#I have been practicing all evening and still

[proxycrit]

Decided to write some oneshots! Less focus on Zelda and Link, and more on FAMILIAR FAMILIAR���s building blocks.

(Mineru and Naborus’s slow dance are interrupted by the horrors of war.)

(Fic under cut)

——— The First Act (Naborus)

Mineru seems to be actively trying to woo Naborus, and to her disgust, it works.

The zonai woman seems to haunt her steps, with a sly smile and cheeky wink. She slips next to Naborus during morning drills with foods meant to entice, and into evening bouts of paperwork with her little machines, fiddling and tinkering and always ready to help. Even her haughty hat she faffs around with is all but seared into the back of Naborus’s eyelids every time she closes them.

“You do understand,” she tried once, and only once, “that I am a gerudo chief and you are the last of the zonai, serving under the hylian empire.” She enunciates these hylian words as clear as she can, careful with this new language she forced herself to learn within four grueling months.

“Of course,” Mineru responded back in a heavily accented Gerudo. “But I still want to try.”

Naborus has always had a soft spot for fools. She doesn’t bring up their allegiances again, but Mineru redoubles her efforts. Naborus doesn’t explicitly accept them, but she doesn’t refute them either. She even finds herself automatically bringing two mugs of heavily steeped tea to her study one night. Mineru was waiting for her, eyes bright and ears perked.

It’s Ganondorf that ultimately cuts through the stalemate.

“You like her,” he accuses.

“I tolerate her,” Naborus grumbles. “She’s at most a desert lizard I water from time to time, so she doesn’t die.”

Ganondorf gives her a truly bombastic side eye. Naborus doesn’t mention his strange dance around Rauru, even though she’s tempted to point out his hypocrisy. Her soft spot for fools is a weakness.

“She’s working for the princess,” he warns. “We need time to ratify the treaty, and she’s a distraction.”

“She’s a guest,” Naborus responds, temper flaring. “And I don’t see you crunching the paper recently, little brother.”

They glare at each other, bristling like desert cats, before ganondorf’s shoulders slump. He’s been sleeping less and less lately. The dark circles under his eyes have been becoming more and more difficult to hide.

“It’s not safe,” he repeats helplessly. “There’s always a cost, with the hylians. You know this.”

“I know this,” Naborus responds wearily. “But Princess Sonia is different from her mother. Not because of any legends,” she adds, before her brother can protest, “but because she’s reaching out first. The zora and rito are perfectly happy. We have to trust the same amnesty will be given to us.”

“It’s different,” Ganondorf spits, “when their legends don’t constantly paint us as thieves and war mongers.” And Sonia, despite her stature, is part of that legend. That damned sword speaks to it.

The hylians want the great gerudo burial site. They want it for the precious minerals crystallizing deep under the sands, that glow green from the dead. They need it, for the war against the rising tide of undead monsters that threaten them all— gerudo, hylian, all the races of hyrule really. It already took most the zonai.

Naborus knows, deep down, she can not let the gerudo be the next.

But it hurts, to see their culture be trodden underfoot for this. And it hurts more, to hear Ganondorf’s urgent whispers that the Hylians will not stop.

Mineru and Rauru are the last of their kind. Surely there must be other zonai, hidden in pockets deep below or up in the sky, but the zonai (the only zonai) Naborus knows are her two guests. They don’t remember their mother tongue. They were raised by the Goron and Zora and eat hylian food and wear hylian clothes and practice hylian alchemy.

For all intents and purposes, they are hylian. They are what will lay in store for the gerudo, either it be through ganondorf’s terror of a slow cultural death, or naborus’s terror of a steady massacre.

And then Ganondorf finds those ruins, and it all goes to shit.

And then he tries to kill Sonia. Tries to infect Rauru with that malice. Becomes unknowable to her, and calls her traitor, as if he didn’t throw everything away for their shared dream.

Five days later, she arranges for a meeting.

Six days later, Sonia and Rauru show up at her doorstep.

“You can have the burial grounds,” Naborus says, and finds the dull ember of delight in Rauru’s flinch. Good. See him remember his own damned past, and let him know of his crime. Mockingly, she inclines her head to Princess Sonia. “At your behest, your highness.”

Sonia looks back. Implacable. Stone. She’s four heads shorter than Naborus, and yet her presence is crushing. Is this who you love, Naborus wanted to ask Mineru. Is this who you serve?

The rest of the negotiations is a blur. Rito will come help gerudo civilians escape the bombed remains of her city. Her people will find shelter along the coast, if they so wish. All Sonia needs is the Zonaite, and willing hands to take up arms and fight.

Fight who, she does not specify. But judging from her gaze flickering to the empty spot next to Naborus, it’s not difficult to infer.

When Mineru hesitates in front of Naborus’s door later that night, Naborus finally snaps. That dull apathy and shock suddenly becomes a monsoon of rage and betrayal, and she grabs the mug and throws it as hard as she can at the wall, an animal scream rising in her chest.

