he moved. His fist shot forward, a flash of rage, finding Peter's face with a controlled, devastating force.

The satisfying crunch of bone and flesh beneath his knuckles felt like long-awaited justice, a release.

Blood trickled warmly between his fingers, and the bar sank into a stunned silence, every gaze fixed on the unfolding scene. Peter staggered back, eyes wide as he clutched his nose, the steady stream of crimson painting a harsh line down his hand.

Derek and Emily jumped to their feet, rushing to Aaron's side, each grabbing one of his arms, pulling him back before the situation could escalate further. “Hotch, that’s enough!” Derek hissed, his grip firm

Aaron shot Peter a glare that could freeze fire. “If you ever speak about her that way again,” he said, his tone barely a whisper but chilling, “I won’t stop at a bloody nose.”

Peter wiped his face with a hand, a cruel smile forming through the pain. “Tough words from someone who can’t even keep his own family together,” he retorted, his words biting, dripping with contempt.

He was dead.

Not today.

He stiffened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face before he shut it down, his expression hardening.

The insult struck a nerve, and he clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strike again.

Spencer, watching the exchange unfold, shuddered slightly, recognizing the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes. Even Morgan’s hand, steady on Aaron’s shoulder, seemed to tighten as he held him back.

He felt your hand gently rest on his arm, a warmth spreading through him that caught him off guard. The touch sent a subtle shiver down his spine, a soft but undeniable reminder of your presence, grounding him.

“Peter, that’s enough,” you said sharply, your voice steady despite the emotions roiling within you. “Get away. You’re acting like a child.”

Peter laughed bitterly, his eyes flashing with anger as he backed up, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t quite done. “Fine,” he said, wiping his bloody nose.

“I’m done here. Have fun with your so-called family, see you at home, if you still want to.” he sneered, casting one last look around the table before staggering back to his white-collar buddies.

You turned your focus back to him, your hand still resting on his arm. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, exhaling deeply. “I’m fine,” he replied, though his voice held a hint of weariness. “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

You squeezed Aaron’s arm gently, giving him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. But… thank you.”

Aaron met your gaze, his expression serious. “I’d do it again if I had to,” he looked at you, catching the unease that lingered in your eyes as Peter momentarily turned away. “Come on,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that only you could hear. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t argue, simply gave a nod.

Outside, the crisp night air hit you, grounding you just slightly, though your mind still buzzed with everything that had happened, Aaron kept a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you to his car.

Once seated, he let out a sigh, his gaze trained on you. “I don’t want you going back to him tonight,” he said softly, his words holding a quiet urgency. “If he’s already drunk and angry…” He left the sentence hanging, the implication heavy in the silence.

You looked away, taking a deep breath. “Aaron, I can’t just-”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because I didn’t insist,” he interrupted, his tone low, leaving no room for you to argue. “You don’t have to stay for good. Just let me take you back to your place so you can gather some things. Stay with me tonight. Just… please.”

His gaze held yours, an earnest plea in his eyes that made it impossible to refuse.

You gave a small nod, and Aaron’s shoulders visibly relaxed, some of the tension slipping away. The drive back to your apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that held too much weight to break. When you returned to collect your things, you admitted to yourself that Peter’s absence was a relief.

---

As Aaron pulled up to his place, he walked you in, stopping to gesture toward the guest room. “You can take this room for as long as you need,” he said, offering you a comforting smile.

Yet there was something flickering in his expression - an uncertainty, a regret he couldn’t quite mask. You sensed it before he said a word.

“Aaron… is Haley alright with this?” you asked softly, instinctively careful. There was something wrong.

He exhaled, his gaze drifting on a blank space on the wall. “She’s… not here. Hasn’t been, actually.”

That couldn’t be true.

He looked at you, the confession raw and vulnerable, his eyes wet. “She took Jack. When I got back after Milwaukee, the house was… empty.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, unable to keep the gasp from escaping. “Oh, Aaron” you whispered. That’s all you managed to say. No words of wisdom, no philosophical theories, nothing.

It felt like the whole world crashed right upon you.

Why?

Martyrdom only held meaning if death served something greater. That purpose had once been enough to bear it.

Now, stripped of that cause, the reality was laid bare: nothing remained but death itself - cold, hollow, and devoid of purpose.

The emptiness sank in, exposing the unrelenting finality that was no longer a noble sacrifice but a bleak, pointless end.

“It’s my fault. I failed them… just like I’ve failed you.” As he said it, you felt the prickling of tears, unbidden and impossible to hold back.

No sobs, no breaking down, just a quiet release of all the pain you’d kept carefully tucked away.

He reached for you instinctively, his hand brushing your arm with a tenderness that broke the silence. “I never wanted this for you. For us. I’m sorry.”

You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges. “All I ever wanted was to see you happy, Aaron,” you replied, voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought you’d finally found it.”

He sighed, the confession heavy in his voice as he looked down, feeling the regret twist deeper within him. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be good enough to deserve that kind of happiness you talked about.” The words hung in the air, unguarded. Echoing in the empty walls of his house.

He led you to the couch, poured two glasses, and offered you one. The silence felt almost sacred, each of you sorting through fragments of your own heartbreak, yet finding a strange comfort in the other’s presence.

After a long pause, Aaron cleared his throat. “Here’s the deal,” he began softly, his eyes meeting yours with a rare openness. “I’ll give you all the time you need. No pressure. If you want to talk about anything, all you have to do is ask. Otherwise, we’ll pretend none of this ever happened… until you’re ready to figure it out.”

His words struck you deeply, and your voice came out more vulnerable than you intended. “What if… what if it’s too complicated?” you whispered, gripping your glass as if it could ground you.

“Then we’ll untangle it together,” he replied, his tone steady. “For now, stay here with me. We’ll both take the time we need to figure this out.” He hesitated, then added softly, “You don’t have to face him. And I’ll figure out… my own things with Haley.”

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looked at you with such warmth that for a moment, the weight on your chest felt lighter. “You’ll never have to find out - partners privileges” he replied simply.

You nodded, letting a deep, unspoken understanding settle between you. Slowly, you leaned into him, your head finding a place on his shoulder, and he responded instinctively, slipping his arm around you in a way that was both familiar and unexpectedly tender.

The weight of his arm was warm and steady, grounding you in a closeness that felt just on the edge of something you’d both carefully avoided acknowledging.

A gentle silence wrapped around you, though it was charged with the kind of tension that comes from being close to a line neither of you dared cross.

The simplicity of it, just leaning into him, felt almost too good, as if it could shatter with the wrong word or movement.

The moment felt fragile.

Precious.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” you murmured, barely louder than a breath, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the delicate tension might break.

He sighed softly, and you felt his cheek rest against the top of your head, the warmth of his breath brushing your hair. “I know,” he replied, voice low and heavy, almost like a vow he couldn’t put into clearer words. “But whatever happens,” he added after a pause, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shifted, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the top of your head. You let out a chuckle slightly shaking your head, feeling a wave of warmth settle over you, shoulders relaxing further against him.

He pulled back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Too much?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You grinned, glancing up at him. “Not unless you’re hiding a bottle of tequila around here.”

He chuckled, his arm steady around you. “Tequila’s been blacklisted since ’99,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good,” you whispered, and a soft laugh escaped. The air felt lighter, like a shared secret wrapped in laughter. You leaned back against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing align with yours, each second deepening that shared comfort.

He sighed, settling in, voice warm with humor. “Banning tequila was one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”

You arched an eyebrow, pretending to consider his words. “Best choice? So, this ranks above the law degree? The Bureau? Working with me?”

“Easily,” he deadpanned, a hint of his own teasing smile. “Even ranks above knocking on your door to ask you to quit teaching.” He paused, his hand resting easily on your shoulder. “And just so you know, your official transfer paperwork to the BAU is sitting on my desk. Unsigned, waiting for your signature, to make it official.”

“Oh, is that so?” you teased, shifting slightly to look at him. “I’d say this transfer back to the BAU is already morally binding,” you said with a grin, “especially since, technically, I’m living here.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Is that right? And exactly why does that make it morally binding?”

You tilted your head, enjoying the game. “Because, by the rules of ‘teamwork,’ I’d feel too guilty taking up space in your guest room without helping out on cases. Besides, someone has to balance out your caffeine intake and remind you to avoid questionable interrogation tactics.”

He chuckled, tightening his arm around you just a little. “Ah, moral obligation then. And here I thought you might just be getting comfortable with the arrangement.”

You smirked, leaning your head back on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing sync with yours, that rare, unspoken understanding in the air. “It’s your word against mine, Lawyer.”