Mineru flinches back, ears pressed against her head. Naborus sinks, gasping for air, and curls into a wretched ball on the floor. Thin hands carefully encircle against her, and she leans into mineru’s chest, and weeps for her stupid baby brother, for her foolish naive self, for hoping for a beautiful future.

Tomorrow, the gerudo will have the war Ganondorf predicted. Tomorrow, Naborus will bow in front of the Hylian regency.

Mineru mumbles something into her hair, that she is unable to catch. But the zonai’s grip is tight, and she hums a song slow and low.

“What is that?” Naborus croaks, head still pillowed in Mineru’s arms.

There’s a shift of muscle under Naborus as Mineru readjusts herself into a more comfortable position, and then— “my mother taught me this.”

“Ah? I thought gorons are all men?”

Mineru laughs. “In hylian, yes they are called men. But no, I’m talking about my birth mother.”

“Oh,” and because Naborus has little filter, “what’s her name?”

Mineru went silent at that. Naborus feels a rush of self hatred. She shouldn’t have asked. She presumes much from somebody who isn’t even her citizen.

“I don’t remember,” Mineru says. She smiles at Naborus, eyes half squinted. “I just called her Mah. Zonai baby teeth give us terrible lisps, and young children don’t really know their parents as people, per say. Just protectors.”

“I’m sorry,” Naborus says. She wants Mineru to hum that song again, but doesn’t know how to ask.

“It’s okay,” Mineru says. “I don’t remember her. Its hard to miss what you don’t really know.”

“No,” Naborus protests. “It’s not okay at all. You shouldn’t have to-“ she back pedals, looks for anything to say at all, and settles on squeezing Mineru’s waist. “You deserve more than just a song.”

Mineru starts to hum again. Seeing Naborus unwilling to continue, the zonai sighs, cutting into the wound if the situation.

“You did the right thing.”

“Did I?”

“You want to save lives. There is no shame in that.”

“And what of the children who won’t remember their mother’s names?” Naborus asks, hurting. What of her people’s history?

“They’ll be alive to wonder, won’t they?”

Mineru’s voice sounded flat and far away.

And Naborus has nothing to say to that.

(Mineru tells herself this is for the best, and that she and Rauru turned out perfectly fine.

It’s a lie she’s grown comfortable with.)

———— The Second Act (Mineru)

When Ganondorf cuts her throat, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

Scared? Yeah. But surprised? Not really.

She took his sister from him. She represents hylian royalty. She’s collateral to Rauru. A sort of message, if you will.

You took my sister. I will take yours.

Fucking idiot. Naborus will never forgive him now, and neither would Rauru. He has single handedly severed any remaining goodwill, any chance of recollection, with this stunt, and the worst part is he probably did it on purpose.

Ganondorf looks different. His eyes are tired. The infection from his arm has spread to under his jaw. Baby Dragneel’s been practicing magic, she sees. He reaches down and gently plucks the secret stone from Mineru’s neck, and suddenly it’s worse.

She’s never going to be able to tell Naborus her secret. She’s never going to be able to give that stone to her beloved. She-

A scream splits the night air. It can’t be from her, because all her air is being stolen from her throat before it can reach her tongue, which tastes like iron. It can’t be from Ganondorf, who’s mouth is clenched shut, secret stone (alchemist’s stone) shining in his hand.

Ganondorf is blasted back by a wave of light.

The world is greying. Mineru feels the burn of Sonia’s time magic entrap her, freeze her. It hurts. It hurts more then her throat. Everything is tinged yellow and Mineru can’t move, and this must be what death is— caught between a peaceful slumber and agonizing living. She’s suffocating slowly. She’s scared.

Rauru’s face comes in focus. His hands are shaking. She can feel him pressing desperately against her as in the distance, Sonia, still clad in her white dress, chases the shadows away.

Mineru’s eyes slip close.

When she wakes up, she is surprised she’s not dead. She tries to say something, but the searing pain stops her, and her muffled jerk causes the lump at her feet to quiver. Rauru looks up, eyes bloodshot.

“Mimi?” He asks, voice hoarse. Mineru tries to say something, but the pain flares and she settles for a thumbs up. Rauru’s eyes start watering, and he presses his face into her hands.

“Mimi,” he whispers, and mineru pets his ears, like they were children again. She didn’t mean to scare him. She waits for him to collect himself, and takes the chance to look around the room.

It’s a nice room. The architecture is distinctly zoran, with luminous stones embedded into the walls for light and kelp thread curtains for privacy. It smells like fragrant lotus root and medicinal herbs. There’s a small study in the corner, filled with papers and a single potted specimen of a sundelion.

Rauru’s study, she realizes with a rush of fondness. This must be his room, when he was apprenticing under that Zoran healer.

“I…”

Her attention snaps back to her brother. At her attentive look, he quails. It’s not right. Rauru rarely quails, and mostly preens, like a peacock. At her impatient look, he closes his eyes, and Mineru’s stomach sinks.

“Ruta’s afraid there might be complications,” Rauru continues in a rush. “You’ll be on observation for possible lung clots and brain damage and infection.”

Mineru breathes.

“We couldn’t save your throat,” Rauru confesses, looking small. “Ruta cleared up your lungs and I managed to stabilize you, but. We couldn’t, your.”

That’s okay, she wants to say. I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.

But she can’t say that.

With her nonanswer, Rauru bows his head. Mineru grabs on to his hand before he can flee, and squeezes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezes back.

Mineru doesn’t take her new found muteness well. She struggles with hylian sign, and finds a near apoplectic rage in being unable to quickly explain her thoughts.

Writing isn’t the same, she wrote in harsh angry scratches with her chalkboard she’s taken to carrying around.

Naborus, bless her, has fashioned a straw for her with glass when they meet up for tea. Mineru used to haunt Naborus, enraptured by this woman and her no nonsense attitude and her unexplainable kindness. Now Naborus haunts her with bedding and sustenance.

They should be on the battlefield. The malice has overtaken another settlement, Mineru heard. But when she dug, she was sent away.

“More pillows?” Naborus asks, and Mineru holds up two thumbs for an aggressive agreement.

Can you get me construct f12, she writes when Naborus comes back wielding two cream pillows. Twinges, can fix, she slashes quickly at Naborus’s frown.

“You’re working?”

No time, Mineru scribbles. And at Naborus’s hesitant glance, she adds: bored.

“You should be resting.”

Can’t.

She will have nightmares again. Rauru promises the sundelion specimens he’s working on will stop the malice from taking hold, but she still dreams of that red pulsating mass, infecting her, burrowing into her.

She underlines Can’t twice, and hopes Naborus will get it.

Naborus drags a hand down her face, and exhales roughly. “Shit. Okay. I’ll go get your construct, but if you need any help at all you tell me, alright?”

At Mineru’s flat glare, she grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll get you a bell.”

The two sit in companionable silence after that. The construct mineru chose is a small, light weight thing. She is considering adding some sort of projectile weapon when she hears the low rhythmic hum of a song.

Oh, Mineru thinks. This is the song my mother taught me, and I taught you. Oh, Mineru thinks after suddenly overwhelmed with the realization— she will never sing her mother’s song again. She will never be able to join the chorus that was her last, remaining link. She will never-

Mineru wipes her eyes angrily. She can learn how to play a harmonica. Or a flute. The option isn't actually gone, just changed. She should just be glad she’s alive.

Doesn’t stop the tears, though.

When Naborus quietly holds her arms out, Mineru doesn’t fight the pull and slumps into her friend’s arms, and tries not to think of how Ganondorf stole not only her project’s notes, but her history from her too.

He’s Naborus’s brother.

She hates him more, for it.

[suiana]

yandere! childhood friend who still reminisces about your childhood together. yeah, the two of you may be grown now but he's been your day 1 and he just can't help but think about how you used to cling to him and adore him so much! he wishes you'd still do that but it is what it is. no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

yandere! childhood friend who did everything with you. yeah, that also includes practicing kisses. he's your first kiss, and he's never gonna let you forget that. you said you wanted to get better and who is he to refuse? he can't pass up such a prime opportunity! and it's not like he wants anyone else to take it. god no. that would be a tragedy.

"yeah, remember our kissing practices? hah, we were such kids back then!" he watches as you snicker, feeling a warm flush creep up his spine. god, of course he remembers. young and immature as you both were, you both learned together. that's all that really matters to him. "thanks to you, i can now makeout with my partners with ease. you're the best man." and has he told you how muchit infuriates him that you're using your experience to get with others? to please them with the mouth that once touched his? nah, he really can't stand for it. but he isn't allowed to say anything. he's just a childhood friend after all. not for long though.

yandere! childhood friend who wishes he would've accepted your offer to learn how to fuck as well. but no, he just had to be way too delusional back then and tell you to wait for the right one. he must've thought that you'd feel the same and confess then he'd court you slowly before getting to that stage... that never happened unfortunately. not yet at least. he'll make it happen.

yandere! childhood friend who's still a hopeless romantic at heart. a delusional one but a romantic nonetheless. he brings you out on "platonic dates" or whatever the fuck you like to call it, comfort you after your shitty excuse of a partner dumps you, and treats you like the deity that you are. you only deserve the best and he'll be there to provide. none of these losers can't treat you well. he can. he really hopes it'll help you see him as a potential boyfriend!