---

Phi's Corner: Thank you @c-losur3 for the lovely bit that inspired the bar scene, hoping it turned out to be just about right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #symposiumff

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oatmealwrites · 14 days ago

Text

Initiation

nsfw [FRAT JJK AU] CHOSO X F! READER

Hematology Student! Frat Brother! Jealous! Choso x Grad Student! Reader

Synopsis: It's Yuji's pledge initiation and you've been dragged out to the JJK function to celebrate the fact he's a full member now. Of course the main reason you want to go is to see the one man completely off limits: Yuji's brother Choso. With alcohol flowing and music playing, maybe he'll admit the only reason he comes to these parties is the off chance you show up

NSFWWW (porn with plot LMAO, mdni) Roomate Suguru, slutty Satoru, mentions of alcohol, oral [m receiving], oral [f receiving], female anatomy, she/her pronouns, p in v, unprotected, creampie, aftercare, yuji is a cockblock, helpless pining, jealously, established relationship at the end

this is a LONG ass fic but I had wayyy to much fun writing it hehehe [i wanna keep doing fics like this in the future too]

Word count: 12.8 k (LET ME COOK OK)

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Papers scattered, Red Bulls empty, and lofi playing in the background, it’s one of the rare evenings Suguru joins you at the shared kitchen table to study for an exam. Silently, you pass snacks and drinks to each other, only looking up from your content material to stretch the ache building in your back muscles. On any other Thursday night Suguru would leave you, his roommate, alone in the shared apartment for a ‘chapter meeting’ and return late in the night to continue his studies alone in his room while you stayed in the same position hunched over the wood table for hours on end.

A comfortable silence lingers between the two of you, each too focused on your separate exams to make small talk, but enjoying the atmosphere of not studying alone. It’s a routine that occurs several times a week, and one of the rare occasions you’re actually productive. Eventually the lofi playing on the tv in the living room hits an ad roll and you both take it as a moment to break from the material.

“God this exam is going to be the end of me… remind me why I chose oncology as my specialization again?”

“Pretty sure it was just because Satoru persuaded you to stay in the same med field as him-”

He kicks your shin from under the table and laughs with as much emotion as he could muster given the 3rd hour of review you’ve begun. You weren’t in the same field as Suguru, hell not even the same school of study within the university, but that didn’t stop you from spending hours together reviewing material in a shared state of depression.

“Speaking of which- Satoru’s on his way over.”

Suguru scrolls through his phone mindlessly and pushes back from the table to clear some of the empty snack wrappers that littered the kitchen. You lean back in your chair and frown at him, “Huh? I thought your stupid chapter thing was cancelled.”

He takes a moment to step back from the running sink and flicks some water at you with a smirk, “Ok it’s not stupid, it’s called loyalty to a frat.”

“Yea more like cult-”

He splashes you again, laughing at the way you shriek and desperately try to protect your notes from the potential water damage.

“Ok Ok fine, frat. But why is he coming here anyways?”

Suguru dries his hand on the cheap kitchen towel you bought together when you both moved in and slides his phone off the counter to check his messages again; his other hand runs through the long dark hair he’s let hang freely down.

“Hmm, not sure. He said he’d be here in 10 minutes roughly an hour ago… so that means-”

There’s a quick courtesy knock at the door before the sound of the spare key turning the lock clicks and the wood swings open. Satoru saunters in, no backpack with him, and shuts the door before pulling out a chair, throwing his coat somewhere on the floor, and sitting like he is a third unannounced roommate.

“Hey~”

Suguru opens the fridge and slides him a canned soft drink before walking around to sit back in his original spot.

You don’t mind him, but you do mind the fact this small 15 minute study break could very well turn into a 90 minute one if he plans on staying a while.

“Hey, what are you doing here? No exams to cram for?”

He slides off the sunglasses covering his eyes, even though it’s 6pm, and rests his chin in his hand, letting strands of milky white hair swing idly.

“Nah, not into all that stuff-,” Suguru and you exchange a tired look, “I’m actually here to collect my vice president.”

Suguru sighs and leans his head to the side, making no effort to hide the exhaustion on his face, “Seriously, Satoru? What do you need me for? Chapter’s cancelled this week to prep for the pledges’ final initiation.”

“That’s why I need you! Nanami is holding the frat treasury hostage as we speak– without your override we won’t be able to pay the downpayment on the rental house.”

There’s a twitch in your eyebrow at the conversation. Nearly all your friends were involved with Greek Life in some sort of way, but the frat JJK was infamous for their extravagant parties. Most likely the white haired man’s fault for his expensive taste in renting out a house for each function- finding it easier to simply pay the damages and cleaning fees than actually take care of the property.

“I’ll go with you to Haibara’s, but that’s it Satoru.”

You snap back into the conversation between your roommate and his best friend for the last few sentences, “Suguru and I planned on a delivery order while we studied. Do you wanna come back here with your bag afterwards and join us?”

Satoru breaks the pleading look on his face and turns to you with an airy laugh, “I already said exams aren’t really my thing, I don’t really like trying that hard. Besides,” he puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’ll probably be borrowing him for a few hours anyways~”

Suguru shakes his head and stands up to head over to the coat rack and flip through the jackets before sliding on his winter coat. Satoru follows suit and stands up but doesn’t leave the table’s edge; instead he admires your burnt out state. Hair sloppily thrown back, one of Suguru’s undergrad sweatshirts, comfy pants that are nearing 4 years old, and skincare done but no makeup applied.

“You should come.”

“What?”

Satoru makes no move towards his jacket and stays looking at you, “You should come to this party once I get Nanami to approve the budget.”

You stay motionless for a few seconds, already knowing your answer of ‘no’ before the sentence can form on your tongue.

“That’s not her vibe Satoru, you know that,” Suguru wraps a dark scarf around his neck and tosses the puffer jacket towards his friend.

“Still, it would be good to get you out of the house.”

A small ‘V’ is formed by the scrunching of your eyebrows as you watch the man now finally shimmy the coat he threw on the floor back onto his shoulders.

“I do leave the house for your information. I actually go to class and regularly study at the library in addition to meeting with my thesis professor.”

Satoru lifts his hands and rolls his eyes dramatically, “Oh my, what a great social life you got there. At this rate I’m sure the space between your thighs has grown cobwebs.”

“Hey!”

“Satoru-” Suguru warns his friend with a slight shove.

He raises his hands in defense but turns back to you, “ok my bad, rude wording. But still, you need some stress relief,” he snaps his fingers, “or sex relief.”

Suguru smacks him again while Satoru is too busy laughing at his own joke before pulling up the zipper on his jacket. You stand and turn to the fridge, trying to avoid letting the truthfulness of the commnet get under your skin. You’ve gone on dates before, mostly with assholes who never get a second one, but it’s not like you were actively trying to stay single, just no one caught your eye.

Ok that’s a lie.

In all honesty nearly every member of that stupid frat was painfully attractive, but the one you couldn’t help thinking about was the only one totally off limits: your best friend Yuji’s older brother.

God even thinking about him was enough to make you lose focus as you dug around in the fridge for another energy drink. Dark hair pulled back, a scar? No, birthmark? Tattoo? Across this bridge of his nose, and a body you’re sure is sculpted from marble. To top it off he never once made you feel uncomfortable or objectified like half the members of the frat did when they flirted at parties. Nope, he was a total gentleman who always put his brothers first and never asked for anything in return.

Suguru brings his index finger under his chin in a silent thought while Satoru rubs the spot on his arm where he was just punched.

“Come to think of it, when was the last time you brought someone home?”

An apple from the refrigerator flies towards both of them, but Satoru catches it with ease and begins to howl with laughter. Suguru laughs a little, though less mockingly than his friend, “you know I wouldn’t mind having to give you a noise complaint once in a while.”

“BOTH OF YOU-!”

The two men continue their laughter and torment, making your frustration only grow inexplicably bigger as you watch.

“Alright well,” Satoru wipes a tear from his eye and opens the door to slide the spare key back under the welcome mat, “Wish us luck on getting this party approved! See ya later babe~”

Suguru gives him one last push before waving off and shutting the door behind him while you sit alone at the kitchen table now listening to the subtle lofi continuing to play in the background. It’s lonelier but not unfamiliar as you collect your papers and organize them into your backpack, unable to focus in the apartment anymore.

It would be impossible to face Yuji at this moment, too caught up in the terrible thoughts about his brother infesting your brain. Instead you slide out your phone and click on Megumi’s contact before hitting ‘dial’. There’s a dial tone that rings three times before a gruff voice mumbles out a short ‘hello?’.