"i just," you blow your nose, tears streaming down your cheeks as your childhood friend rubs at your back tenderly. "don't know why he'd want to dumo me! we've been going strong for a year already! it's so out of the blue!" yeah, out of the blue huh... not really out of the blue for someone who's been actively theeatening that poor excuse of a man. that menas him, obviously. why he's been threatening him, you ask? because he's not treating you the way you should be treated, duh! sure you look happy but are you really? probably not, he's sure of it. "hey hey, don't worry... I'm here now, aren't i?" he always is, and he always will. you just need to understand that fact and you'll start seeing him in a different light too. don't worry, he has lots of patience. just... don't go sleeping with other people again.

yandere! childhood friend who may or may not be totally super duper mega in love with you. yeah, definitely not in love with you. that would be weird, right? come on, he's your childhood friend! sure you two might've kissed when you were kids and promised to marry one another but those were kiddy promises! that's all they are! he... totally doesn't believe you actually wanna marry him and be his forever and ever.

"so have you started thinking about your future?" he pauses at your question, rubbing at his empty ring finger. future, huh? funny how you ask that when you two are destined to be together at the end of it all. i mean, the two of your promised it as kids, didn't you? sure you're exploring now but at the end if the day, it's him that you come back to, don't you? even if just as a friend. but that's the present, not the future. "nah, not really. just wanna focus on the current moment, y'know?" bullshit, and he knows it. but he doesn't wanna scare you away. not yet at least. you're still out lookign for others which means you haven't come round to the idea of you two together. not to worry, he'll give you a little more time to see how good he is. how good things could be between you two if you just gave him the chance. "i mean, you're here with me." he chuckles, taking your hand in his before placing it on his cheek. you're warm. he likes your warmth, it's so soothing. "that's more than enough for me." half lidded eyes gaze at you, full of emotion and hidden longing before he hums softly. the teo fo you sit in the park in silence, enjoying each other's presence. in the moonlight, everything seems to slow and engulf the two of you in a quiet embrace. he only wishes you would just love him back already. "yeah, I'm glad to be by your side too, best friend." ...he really hates those words. don't worry, good things come to those who wait. and you will be his in due time. you've already had his heart, now all he needs is yours.

[earthtooz]

phainon x gn!scholar reader, phainon is so in love and reader is oblivious

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

The moment Phainon’s eyes first met yours, there was a stutter in his heart, an indescribable feeling of reverence coupled with curiosity creeped into his being when he first met you.

Beautiful. That was the only word he knew at the time.

Your beauty was unparalleled, unmatched as you saunter into his view, mind not exactly present in the moment as your clothes swayed with your every hurried step. Your eyes were foggy, a testament to your dedication and work, evidenced by the tablet you held snug to your side.

He decides in that moment that he wants to know you, so he purposefully sets himself in your line of movement and waits for the moment when you bump into him, far too focused in a world that wasn’t the one you were presently in. Fate decided to be kind to him when you fall right into his schemes, allowing him to catch you with an arm secured around your waist, your tablet falling to the stone pavement with a dull smack.

“Oh my!” you exclaim. “My utmost apologies, I was not aware of where I was going-”

He smiles, for the last thing he was thinking of was your apology. Even your voice is beautiful, the words flowing into his ears like warm ichor.

“It’s alright,” he reassures with that smile of his, almost faltering when his heart skips another beat the moment your eyes flit to look at his. Phainon thinks he’s going to collapse to his knees if you glance away. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me your name.”

Unaware of his flirtatious intentions, you sound out the syllables of your name and he repeats it with much wonder. “What a lovely name. I’m Phainon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s been two years since he first met you, and you are still just as enchanting.

He learns you are a widely renowned scholar and author, which explains the tablet you held that day. Of course, you were shocked the moment he uttered his name, for the titles of the Chrysos Heirs were well known, essentially common knowledge for those that flourished in the world of academia. Phainon still cherishes the memory of your expression, keeping it in the back of his mind and musing over it in private.

If you had known he was holding that over you, you would have thrown a slew of unpretty words at him with that pretty voice of yours, and he would have cherished them the same way he does with all of your works.

Whenever Phainon hears that your most recent novel has been released, he is one of the first to scour for it, reading it from start to finish within days. Even your publications from years before have a place on his shelves, there is no book of yours that he has not purchased and proceeded to read from front to back.

He insists on meeting you whenever he can, and while you answer a question he asked, he’s trying to keep his marvelling to a minimum, trying to keep these feelings from spilling all over you as he lets you know that his undivided attention is on you.

You’re skeptical of him. You wonder why he seeks your companionship specifically, what about you entertained him enough to invite you on market walks, buy your favourite drink from your favourite stall, and then sit on a marble bench in a quiet park underneath falling leaves.

As you’re busy pondering, he jolts whenever your thigh brushes against his.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

His favourite time to admire you is when you’re deep in thought and unaware of the world around you, too focused on the wax tablet that sits on your desk.

Despite the practicality of papers, you tell him you like the sensation of writing on wax, how your pen glides along, all of your bursts of inspiration occur like this, so they hold a dear place in your heart. Soft chatter is exchanged, he tells you about his day, you share some idle musings about yours, then you let him know of the most recent developments of your work before he lets you write in peace.