“Hey it’s me! Wanna go to the campus library?”

*******

A few days go by and most evenings are spent alone in the apartment with Suguru being dragged by Satoru to finalize purchases for the now approved function. Nanami and Haibara gave the green light on the rental house, but it left a majority of the budget unable to cover the steep alcohol costs. Not that any of it would deter Satoru of course: being heir to his family’s extremely successful private hospital left him swiping his metal black credit card without a second glance at the final price, purchasing enough alcohol to stock an entire bar.

This Wednesday night is like many of the others you’ve had this semester so far, sitting in the campus library with Megumi and Toge reviewing projects, editing thesis papers, and cramming content before exams. The three of you work silently, sipping on to-go coffee cups and listening to music playing in your respective headphones. Occasionally a ‘ping’ from Toge texting you memes causes a slight break to giggle at his antics, but they’re short lived and the three of you continue working again.

“Hey guys!” “See? I told you they would be here!”

Yuji and Nobara stroll up, dressed casually and without any backpacks in tow. The three of you at the table exchange a quick glance before sliding chairs over and making room for them to sit.

“You have to come Y/N,” Yuji whines while shaking your arm back and forth in a pleading manner, “You literally never attend the functions.”

Any attempt to continue reviewing your lecture notes is thrown out the window by now as Yuji continues to shake your arm with vigor.

“Yuuuji. Why do you want me to come to this one so badly?”

“It’s my first party as no longer a pledge! I can finally get drunk with no one to drive home and no repercussions. You. Have. To. Come.”

He shakes your shoulders now with each word while Megumi shrugs his shoulders at Nobara who is attempting the same conversation on him.

“You’re on attendance probation for missing too many social events Megumi, you have to attend.”

“I don’t even wanna be in this frat anyways, wouldn’t probation be beneficial to me?”

Toge leans across the table, already deciding he was indeed going to the party and carpooling with Yuta to the function; he gives Megumi a confused look silently before Nobara explains.

“His dad is a legacy member, so he was basically born to be in the frat,” she turns to Megumi, “It’s also highly unlikely you’ll ever be kicked out too- with that idiot Satoru as your big, he’d never let you drop.”

Megumi rolls his eyes and huffs, looking at you in exhaustion and longing to continue studying already. Yuji continues shaking you until you’re able to pry his hand off your shoulders for a moment, a small headache forming from the yelling.

“Ok ok, shush please! I don’t wanna get kicked out.”

He dulls his whines to whimper.

“I’ll go ok? But who else is even going to be there?”

Yuji breaks into a grin and Nobara nudges Megumi to indicate he has to come too, otherwise he’d be the only person not attending.

“It’s the pres and vice pres of course, Nanamin, Haibara, Shoko, Todo, Choso, -”

The list of names grows but you stop listening after Choso’s name is mentioned, the sound of it bringing your heartrate up immediately.

“Choso..?”

“Huh? Oh yea,” Yuji pauses and grins, “He’s always been set on staying sober during my pledge time with me, so now he can finally get shitfaced with us!”

It’s the type of thing you’re not surprised to hear, Choso being so supportive of his brother and even voluntarily having mediocre Friday nights just to keep him company. He’s been to your apartment a handful of times before, studying for medical exams with Suguru and Satoru when they took shared courses in Hematology, his own specialization. He never came over empty-handed, bringing energy drinks and snacks, and even staying after to clean up any mess they had made.

Every time you would come back from the library or leave your room and see him sitting at your kitchen table like he belonged there, like it was the most natural sight to see, it was enough to make you a stumbling idiot. The scent of his cologne would linger in the air hours after he left, and despite being so collected, he would always text you when he inevitably left something behind. It started out as a pencil case, then a scarf, and now even his sweatshirts had all been left accidentally and only returned when he would call you the next day and offer you coffee in exchange for the forgotten items.

It’s bad. So fucked up to even think of him like this. This is Yuji’s half brother and now full frat brother– pull yourself together.

Yuji continues talking but the only thing running through your mind is the image of Choso’s hair when he lets it down in concentration, the image of his biceps flexing as he slings his heavy backpack on his shoulders and waves you goodbye, or the way his thighs strain against the fabric of his jeans-

“Is that plan ok with you?”

You blink and snap back to reality, now noticing everyone staring at you expectedly and waiting for your response. Yuji points to his phone, open to a message from Suguru aimed at you, “Suguru told me to let you know he wants your help setting up the house on Friday since you’re coming.”

“You already told him?”

Yuji blinks, “Yea I told the group chat…”

A sigh escapes your lips and any excuse now to bail at the last second has dissipated. “...alright.”

****

Steam rolls out of the bathroom door and you use the edge of your robe to swipe away the fog of the mirror,feeling fresh after a grueling ‘everything shower.’ Suguru grunts a small, “finally” before ushering you out of the room so he can piss.

Stepping out into the living room and pivoting into your room, music can be heard in the kitchen, likely Satoru’s doing to fill the silence while he works on packaging liquor bottles and decorations into cardboard boxes.

Skincare, haircare, and lotion on, you rummage through your closet for clothes. On your bed sits a variety of party outfits, though all holding very different vibes. Jeans and cropped shirt were a bit too basic given the ‘initiation’ Yuji kept talking about, and the mini dress seemed too formal considering it was technically still a frat party.

You shuffle through a variety of tops until you settle on black opaque tights under a black miniskirt and an off-the-shoulder tight long sleeve top. The outfit is slutty enough for a frat party but cute enough for a first date if you wanted to recycle the look in the future.

Taking your makeup bag off your dresser and stepping into the living room, you notice the sound of running water from the bathroom.

“Hey! I thought you were just gonna take a piss!”

Suguru can’t hear you or the knocks on the door, but Satoru wolfishly laughs from behind you. Cutting your losses, you place the makeup bag on the kitchen table and slide a few boxes over to make room for you to spread out. Without looking at Satoru and using the compact mirror that came with your blush, you begin applying products.

“I didn’t know you cleaned up this good Y/N.”

“That’s because you never actually see me outside of this apartment,” you grumble, now pressing powder to set your foundation.

Satoru shrugs and continues filling boxes with an array of liquor bottles, but lowers the volume on his phone to make the conversation easier, “Well if I had known, I would’ve made some moves on you sooner.”

You roll your eyes at his exaggerated smile and now focus on applying eyeliner without skimming the surface of your cornea. Before Satoru can thickly lay on another pick up line, Suguru steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and snuggly tied just below the ‘V’ line of his pelvis.

You don’t bother looking up, having seen this sight a million times before, and instead you raise your eyebrows dramatically to apply a thin layer of mascara on your bottom lashes. Suguru whistles at your appearance and steps into his room to throw on a t-shirt and jeans while Satoru slides the last few bottles into the final box.

You click your compact shut and zip up your makeup bag, satisfied with your look, and slide your lipgloss into your purse to reapply later. Suguru enters the room and counts the boxes, silently working out in his brain how this would all fit in an Uber with the three of you.

Satoru saunters up next to you and shrugs with a slight wink, “Well if you want those cobwebs cleared out for you I don’t mind helping. Take a quick ride to the party~?”

“That’s my roommate, asshole.”

Suguru nudges him in the rib cage and slides the remaining decorations of strobe lights and speakers into an oversized IKEA bag, waiting for Satoru to help. The white haired man laughs and shrugs with a light ‘worth trying’ mumble before Suguru shoves him again.

You slide on a pair of chunky docs and sling your purse over your shoulder before grabbing Suguru’s phone from the table.

“Hey– Uber’s here.”

The three of you lift as many boxes as your strength allows and make your way down to the apartment lobby to load them into the trunk of the SUV. It takes 2 trips up and down with all three of you carrying boxes until the back is completely filled and the driver looks between you uneasily. Suguru shrugs and sends a few messages to the other brothers while the driver pulls out of the apartment complex and heads towards the rental house; glass bottles clinking with every turn.

You’re squished between Suguru and Satoru, giving a slight nudge to the flirtatious man on your right.

“Hmm? Can’t keep your hands off me already?”

“Ugh, just make sure to tip this guy extra once the ride is over ok?”

Satoru nods and smirks into a shit eating grin, “Of course~ now is there any tip you were hoping to get too-?”

“She’s. My. Roommate. Asshole.”

You laugh lightly and sink into your seat, pulling out your phone and messaging the small group chat with Yuji, Megumi, Toge, Maki, and Nobara that you were going to be setting up the house soon.

******

The rental is huge, fitting the extravagant nature of the man who protested so badly to have it and confirming that Nanami’s hesitation for the budget was completely valid. Boxes filled with alcohol sit on the marble kitchen island while Yuta and Toge work filling coolers with ice and assorted beer bottles and Maki and Nobara stock the freezer with handles of vodka and tequila.