Phainon tries not to stare too much, knows it’s unbecoming to do so, but he can’t help letting his eyes linger on you as your hand scrawls, occasionally taking a break here and there but never letting the train of thought end without it being recorded.

He could watch forever. He could be here forever, sitting in a comfortable chaise in the corner of your study, rendering himself invisible in your periphery as he just gets to exist with you.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s not widely known, perhaps less than a handful of people know, and it’s not because he has confessed it to them outright, but because they have caught on to the subtleties.

The company he surrounds himself with knows well enough about the scholar that has caught his heart, and how he refuses to run away. They give him teasing looks now and then whenever the prospect of romance and love is raised, and glance specifically at the light-haired when your name is mentioned in passing, not wanting to miss the softening of his bright gaze.

It’s even more entertaining because you are not aware of it.

You are not aware of Phainon’s awestruck eyes whenever he looks at you, how he leans closer whenever you speak, desperate to close the gap however he can. You are not aware of how he speaks your name so gently, as if wanting the wind to take the words away and to you so that no one else may hear. You are not aware of the little world Phainon lives in where it’s just you and him, existing together.

The rest of the Chrysos Heir hound after him relentlessly when they first discovered of your ignorance to his feelings, and now they make it their life mission to make fun of him for it, especially before you.

Phainon does not mind, well- tries not to, because he is in love.

As infuriating it is that you haven’t caught on, despite your immense intelligence, he waits patiently for the day you will.

Even though he yearns to declare it from the highest point of Amphoreus, that his very being has been seized by you, he is content with the quiet moments you share now, and he will happily take all that you give him, even if he wants more.

Phainon is in love.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[shouyuus]

more college roommate hcs?? maybe reader tries to tease vi back for bein shirtless all the time which eventually leads to them getting together??

18+ (no sex, just a$$ and tiddies), mdni, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

you have taken to walking around in your underwear.

and at first, vi wonders if she's losing it a little bit, because she's pretty sure you haven't always been like this. no. if anything, in the past couple of months, you'd been strangely... jumpy. and sure it'd been fun to tease you (walking around with her top off all the time just to get a rise out of you made something warm nudge at the base of her belly) but she doesn't think you're the kind of person to hold a grudge.

(she's been wrong in the past though, and vi thinks that it wouldn't be the worst thing to be wrong about this either.)

at first, it looks like an accident, her waking up to you humming, making breakfast like you do, an earbud tucked into your ear, barefoot in the kitchen, sprinkling salt onto the scrambled eggs. but her eyes skate down the length of your body and her breath dies in her lungs as she realizes you're in nothing but a thin spaghetti strap top and baby blue panties. her eyes catch on the lace trimming against the soft of your skin and she swears her thoughts melt into something akin to tv static.

"uh --"

"oh! hey! breakfast is almost ready -- you don't have morning practice today, right?"

"no... i uhm -- i don't..." she blinks several times before tearing her eyes away from your very bare legs, fighting the urge too shake her head like a dog trying to clear it's ears of water.

"cool! oh, i think there's some orange juice left in the fridge, can you grab it?" you turn back to the pan with a bright smile, humming to yourself.

vi swallows, "yeah sure, princess --" she turns toward the fridge, feeling oddly robotic as she opens it to grab the juice jug. all her hairs startle to attention as you lean over the counter, reaching up into the cupboards for a plate, the motion making your already tiny tanktop ride up, a sliver of skin winking at her from above the waistband of your panties.

she nearly drops the juice jug.

three days later, she comes home to the damp cling of steam in the air. frowning, she drops her duffle and wanders towards the bathroom, where the shower's clearly just been turned off, but the door's wide open. and there you are, standing in the steam-ridden bathroom, in nothing but a bra and panties, toweling dry your hair.

"whoa -- sorry --"

"hm? oh! you're home! nice -- i was gonna ask if you wanted to come out to dinner -- i think mel found a really cute wine bar she wanted to try --"

vi stares; she can't help it. you're in a matching set, and even though it's nothing fancy, it still makes her brain feel oddly liquid as she watches your tits bounce slightly in the semi push-up bra.

"wine... bar?" vi asks, her voice slurring slightly even to her own ears.

your eyebrows hitch, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of your mouth as you cock your head.

"yeah, it's pretty close to that one hotdog joint you like so i figured i'd ask."

you make no move to cover yourself up, and distantly, vi thinks that a few months ago, you would've never showered with the doors open.

"sure i -- i'm down -- uh -- is anyone else coming?" vi asks, somehow forcing eyes away from your cleavage. you reach up to hang the towel by the door, dropping back down on your heels.

vi's eyes snap back to the way your tits just bounced.

(what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?)

"-- probably jayce, but other than that no one... vi?"

"huh?" she jerks back slightly, eyes slingshotting back up too meet your gaze. and this time, she sees it -- a flicker of something so very much like mischief caught in the light there before you're laughing, light and airy.

"nothing just... you seem a little out of it. everything okay?"

you squeeze by her into the hallway and she barely catches the way her own eyes trail the shape of you towards your room, the round of your ass cheeks caught in the simple black panties you're wearing.

"yeah -- just..." she swallows, her mouth suddenly very, very dry.

"a long day?" you offer, twisting around to glance at her over your shoulder half a second before you bend down to rummage for a dress in your chest of drawers.

vi feels a curse bubbling out of her --

"holy fuck --"

"hm?"

"no, nothing! i -- i'm gonna shower before we go."

"sure! i washed your towel for you today, so it's fresh," you say, seemingly unperturbed as you finally disappear into your room, though you still make no move to close the door.

"great, t-thanks princess! really... appreciate it..." vi lets her voice trail off into a soft grumble as she nudges the bathroom door closed with an arm and tugs her sweaty practice clothes off. her foot catches something by the bathtub, and she looks down to find a lacy thong with a bright pink butterfly ribboned in the front.

it takes her four whole seconds before she's reaching down to pick it up and hold it to the light. it's not her's, and it's been months since she's brought a hookup home (not since she's started to imagine you between her legs every time she tries to get off with someone else), so -- by elimination it has to be --

yours.

"sweet fuck."

it only gets worse after that -- she'd come home to find you sat on the couch in a veritable fortress of notes and textbooks, in a crop-top and heart-patterned undies, or walk by your room just in time to catch you tugging off your top, your back to the door (thankfully, vi doesn't know if her heart could take it if she saw you fully with your top off --)

"is our ac broken or something?" she asks one day, frowning at the wall controls. you look up, frowning slightly, a highlighter caught between your fingers, as you sit cross-legged on at the dining table, one of her shirts sloping off your shoulder (but you've tied the bottom up with a rubber band so it sits above your abdomen, cutting off right above where a pair of dark red lacey panties is oh so visible underneath).

"hm? no -- why?" you sound distracted, your eyes falling back to your notes.

vi blinks at you.

"you never wear pants anymore."

you freeze, your fingers poised over a line of miniscule text, the highlighter hovering above the page.

when you look up again, there's a fox-fire gleam to the dark in your irises, and a grin that would've made the god of trickers himself puff with pride slung crescent-moon sharp over the shape of your lips.

"what was it that you told me last time?" you ask, your voice sweet enough to slick the skin, "i just always run... hot?"

vi's expression flatlines. she closes the distance between the pair of you in three quick strides and before you can stutter out her name ("v-vi --?"), she's hauling you out of the dining table chair and onto the sofa, pinning you beneath her, one of your wrists caught beneath hers, her other hand skating down the length of your body to tease at the waistband of your panties.

"you little tease..." she murmurs, but there's no poison in her words, only a bone-deep wanting. it rumbles through her to you, shaking shivers down your spine as you whine beneath her.

"mmm you started it," you say, eyes flickering between hers and the shape of her parted lips; the tiny scar there makes your mouth water.

vi narrows her eyes, giving your wrist a warning squeeze as she leans in just a fraction closer. like this, you can almost taste her breath against your tongue.

"so what... are you gonna finish it then, princess?"

"i-if that's what you w-want --" you stumble over your words as vi presses a knee up between your thighs.

"yeah? you're gonna do what i want?"

you let out a pitched whimper; vi delights in the way your pulse jutters in the triangle of your throat. but you nod, a bit frantic, as vi digs her nose into the junction of your neck and breathes.

she lets out a thick groan, an ever-familiar warmth pooling at the base of her belly as she thinks about sinking her teeth into your skin, about seeing the shape of her teeth inked into your skin for days and days after.

it's nearly enough to drive her off the edge.

"but nothing's gonna happen if you don't ask for it first, pretty girl..." she pulls back, grinning when you immediately try to tug her back, the hand pinned beneath hers curling into a loose fist.

"vi... please --"

desire pulses deep in vi's gut. she wonders if things will ever be the same after tonight (it won't) but she also wonders if she still wants them to be the same after all this (she doesn't).

"yeah? please, what?"

you blink up at her, your lashes almost star-lit in the dim light of the dining room.

"kiss me," you say.

vi's breath comes out shaky, her pulse threading through her like some desperate, fluttering thing. she watches you beneath her, thinks to herself that if this is her undoing then so the fuck be it.

"is that what you want, princess?" she asks, and her voice is honest, the edges frayed with all the uncertainty she's ever felt when you've pressed in a bit too close, when she's lingered over the afterimage of your smile, cast against her eyelids at night.

you nod up at her, and in your eyes, she finds something akin to absolution as she leans down to graze her lips over yours, the touch so soft it's almost a memory.

"fuck, vi --" you groan, jerking her down with your free hand fisted at the throat of her shirt, "kiss me, kiss me, kiss me."

she lets out a debauched moan as she tips herself into the heat of your mouth to kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you.

[wndaswife]

there’s no need to be brave | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Sometimes things get to be too much, but you know you can always go to Wanda to feel safe and loved. She reminds you how important it is for you to be taken care of.