You let out a whistle and do a quick 360 in the room, taking in how the boys have already shoved the sofa and loveseats closer to each other to make room for the pong table Megumi and Yuji were setting up. The house is an open concept with the entire first floor connected except for the staircase leading up to the second floor bedrooms and bathroom.

“Alright, speakers are set up and lights are all working– are the drinks nearly finished?”

“Yep,” Maki shuts the freezer door and turns to Nanami with a thumbs up, “All done!”

Satoru claps his hands and looks around the crowd, “Alright remember– no normies unless we actually know them OR they can name at least 5 brothers. Keep the ratio good, yea?”

The group mumbles a response and breaks up to complete the last few touches, Haibara dims the lights and Suguru sets up his music playlist to the speakers, already queuing a few songs that Shoko recommends him to play. A group of you decide to take a few pre-game shots to loosen up and then split to finish up preparations before anyone arrives.

You walk up to Yuji and help arrange the red solo cups in a pyramid formation on the folding table, “Where’s your brother?”

“Hm? Oh! Choso and Todo are picking up Maki’s sister and a few others. Should be here shortly.”

Yuji is buzzing with energy, excited to get the night started as more pledges begin to trickle in and assist with the final preparations. After a while Haibara officially cuts the overhead lights and turns on the ambient strobes while Suguru increases the volume on the speakers; after another 30 minutes the house is fairly packed with everyone now dancing and drinking. Enough alcohol is coursing through your veins to feel relaxed and warm, but not enough to make you irrational.

You grab a drink from the kitchen and admire the party, giggling with Nobara as Yuji is already borderline shiftfaced and yapping Megumi’s ear off despite the speaker next to them deafening every word.

“Should we stop them?”

“Nah,” Nobara laughs into her drink and points at Todo who’s walking over to the two of them, “I think it’s about to get good.”

“My brother! How can you claim you’re officially a brother when you are unable to win a single game of pong?”

Yuji turns to him confused and Megumi takes this as his opportunity to escape with Nobara following after him and laughing hysterically.

“What does pong have to do with being brothers…?”

“My best friend–” A single tear threatens to fall from Todo’s eye as he grasps a metal chain necklace longingly, “If you can’t increase your skills to win a single game we can’t possibly stay friends. A brother of mine would never be complacent with their mediocre skills!”

Whatever energy Todo emits is enough for Yuji to yell out his passion for improving in beer pong and the two take to the folding table to begin a game. Yuji misses the first few shots, but sinks two in after a few turns and evens the game.

“Geez, they’re really going at it huh?”

The voice is deep and rumbles loud enough through the music to immediately indicate it’s Choso’s. He stands tall next to you, giving you a slight smile and dragging his eyes up and down your outfit before coughing lightly and turning his attention back to the game.

“Oh yea.. Ha! They really are quite passionate.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you stand side by side and watch the game unfold, giggling at their dramatic reactions and downing the liquid in the cups when their adversary sinks one.

“I’d want to go in there and help him but…” Choso scratches the back of his head awkwardly, the dark hair cascading down instead of being pulled back into his usual hairstyle, “It’s a rite of passage I suppose for this frat.”

You have to physically peel your eyes off the man to avoid staring any further, his hair sexily falling around his face, dark piercings in his ears reflecting the strobing lights, and the powerful body standing idly and awkwardly at your side. The conversation isn’t out of place or forced; the nature of it makes you regret not coming to more functions if it meant you could've been this close to him the entire time.

He looks into his cup and takes a big drink before continuing, wincing slightly from the burn of alcohol, “You know I’m actually glad you came– I know you usually don’t go to these sorts of things.”

A blush warms your cheeks and you look at him for a moment before sheepishly laughing, “Ah yea... Usually school takes up so much of my time. I’m surprised you noticed considering how busy frat life and med school can be.”

“-Of course I noticed!”

He looks around awkwardly and shivers slightly at his outburst before attempting to save face, “I mean you’re one of Yuji’s best friends… he always mentions how bummed he is that you aren’t around..”

You blink and swallow thickly, “right…” of course Yuji would be the one actually wondering why you didn’t show up, “I feel bad about letting him down.”

Turning back to the game of pong, you miss the way Choso cringes hard at himself, completely unable to rephrase the sentence into admitting how he was actually the one who would look for you at every party and stand in a corner moping when he realized you didn’t show, waiting until his brother was ready to go home. Instead, he downs the rest of his beverage and turns back to you, “Would you like a drink? I can grab us another and then we can continue the conversation–?”

You turn back to him and look at your own empty cup, it’s a bad idea to continue but you don’t want the conversation to end just yet. Even if Yuji is standing right in front of you both, and can plainly see the way you're hopelessly staring into his brother's eyes, you didn’t want this moment to end.

“Yea, I’d like that.”

Choso smiles lightly at the opportunity and takes the plastic cup from your hands, “Something sweet but not too sugary, right?”

Your insides melt when you nod and he walks off into the kitchen while your eyes stay focused on his ass for just a moment too long to be casual.

“Hey~ enjoying the party pretty?”

An arm is slung around your shoulders and the mix of cologne and tequila sunrise is enough of a scent indicator to know it’s Satoru who’s gripping you so close.

A sigh leaves your lips but you don’t make an effort to move, watching Yuji miss his shot while Todo scrambles to try and pry the ping pong ball from where it rolled under the couch.

“Sure, it’s actually kinda fun.”

“Kinda?”

“I’m not giving your ego anything else besides that,” you shrug his arm off and he feigns a wound from the action before laughing and taking a sip of his own drink.

“Talk to anybody yet hmm? My offer of stress relief still stands if you strike out– I’ll keep the door open for ya if you ask nicely~”

You roll your eyes and arms cross at your chest, you deadpan at him, “Seriously, Satoru?”

He shrugs and raises his hands up in defense, “It’s just a casual offer, for real. Suguru is your roommate and we’re friends– I’m not trying to make things awkward.”

“You already are.”

You and Satoru swing to see Choso carrying two red cups tightly, with his fingers bending the plastic, and approaching with an unamused scowl. Satoru lets out a low whistle and chuckles to himself before leaning into your ear, “Alright you got your relief plan sorted out.. Guess I’ll look elsewhere.”

He stands up and gives a nod to Choso before turning over his shoulder and waving off, yelling Suguru’s name to skip the current song.

Choso watches the man walk off until he disappears into the crowd before he slips a cup into your hand and looks at you concerned, “You alright?”

You take the drink and smile lightly at him, noting the way his shoulders are tense and eyebrows are knit together, “Yea, I’m alright. Thanks.”

He breathes slightly before his eyes shoot open wide and he brings his hands up apologetically, “I hope I didn’t misread that then… if you are interested in Satoru I completely understand,” he looks back at Yuji’s game now speaking quieter, “Don’t let me ruin your plans.”

It takes a few blinks before you sink into the exact meaning he was hinting at and you instantly raise your hands in defense and embarrassment, “NO!”

A few people look in your direction and you pull Choso down closer by the fabric of his band t-shirt, his height towering over you regardless, “I mean.. Trust me, I don’t like Satoru like that. We’re buddies.. Not romantic at all.”

He examines you for a moment and looks back into the crowd nervously where Satoru had walked off, “But physically?”

You lock eyes with him and your lips widen in slight shock before you gently shake your head, “No. Nothing like that.”

He holds your gaze for another moment before smiling gently and standing back up, he takes a sip of his drink, “I’m glad. I was worried I made myself look like an ass there for a minute.”

“You never could.”

He glances back at you with a pink dust on his cheeks, looking into the liquid of his cup once again and releasing a shallow breath of relief. There’s an unspoken tension building between the both of you, though you can’t tell if it’s all in your head or in your pants.

The familiar heartbeat feeling pulsing in your panties and you opt for downing half your drink and watching the stupid exchange of ping pong balls instead. Choso rocks idly and shimmies from side to side to let people continue past him, making no effort to move from the spot by your side despite the lull in the conversation.

He takes another long sip, some alcohol dripping down from the corner of his mouth and trailing down his neck eroticaly; you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, consumed in the way he looks. Choso wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes a deep breath with a pitiful smile on his face when he turns to you.

“You know I couldn’t help but worry. I know you don’t always come to these parties, and I was worried that my one shot to have you alone was already taken by someone else.”

His eyes are focused on only you and his voice is raw with a rare vulnerability, his cheeks dusted pink with embarrassment and heat from the alcohol. Your heart rate picks up exponentially and you stare at him openly, not even caring if Yuji can see the way you look at his brother.