Word count: 3573

Tags: it’s all fluff, some humour, age gap, lightly implied age regression during one scene, wanda takes care of you and kisses you and is patient and loving and gentle

The front door rattled softly as you unlocked it. From the kitchen, Wanda looked up from her dinner preparation, anticipating your presence after coming from your afternoon classes. 

She gave you the keys to her place a month ago when your classes didn’t align as much with her work hours as it did for your last semester. Now that you had the keys, it was easier to see each other without your schedules aligning. 

You set down your bag in the living room, shedding your coat on top of it, before practically sliding your feet over to the kitchen lazily. You didn’t even lift your head; it was only the vague figure of Wanda that you needed in order to navigate around the counter and wrap your arms around her body. 

Her arms were trapped under yours, forcing her to wiggle them out of your hold so she could hug you. 

“Baby, are you alright?” she asked, her voice light but her tone concerned. 

You buried your face in her chest. You had meant to reply to her question, but as soon as you opened your mouth you no longer wanted to answer, so you mumbled incoherently into her soft breasts. 

“Sweetheart,” Wanda tried again, leaning back to get a look at you.

Finally, you lifted your head, squinting as you looked up at her in the light of the kitchen. She immediately cupped your face with both hands, brushing back your hair. 

“I hardly got any sleep last night,” you said, straightening so your face wasn’t in Wanda’s chest anymore but now facing her. 

Her eyes followed yours as you looked around the kitchen while you spoke. One hand dropped to your shoulder, her thumb stroking you softly while her other hand remained cupping your cheek. 

“Yesterday, I woke up at eight to study, then last night I slept for two hours before my nine a.m. class, then took an hour nap between classes, and my head hurts and I think I’m getting tunnel vision and I’m scared I’m gonna start hallucinating soon, because isn’t that a sign of sleep deprivation?”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but you continued. 

“At least I’ve eaten, but I don’t know if it’s enough, because I was still hungry while coming over here, and I can’t go home because they’re fixing the hydro so I don’t have running water until midnight — I don’t know why they scheduled the construction in the middle of the day — and I want to shower, and it was so cold outside–”

Suddenly the hand that had been cupping your cheek was over your mouth, and you finally looked at Wanda who was staring at you with a gentle gaze. Upon meeting her eyes she smiled at you, so subtly that the corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly. 

Slowly, she put down her hand then wrapped that arm around your waist, holding you against her. She dropped her other hand from your shoulder and held your hand. 

“You can shower here. My water is working just fine,” she said slowly. “I’m preparing dinner now, so stay over tonight and we can eat a proper meal together. If you’re hungry now, anything in the kitchen is yours.”

She watched your expression relax and your shoulders untense, and she smiled a little when you tried to shuffle closer although you were already standing against her. 

“Take another nap, baby. Shower in my room then sleep in my bed.”

You nodded wordlessly. 

As your face relaxed and when your mind seemed much less troubled, Wanda took a good look at you. She stroked your hand with her thumb. 

“You do look tired…” she said sympathetically. “Please go up to shower — it’ll relax you. Are you still hungry? I can make something for you before you have your nap. I’ll go up after you’ve finished showering.”

Internally, you felt like teasing her for how she was very much talking to you like you were her child. But oh, how badly you just wanted to be taken care of like a child. 

You nodded again, looking up at her. 

Then, at the sight of her face, her pretty face and her beautiful eyes, and her soft hair and the slope of her nose and the line and curl of her lips, you leaned in for a kiss. 

Wanda pulled back slightly, and your eyes darted up from her lips to her eyes. She let go of your hand, lifting her own in front of your face, wiggling her fingers a little. 

“Don’t lick your lips; I was handling raw meat before you came in and I touched your face,” she warned, smiling guiltily. 

You looked over to the counter and saw Wanda’s bowl of ground meat, and around it, her spices and other vegetables she had yet to prepare. 

At the sight of your to-be dinner and the idea of Wanda preparing it and cooking it all up, you laid your head on her shoulder and buried your face in her neck. 

“Oh, doll…” she whispered, cradling the back of your head as you tucked your face under her jaw. 

“Now you’ll have to shower, right? Because I rubbed raw meat on your neck?” 

Maybe you were imagining it, but you could hear Wanda’s grin forming even though your face was buried in her neck. When she spoke next, you were at least sure that she was speaking while grinning. 

“Is that what you were doing?” she asked. “You could’ve just asked.

Wanda tucked your hair back, exposing the side of your face. She kissed your temple. “Give me a few minutes to finish with the meat, so I can refrigerate it. Wait for me upstairs.”

After some minutes, Wanda found you sitting on the edge of the tub waiting for her. She smiled at the sight of you wrapped in a towel, looking up at her as she entered. 

Eagerly, you all but lept from your spot and turned to run the shower, testing it with your hand until it became warm while Wanda undressed behind you. 