Before you can issue a response, Nobara scuffles past the back of Choso effectively knocking him forward and spilling the remainder of his drink all over your shirt. Nobara offers a short ‘shit’ before getting pulled through the crowd by Maki towards the beer cooler on the patio.

Choso’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen and his eyebrows furrow as if he could cry from frustration and disappointment. His hands twitch as he quickly drops the empty cup and carefully approaches you, worrying this would be the moment you yell at him to leave you alone and never speak to you again.

“I-I’m so sorry… Y/N.. I didn’t..”

The words die in his throat as he watches you look down at your shirt in surprise and slight disgust at the sticky feeling of alcohol coating your chest. You place your drink on a nearby table and pull the fabric from your stomach to examine the damage.

“It’s alright! Really…” you bite the inside flesh of your cheek with your molars and gnaw on it, wondering how to get the stain out.

Choso gently steps closer and reaches out to take your hands gently, “Here– let’s go to the bathroom. Let me help,” he looks at you with pleading eyes, “Please.”

You nod once and he leads the way to the stairs, gently slipping between bodies to clear a path for you to step through and ascend the stairs. Leading you down the hallway, he enters the second door on the left into an empty bathroom and shuts the door promptly behind you.

His hands rush for the faucet while you dig around on the linen shelf to pass him a washcloth; he tests the water’s temperature before raising the cloth to your shirt.

“It’s not too hot right? Not burning at all?”

“No, I’m alright.”

You’re leaning against the counter, feeling the vibration of the bass from the music playing beneath you shake the marble countertop. Choso’s touch is gentle, though his hands shake from nerves and the acute drunken state he’s in; his face is full of self-loathing.

“Choso.”

He’s kneeling down in front of your torso delicately working on the stain and tilts his head up longingly as soon as his name leaves your lips, “Yes?”

Tongue running over your bottom lip for a moment, you place your hand on his to stop his actions and get his full attention, your own mind still reeling.

“Why did you want to get me alone then?”

He blinks and looks back down at the fabric of your shirt gripping the folds slightly, “Oh.. that?” He looks dejectedly at the stain and frowns harder.

With a sigh of defeat he keeps his head down for a moment, “I thought I was being so obvious…

I offered to study at Suguru’s apartment because I thought maybe you’d be home, and always stayed sober with Yuji during his pledge phase just in case you called one night and needed a ride…” he releases your shirt and closes his eyes, “I always wanted to get a moment alone with you to tell you how I felt– but I fucked it all up didn’t I?”

His face is contorted in frustration and self-deprecation; nearly acting in a trance you gently lift your hands to cup his face and pull his attention back to you. He looks back up into your eyes longingly and full of vulnerability, he says nothing as you pull him to his feet and look between his eyes and then his lips.

Not wasting a single second you slide your hands from his cheeks to wrap around the base of his neck and pull his lips in to meet yours. Choso doesn’t waste a single second either, sighing lightly through his nose and bringing his hands to the plush of your waist. His fingers dig imprints into the flesh on the back of your hips while his thumbs press lightly into the bones of your pelvis.

His lips are nearly glued to yours, tilting his head to the right to allow the kiss to deepen and increase the force he pushes behind it. Your hands tangle in his hair, gently pulling at the raven strands and scratching his scalp while occasional gasps escape his mouth. Moans escape between the both of you, drowned out to the rest of the party from the music, but nearly deafening to the two of you.

With one more tug of his hair, his tongue gently swipes your bottom lip and without a moment of hesitation you part to allow access. The action has some lip gloss rub off on the flesh of his upper lip, though Choso takes no moment to stop, instead he lifts his left hand to tilt your head further to the side and push his tongue into your mouth.

The muscle is warm and tastes like a light beer; he takes his time to swipe it along the tip of your own tongue before pushing it deeper. You groan his name and try to pull him even closer to you if it were possible, sighing as he swaps between messy open mouth kisses and closed ones that allow your lips to mold into one.

With another push of his tongue in your mouth you taste the beer once again but also the sensation of something cold and metal. It takes you a minute to figure out what you’re feeling, the cool orb rolling against your tongue and occasionally clinking onto your teeth when he pulls back.

Taking a slight breath, he dips his head down in the crook of your neck and breathes deeply while whispering your name, enjoying the moment before he begins to bite and suck along the flesh. You sigh at the feeling and can feel your senses overloading, the heartbeat in your ribs and panties, the scent of his cologne, and the hot tongue running down your neck being cooled by the little piercing in the middle.

“You didn't.. Aahh,” you swallow lightly, “didn’t tell me you have… a tongue piercing…”

Choso groans a response but doesn’t pay attention, nipping at a particular spot just beneath your jaw where his nose tickles the flesh under your ear, “right.. Here?”

His lips suck onto the flesh and his teeth pinch the skin while you squirm beneath him in pleasure; his hand leaves your head and hips to now push you firmly against the counter to keep you still. Choso’s actions are relentless, running his tongue flat across the flesh and letting the metal piercing cool the spot before he continues bullying it.

“It’s gonna nnngh, leave a mark-”

“-Good.”

Choso remains buried in the corner of your neck but he lifts his lips from the angry purple bruise to speak, “I’m tired of the way everyone stares at you all the time– fuck even Maki and Shoko looked you up and down a few times tonight.”

You run a hand through his hair and pull at the scalp to lift his face to you. His pupils are blown wide with desire so dark it seems the iris is pure black and his shoulder sag with every pant he takes to catch his breath. Despite it, the timid and awkward demeanor remains hidden for a moment, “I want people to know who you’re here with.”

He leans down to kiss the purple hickey, “Not Suguru.” kiss.

His lips trail to the pulse point on the opposite side, “Not Satoru.” kiss.

Lips hover right above yours a moment before he connects them, “Me.”

You push him back gently and Choso’s facade nearly breaks when he thinks you’re trying to make distance and tell him he’s got the wrong idea. Instead, you spin to push him flush against the counter and drag his face back to meet yours in another kiss.

Instinctively his hands rest on your waist as if they were made for him and he attaches his lips against yours like second nature. Sighs escape him every time your nails gently scratch his scalp and tug at his hair and when you drop your arms lower there’s nearly a whine in disappointment.

Instead, you run your hands flat down the front of his chest, feeling the swell of his chest rise with each breath and trail down to gently feel the outline of his abdomen muscles with the pads of your fingers. Airy breaths escape more frequently, as Choso fights the urge to escalate things even further.

With a featherlight touch and without ever breaking contact from his lips, you skim the hem of his shirt and gently graze the flesh underneath. Choso feels like his body is on fire at every touch you make and his grip on your hips intensifies, the heartbeat in his ears louder than the music blaring from outside the bathroom.

His abs flex subconsciously with your touch, and you can’t help the arousal growing in between your thighs as he begins to grind into you. Back arched to keep the angle of his tongue exploring your mouth, your hands dip back down to his navel and run through the course happy trail leading into his jeans. With gentle precision, your fingers dip just the tiniest bit lower to skim the seam of the denim and lightly play with the brass buckle of his belt.

Choso pulls his mouth from yours before grabbing your hands in his own to pause your efforts, panting in between each word. “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you…”

His eyes are sincere and there’s never been a moment in your life you’ve been more sure of than this, “I’m sure Choso. I want to do this with you.”

He continues breathing until his lungs steady out again before running a hand through his hair with a frustrated look on his face, cheeks still red and puffed from the intimacy of the situation.

“Yea but… Look don’t get me wrong I want this to happen more than anything,” he pauses and scans your face before continuing, “and I know I’m gonna hate myself for stopping here but.. I don’t want something just casual or physical with you. I think… I think it would kill me if you only saw me as a one night stand when you’re so much more to me.”

His hands sweat as they hold yours, and his eyes search yours for any sign of reciprocity, and the whole situation is so sweet you could cry. After so many assholes and douchebags, his words are enough to make your knees weak from only kissing.

You remove your hands from his and before his eyes could portray the heartbreak about to happen from the action, you pull him back in to meet your lips, “I want the same thing Choso. I do.”

He pulls away to see your face, but you connect your lips again between each sentence, “I almost feel bad for all the times I invited Yuji out to things because it meant I could see you.”

Choso lets out a chuckle of relief and connects your mouths again with longing before you pull back to continue, “I want this.” Kiss.

“I want you, Choso.” Kiss.

“All of you… and not just for tonight.”

He swallows thickly and his Adam's apple bobs again, pupils still blown out as you kiss his lips one last time before sinking just a bit lower onto the plush bath mat. Your hands fiddle with his belt again, and this time he doesn’t stop you, letting you slide it out of the loops of his jeans and toss it onto the floor without care. Chaste kisses go down his navel, your nose tickling the hair that pokes out right about the seam of his boxers before sinking down just a bit further.

His hands grip the countertop with enough force his knuckles turn white from the pressure, “ohh fuck Y/N.”

Your fingers trail just a bit lower, spreading the fabric of the zipper fly open and letting his erection push out into the air, only restrained by the thin material of his boxers. He stares at you intently, watching the way you trace the outline of the small liquid patch of precum forming as his hips twitch in anticipation.

You meet his gaze and drink in his disheveled and eager appearance before facing his erection again. Placing a few chaste kisses to the tip of his cock that’s now pushing past the fly of his boxers, he sucks in a wince and jerks his hips forward subconsciously in search of some sort of friction.

After a few more kisses, you look back up to him with a nod and raise your fingers to the elastic of the band and seam of his jeans. Hooking your fingers under the fabric and pinching it with your thumbs, you tug it down maybe 3 inches before his hands stop yours one last time.

“Wait– I uhh..” his hands shake nervously, “I just haven’t shaved in a minute… I’ve not exactly been sleeping with anybody recently.”

You blink and grin up at him, kissing his knuckles gently and then shooing his hands away to tug the materials down juuuust a bit further. His happy trail dissolves into a bit more hair, but nothing unruly, and the ‘V’ line of his pelvis connects to several protruding veins that all lead down to the base of his cock.

Despite the steamy atmosphere, Choso winces at the change in temperature and jerks his hips forward again; this time the flushed red tip connects freely to the corner of your mouth and smudges any remainder of your lipgloss.

His dick is long with a few prominent veins tracing alongside the under border of the shaft that disappear behind a small tuft of dark hair at the base. Not necessarily thick, but heavy enough in your hand you can’t help but wonder how’d it’d feel inside you. Pearls of precum drip from the slit at his tip and the ghost of your breath against the skin is enough to have him nearly begging for something anything.

Opening your mouth, you guide his cock to your tongue laying flat and lick a few long stripes along the shaft before focusing on the tip. The action is enough for Choso’s hand to lose balance for a moment and send a few soap bottles on the counter scattering onto the floor in a string of curses.

You pay no mind, licking a few more strokes to lubricate his dick before sucking in your cheeks to build enough saliva to spit onto his cock. It’s messy and wet and when you finally inch him into your mouth and stroke the base you can’t reach, he’s buckling at the knees.

“Oh shittt…. Yea,” his hands run into your hair, pulling any loose strands away from your face and allowing him an unobstructed view, “J-Just like that… fuck baby”

Your thighs squirm at his praise, feeling yourself grow embarrassingly wet just from the way your name begins to slip from his lips like a prayer. Slight tugs on your hair earn grunts from your throat, and the vibration makes Choso twitch with each bob of your head.

A dull ache in your jaw, you alternate between taking him in your mouth with hollow cheeks and tight suction to using both your hands to jerk him off while your tongue laps at the tip of his cock. The skin is fresh and salty precum coats your taste buds while your nose is tickled by the strands of his pubic hair that linger at the base.

“S-Shit.. I’m gonna-”

Choso holds your head steady while he lightly thrusts into your mouth, not too deep to gag you, but enough to cause a few tears to prick at the corner of your eyes. You purse your lips to give him just a bit more contact, “Fuck.. Y/N.. I’m…”

“Choso? You in there?”

There’s a knock at the door followed by Yuji’s slurred voice, “You’ve been gone for while… everything ok?”

You pause for a moment and look up at Choso, who’s released his grip on your hair and resorted to covering his mouth with his palms. Taking the opportunity, you resume your actions, bobbing along his shaft, kisses and licks to his tip, and the occasional graze of his balls when you jerk his shaft to the same rhythm as your lips.

His hips jerk and his face shows the most worried and sex-drunk expression you’ve ever seen. Lips quivering and trying to remain silent while his body betrays him and grunts and flinches with immediate response to each of your touches.

“Hello..?”

The handle to the bathroom jerks slightly, now immediately known to the both of you how it wasn’t locked.

“Wait!”

The door stops and remains shut, Yuji hums in attentiveness at the response, “Ah so you are in there! Hurry up– I need a new pong partner bro!”

Choso watches the door in horror and resorts to biting the knuckle of his right index finger to avoid moaning out your name.

God he really was the worst brother huh? Here Choso was, getting the best head of his life from the girl of his dreams, aka his brother’s best friend, at a party which was THROWN FOR HIS BROTHER.

“I-I’m not…ughh… feeling too well..”

Choso shivers and hunches forward in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face while his eyebrows contort in pure ecstasy.

He was going to cum. He was going to cum in the mouth of the woman he’s been helplessly in love with, who is the one girl completely off limits, with his brother unknowingly listening to it on the other side of the door.

“Oh really? Hmmm, just pull trigger and meet me downstairs– ‘kay?”

Choso barely lasts the extra second of seeing Yuji’s shadow under the door disappear before his hips jerk from your grasp and cums. Hard. It’s messy, not quite in your mouth, but also not aiming for your face; insteads pools of it make it onto your tongue with others now clinging onto the apples of your cheeks and strands of your hair.

“Ohhh shit–”

He helps you pump him a few more times to ensure it’s all out while you swallow the load in your mouth and wipe at the remnants on your face. The stars eventually pass and his hips stop twitching in slight overstimulation as the weight of everything clarifies in front of him.

Immediately he takes your hands and raises you to your feet, helping to clean your hair with the forgotten washrag from the stain earlier. Gently, he wipes everything away, careful to not mess up any makeup, before sighing at the sight of your bruised and red knees.

“You didn’t have to swallow you know…” he blushes but keeps looking at you, “your knees-!”

You tilt his head back to face yours and connect your lips to his. Any flavor of lipgloss is replaced by the taste of his own cum when his tongue slides into your mouth again without any hesitation. Your tongue flicks against the metal orb a few times before pulling back and wiping a stray line of saliva from the corner of your mouth.

“That was… fuck Y/N,” he keeps panting before you nudge him slightly in the shoulder.

“Well, aren't you going to chase after Yuji now?”

“Why would I?”

You blink in a slight shock at his immediate reaction, never seeing him prioritize anything besides his brother’s happiness. He looks at you as if you had asked something ridiculous, though he doesn’t hold any ounce of condescension on his face.

“I just figured–”

“ –Figured I would walk away from the beautiful girl in front of me to go play beer pong?”

You shrug into a blush and dig your chin down slightly at the embarrassment of hearing the question out loud. Choso chuckles and lifts your chin to kiss you again, “No I think I’d like to stay by you if that’s alright. Though the thought of Yuji potentially hearing us will haunt my brain for years to come.”

You chuckle and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again while his hands find solace at their home on your hips.

“Let me reciprocate, okay? I wanna make you feel good too.”

A shiver runs down your spine and your back arches involuntarily at the anticipation; nipples hardening into the fabric of your bra from the thought. Choso’s hands wander further down to the swell of your ass and give a light squeeze before resting on the flesh under your thighs.

“Jump for me.”

Obeying the short command, you give a slight hop and allow him to rest his forearms under your thighs with the palm of his hands gripping onto each cheek of your ass. His biceps flex from the weight, though he holds you as if you were only as heavy as a housecat, shifting your weight in his arms but never struggling to maneuver. At eye level he nudges you with his chin for one more kiss before spinning and letting you open the door of the bathroom.

With a short peer down the hallway, he makes a quick break for one of the bedrooms and this time remembers to actually lock the door behind him. Gently, he places you on the edge of the queen size bed sitting on the left side of the room, kissing you once again before stepping back watching you kick off your doc mary-janes and unties the laces of his own boots.

Music is still blaring off in the distance, though noticeably quieter, and Choso flicks on a dim floor lamp in the corner for some light. He steps between your thighs and runs a hand through your hair with a slight tug before sinking to his own knees at the foot of the bed.

He plays with the hem of your skit absentmindedly and kneads the flesh of your thighs before looking up and swallowing, “Can I?”

A simple nod is all he needs to hoist up the edge of your skirt to pool around your waist and scoff in frustration at the opaque tights now in his way. Shifting his hands from your waist, he takes some of the tension from the fabric around your pussy in between his fingers and rips it open.

“Hey-!”

“It’s in the way..” he whines quietly with no ounce of actual remorse in his voice.

He takes the fabric and rips it further, exposing the dark purple lacy panties covering what he was so desperately searching for. A dark patch stains the fabric from your helpless desire and whimpers escape your lips above him when he drags a single finger up and down the material in awe.

“All this– for me?”

“Shut up..”

Your face burns in embarrassment but Choso doesn't care, gripping the fabric and pushing it to the left to expose half of your sopping cunt. He shudders at the sight and immediately places a few kisses to flesh, addicted to the way you squirm with each contact. Though he grows frustrated quickly and tugs at the rest of your tights, keeping your panties caged on.

“Stupid fucking–”

“Choso.”

He looks up, impatient, while you lean onto your back to shimmy the elastic band of the tights down to your thighs and lett Choso drag the material down your legs and throw them to the floor.

“See? You didn’t need to rip them.”

“Hah.. sorry baby.”

There isn’t a chance to react to the pet name he’s begun calling you before he takes a moment to admire the way his favorite color looked when it decorated your pussy, and drags it down your ankles to join your tights on the floor.

Instinctively your thighs move to shut, but his hand splay them back out to expose your cunt further. A shiver running down his back and a new erection growing in his half-worn boxers, he leans down to admire it further.

“Stop staring. It’s embarrassing…”

You’re mumbling with your attention turned anywhere else in the room as your cheeks burned.

Embarrassing? How could this be embarrassing?

Choso looks up at you and then back down, “How could this ever be…? This is the pussy I’ve been dreaming about for months, and you’re going to say it’s embarrassing?”

He takes a moment to let his tongue lay flat and lick a long stripe up the core of your cunt, “This is the only thing I can ever think about…”

The warmth of his tongue makes you wither from the sensation and the cold metal ball in the center causes your spine to arch from the contrast. Taking a few more licks he pushes your back onto the bed and makes space for him to now also lay on the comforter, hanging half off the mattress and humping against the box spring while he makes out with your pussy without shame.

His tongue drinks up your arousal without hesitation and his tongue dips into your core while his hands wrap around the underside of your thighs to keep them open for him. The piercing bumps into the spongy interior of your pussy while his nose grinds against your clit, his head rocking into your cunt at a steady rhythm.

You groan his name and grab a fistful of his hair and tug hard while he moans in response. After a few more licks he kisses your clit, “Alright.. That should be good…”

Wearily, you look up and watch as he sucks his index and middle fingers in his mouth before he spits down onto your cunt and sinks a finger inside. Throwing your head back from the slight stretch, he watches the way his finger disappears into your pussy, “Shit.. fucking tight as hell baby.”

Choso thrusts his finger in and out and in and out before returning his lips to your clit and sucking on it.

“Oh my.. Nnghh...”

His other hand holds your hip steady before increasing the pace of his finger and pulling back from your clit slightly. Choso watches your face as he sinks his middle finger into your cunt as well to ensure there’s no sign of pain before thrusting his hand harder.

“Fuck!”

That unexplainable feeling builds in your gut and your hips rock to meet his lips in more friction to chase that high even quicker. Choso notices and twists and bends his fingers from within you, eager to find that one spot while leaning back down to suck at your clit again.

With one more bend of his fingers he can feel it, the spongy rough patch that nearly feels like a citrus peel, and as soon his fingertips graze it, your back arches even more. Grinding down his fingers, his name leaves your lips like a mantra.

“Choso… FUCK.. yea, like that– haa.. Yea that..”

He grinds his hips along the mattress to get some sort of friction while his fingers increase the pace, committing to memory every single sound and taste. Your eyes are screwed shut in focus and shamelessly groaning out as you chase your high.

That knot in your gut forms and gets exponentially tighter before inevitably snapping. The feeling leaves you twitching against his lips and hand, riding out the pleasure and whimpering at the inevitable overstimulation when his mouth refuses to part from your cunt.

“God,” he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue instead, “taste so fucking good. What the hell.”

You claw his hair to part from your thighs but he makes no effort to move, the muscles bulging in his skin, refusing to move from their position as he drinks in every drop of your orgasm. The piercing tickles you as his tongue continues to flick inside you, only pulling back for air and to admire the fucked out face you’re now making.

Completely pussy-drunk he pulls himself back from your thighs and licks at the sheen of your cum still resting on his lips before climbing over you and connecting your mouths. The taste of your own orgasm would cause pause any other time, but Choso is kissing you with so much want and desire it makes your mind go fuzzy.

“Feeling ok? Sorry if I got carried away,” he nuzzles down into the crook of your neck on the side without the hickey, “just wanted to do that for a while now…”

Wearily, you pet the strands of his hair before Choso sits up and takes the hem of your shirt in his hands and pushes the fabric over your head and off the side of the bed. He admires the pretty lace of the matching purple bra and skims over your hard nipples with the pads of his fingers, the black nail polish glowing in the dim light as he pinches the nerves.

After a few open kisses to the swell of your breasts and leaving a few marks along the way, he shimmies your skirt off and tosses it to the ground. With a pout you sit up and wrap your fingers along the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, pausing when his chest is revealed.

Abs sculpted from stone and a variety of small scars along his ribs from stories you’d like to hear one day are enough to make you nearly drool while you stare. It’s the ultimate sleeper build that he’s kept hidden behind baggy t-shirts for way too long.

“Ok I think I get it now when you said it’s embarrassing.”

Choso looks to the side and gently smiles, his ears dusted pink before you lean up to run light kisses along the mark across his face and trail down to his cheek and navel.

“So pretty.”

“Don’t you mean handsome?”

“That too.”

He smiles and meets your lips again while your hands go back down to his jeans and attempt to push them down before reaching back and unclasping your own bra. Immediately, he dips down to wrap his tongue around your left nipple, running the piercing over the nub while his hand kneads the fatty flesh of your other breast in his fingers. After a few additional licks and bruises are added around the left tit for good measure, he swaps and pays equal attention to the other one.

He’s in heaven. Silently thanking the gods above for this opportunity and wondering if maybe in a past life he had been a hero of some sort to deserve this experience with you.

After a moment you push him back and tug his pants and boxers back down the rest of the way, giggling when his foot gets caught in the material and ‘interrupts the mood’ as he calls it.

“Ah wait.”

Choso pauses from his position of gently pushing you flat against the bed beneath him, wondering if this was too far for your first evening as a… couple? The idea is more than enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation. Fuck, even being called your ‘boyfriend’ could make him bust on the spot.

“Do you have a condom?”

Choso’s eyes meet yours and he looks back to his jeans, wondering if his wallet would have one or not but ultimately deciding there’s no chance he would actually carry one with him. To be fair, the goal of this party was to ask you on a date without the company of Yuji or Suguru, so to get this far is a miracle in his book.

“No.. I don’t”

You gnaw your lip and look between the both of you, his long hair tickling your cheeks from the proximity and the tip of his cock occasionally kissing the entrance to your cunt with every twitch. Fuck.

“We don’t have to–”

“Buy me the morning after pill?”

Choso sputters at your response, eyes nearly falling out of his skull, the first time he gets to sleep with you, he gets to hit it raw?

Ok he must’ve been a knight or a king to get this kind of treatment.

“Y-Yea, of course.”

You pull him down for another kiss and admire the way his hands now shake in anticipation and worry; nearly the same face he made before cumming earlier. It’s a fair assumption considering Choso is convinced he may bust after maybe three strokes.

The humiliation would kill him, so he swallows and glides the tip of his cock up and down the folds of your cunt a few times. Getting some of the lubrication from your earlier orgasm, he also spits into his hand and coats the shaft to make it smoother.

With a tap on your clit for good measure, he lines up with your entrance and slowly sinks inch by inch inside. The feeling is a stretching burn that doesn’t hurt but needs a moment of getting used to while Choso cages you underneath and whispers patient soft praises into your ears.

After a moment he finally bottoms out and the hair from his pubes tickles your clit as he fills you to the hilt. A breath of relief at the sensation while Choso releases a breath of focus, his hair sticking to his forehead in slight sweat.

His knee pushes up on the bed and opens your thighs wider before he begins to slide in and out, mumbling nonsense with each stroke. The missionary position befits his immediate possessive nature, giving him a perfect view of your face and a decent angle to watch the way his cock disappears into your cunt with each thrust.

You pull on his strands and kiss him, licking the metal orb on his tongue before admiring the way his abdomen flexes with each movement.

“Oh fuck-”

It’s hard to tell who’s talking in between both of your incoherent babbling, your mind growing fuzzy from the stretch of his cock and smack of his pelvis on your clit, and his brain going completely pussy-drunk and murmuring a string of sappy promises of how happy he is to finally have you to himself.

Tilting his head to the side, you dig your canines into his neck in an attempt to mark him in the same way he had done previously.

“Shit.. ahh”

His hips rock unevenly so you increase the suction and dig your teeth once more before a particularly rocky thrust has you biting down harder than you intend. A slight metallic taste of iron coats your tongue and you immediately pull back and apologize for breaking the skin.

“N-No… shit..ahhh baby.. Do it again…please”

Choso keeps his neck open for you to continue sucking on, stuttering with his words and hips at the sensation of his warm blood gently trickling down his flesh. Wordlessly, you move down to another spot and bite down, though not enough to tear the skin and Choso whimpers pathetically from above you.

“Wait actually–” he pulls back and gently pulls out, hissing at the lack of contact before sitting on the bed next to you and pulling you to straddle him, “I’m gonna cum too fast like that… haaa, you can just ride me, ok? Ride me however you want, baby.”

Sinking back down and sighing in relief when he’s finally kissing your cervix with his cock again, his hands lift to play with your tits while you grind against him. Hands on his shoulders and focused on achieving an orgasm, you rub down especially hard on his slight bush for the friction against your clit.

Choso admires the way your chest bounces with each movement and settles his hands on your hips, helping you fuck him senseless.

“Haaa.. you know it’s funny” Choso pants in between bounces, “I always wanted to give you a ride home…”

You laugh and shove his shoulder slightly, falling forward and grinding the tip of his cock against that spongy patch inside your pussy again. Immediately your hips falter and your shoulders slump forward while Choso wastes no time in sliding back down on the bed and planting his feet firmly. Grabbing your hips, he flexes his thighs to meet your thrusts and push further into that spot with his dick with more even force.

“Yea that’s it.. Just fucking use me okay?”

Your thrusts are uneven as your hips twitch with every thrust, feeling that familiar sensation building inside once again. Every thrust has your face contorting with pleasure and Choso can feel himself also ready to finally let go and cum; having been trying to think of anything else to make himself hold out just a little bit longer.

After a few more strokes, your face is warped in pleasure while he continues thrusting from underneath to drag out the orgasm. Twitching with spinal convulsions from the intensity, Choso watches in awe as he fucks you through the overstimulation and watches the creamy ring from your cum form around the base of his cock. He takes his fingers and pushes it back onto his shaft as more lubrication,taking any remainder on his fingertip to his lips and sucking it off.

You fall in a slump on his chest and he plants his feet firmly onto the mattress, fucking up a few more times before erratically grinding into your pussy and reciting your name over and over again while hot streams of cum fill your cunt.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N-”

The sensation is filling and warm while his hips jerk up a few more times to ride through his orgasm and ensure no drop of his cum is left. His arms are wrapped up and around your while both of your bodies stick to together from the sweat and fluids.

“Haaa,” Choso lets out a half laugh and pushes some hair out of your face before leaning up to kiss you again.”

“That was great.”

“Mmmm, yea,” he pecks your cheek again, the intimacy of the situation becoming not just sexually, but emotionally raw as well, “Let’s do it again?”

You look over at him with a fucked out expression, your hair a complete mess and makeup poorly smudged.

“I mean not now! Haha,” he slides out from your cunt and sighs from the loss of contact as his erection deflates back down to flaccidity. “I think I’m empty.”

You nod and roll off his body but stay intertwined with his limbs as you lay next to him, silently wondering what the fuck the plan was now. Tracing his jaw with your fingers absentmindedly and skimming the mark across his face, you notice the way his eyes never leave yours and his head leans into your every touch.

“Oh that’s right–” Choso looks at you with realization and an embarrassed smile on his face, “Can I take you out sometime?“

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yea…?”

You laugh and lean forward to kiss him and Choso immediately meets you in the middle as if he was constantly waiting for the next time your lips would meet his.

“I’d like that. Get breakfast tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

His voice is too excited and he instantly backtracks in a poor attempt to act casual, “Oh tomorrow? Yea… yea I should be free.”

“You’re such a dork, you know that?”

He kisses the hand you use to flick his forehead and smiles up at you before biting one of your fingers idly, “But aren’t I…. your dork now?”

You sit up in the bed and lean down to kiss him, “Yea, you are,” before shimmying off the bed and wobbling around to find the remnants of your clothes and shoes.

Choso watches from the edge of the mattress, an obvious pout on his face at the loss of contact from your body.

“I just need to pee ok? I am NOT about to get a UTI before exams.”

Choso huffs in defeat and stands up to sort his clothes from your own, wincing in weak remorse when you throw your ripped tights into the bedroom trash can.

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

You step out of the bedroom and wobble your way down the hallway, not bothering to relock the door, while Choso slides on his boxers and jeans in one pull. He moves around the floor in search of his shirt when footsteps quickly approach the bedroom and Yuji swings the door open.

“Oh there you are!”

Choso is frozen solid standing in a room torn apart that reeks of sex while being covered in sweat and remnants of cum.

“I just saw Y/N walking sooo funny to the bathroom and flipping me off,” he laughs and covers his abdomen, “She totally just got fucked-”

There’s a silence between the two men.

“Hey where are your clothes?”

“Uhhhh…”

Choso stands half-naked with his shirt not even around his neck as Yuji quickly begins putting dots together and stares at his brother in complete shock. Before another word can be issued between them Todo appears and smacks Yuji’s back.

“My best friend, why are you interrupting your brother at this moment?”

“He’s,” Yuji points out, still in complete shock at Choso, “He’s banging my friend!”

Choso winces but Todo just crosses his arms and sighs in disappointment, “Allow him to relish in the feeling of finally getting the person who he desires the most.”

“Yea but she’s my-”

“If I had the opportunity with Takada or YOU had the opportunity with Megan Thee Stallion or Megumi.. Would you want HIM to burst into the room?”

Choso has no idea how this idiotic comparison is somehow making Yuji ok with the idea of him sleeping and now dating you, but he isn’t about to ruin the opportunity.

“No… I wouldn’t”

“See? You’re growing up nicely. But!” Todo returns his hand to Yuji’s shoulders and guides him out of the room, “You still have training to do until then… you need to beat me at flip cup now!”

Choso waits half a moment before sighing in relief but knows when Yuji’s sober he’ll have to come clean in a better way; he slides his shirt back over his head and scurries out to the bathroom. A quick courtesy knock before he swings it open and shuts it, before standing behind your figure washing your hands. His hands wrap around your waist while he places small kisses on your shoulder.

“Choooosooo”

“Hmmm?”

“You left a million hickies!”

He giggles and laughs into your shoulder before mumbling ‘good’ and spinning you around to face him.

“Everyone will notice.”

“That’s the point.”

You roll your eyes playfully and then look back down at your shirt, still uncomfortable from the sensation of the now cold and sticky fabric.

“It’s kinda gross…”

“So wear mine.”

You look back up at him as he effortlessly slips his own shirt off and tugs at you to do the same, though his eyes linger on the swell of your tits long enough for you to swat him away playfully. It’s an oversized band t-shirt that nearly falls to the same length as your skirt and smells just like his cologne.

“I might never return it.”

“I’ll give you a million of them if you promise to always wear them,” he kisses your lips, “especially around Suguru and Satoru.“

“Hmm? Jealous?”

He chuckles and keeps his hands planted on your hips, “How could I not be? Those two get to see you all the time while I have to pretend to leave shit at your apartment as an excuse.”

Your heart tugs at his confession and you push the hair falling into his face back for a moment before it cascades back down to its original spot, “You know you can see me whenever you want to as well now?”

He smiles wide and plants a few more pecks onto your flesh, the awkward and emotional side of him creeping back in.

“Wait, you’re gonna be shirtless now?”

“Yea, I don’t really mind if it means you’re comfortable.”

“But everyone is gonna see the hickies I left on you.”

Choso smiles and pivots to admire his back in the mirror, “Hey don’t forget the scratches– ow!”

You shove him lightly and laugh before opening the bathroom door and making room for him to step out after you.

“Can I stay at your place tonight? I don’t really want the first thing I do when I wake up to be to explain to Yuji about all of this.”

“Yea, that’s fine.. Was there something else you were thinking of doing when you first wake up?”

He follows you to the edge of the stairs, the music getting louder and louder, “I have a few things in mind, but–” his eyes trail down to his own doc marten boots and your mary-jane ones, “I want the first thing Suguru and Satoru see when they get to the apartment to be my shoes next to yours.”

OMGGG a really long one shot and my first NSFW on this app hehehe

hope you liked it! I'm gonna make a list of holiday topics and try to grind them out despite it being halfway through the month already whoops -> Choso's would be a part 2 to this one :)

reblogs/likes/comments all appreciated <3

-oatmeal

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