When she had taken all her clothes off, she approached you and undid your towel before laying it on the sink. 

You turned, wrapping your arms around her, feeling her smooth bare skin immediately warming your own upon contact with her. 

“I washed my face,” you informed her before squeezing your eyes shut and puckering out your lips. 

A soft kiss was then pressed to your lips, your lips relaxing from its puckering. Wanda’s hand came to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone tenderly. 

“My sweet girl…” she whispered softly as she parted from the kiss. 

In the shower, Wanda washed your hair with her shampoo instead of yours. 

“I’m… feeling kinda…” you started quietly, looking down and playing with your fingers. 

“Mmm?” Wanda hummed, busy with massaging her soapy fingers against your scalp. 

“Kinda… little.”

”I know, baby,” she replied softly. “Just let me take care of you.“

You wondered if Wanda, too, imagined that she heard your smile when it formed bashfully at her response, like you had in the kitchen when you heard her grin.

Earlier, you had been planning to tell Wanda about the other things which had made you feel upset, like how you were behind in your readings and how you were almost certain you did terribly on your midterm paper.

But in the shower, all those things just disappeared. 

A part of you worried for just a moment that Wanda might even think you were being silly or overly dramatic for being upset over only the things you mentioned earlier, so you figured you ought to tell her the whole story. 

But when Wanda turned around and let you wash her hair, you knew there was no way she’d ever think that about you. 

It made you feel like crying. 

Really, you didn’t know why you felt the urge. Maybe it was because it was just a touching sentiment, or because you were overcome with how safe and cared for you felt, in the steam and warmth of Wanda’s shower, her hair in your hands, and her bare body just a few inches from you — Wanda just a few inches from you. 

When she turned around to start washing your body after her hair was rinsed, her eyes fell upon your face for just a moment, and within that moment, you could tell that she noticed you looked like you were about to cry. 

And when you really were about to cry, you didn’t notice yourself; it was Wanda’s immediate comforting that made you realize you were. 

Then, at your soft hiccups, you knew for sure you were crying. 

Her arms surrounded you, and you buried your face in her neck. Your damp cheeks blended with the wet warmth of her skin, making your face feel flushed. 

“Shh, it’s okay now,” she spoke gently. Her arm wrapped around your waist had her warm palm against the middle of your back, her other cradling the back of your head. “I know it gets hard…” 

You sniffled and opened your eyes, watching the water drip from the ends of Wanda’s hair through your bleary eyes. 

“You’re tired and frustrated,” she said. “You just need to be taken care of, right?” She felt you nodding against her shoulder slightly.

“There we go. It’ll be alright, honey. All you need is a little bit of time.”

Your arms squeezed around her waist. 

“I need you,” you insisted. 

“I’m here, Y/N.”

Though you felt you didn’t need anything to eat until dinner, Wanda prepared a snack for you anyway, insisting that you eat something. You asked her to wake you up for dinner because you didn’t want it to get cold before you woke up.

You wanted to wear her pajamas too, so she picked out a comfy pair for you. You were practically beaming as you snuggled down into her neatly-made bed. 

After a few minutes, Wanda came up with some apple slices and some peanut butter on the side. She told you to get to sleep right after eating, and you weren’t even worried you’d accidentally keep yourself up.

With dinner being prepared and Wanda promising to wake you up once it was finished, you snuggled into her bed, promptly falling asleep in her pajamas after eating the snack she put together for you. 

Over dinner, now that you felt far more rested but still extremely eager to sleep cuddled up to Wanda soon, you spoke about her day, and very little about yours, since you didn’t want to think about it.

She sat beside you, touching you occasionally, her hand rubbing your shoulder as she spoke or playing with your fingers that were laying on your thigh.

She asked how you liked dinner, and scooted closer to you when you told her how much you liked it. 

“When was the last time you had a full meal, baby?”

“A full meal?” you asked, thinking about what qualified as a full meal, let alone a meal at all. 

She squeezed your hand as she took a drink from her glass. “One cooked in a kitchen, and warm.”

“Instant noodles in a pot, two evenings ago.”

“That’s not a meal, Y/N.”

“Then… A week and a half ago. When I went for dinner with my friends.”

Wanda let go of your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You need to eat better, baby. Can you come over more often?”

“Can I sleep over more?”

The corners of Wanda’s eyes crinkled when a smile immediately formed on her face, the tips of her ears rising just a twitch. “Please do,” she answered. 

While you were brushing your teeth, Wanda came up after getting the dishes into the dishwasher. She insisted she do it herself while you got ready. 

She smiled at the sight of you still in her pajamas, brushing your teeth in her washroom. She approached you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, your mouth full of minty suds. 

When you had both finished getting ready, you crawled over the bed and laid your head down in Wanda’s lap and brought your knees to your stomach, like a puppy. She set her phone down and laid her hand on your head, massaging your scalp and forehead softly.

Satisfied and relaxed, you closed your eyes. 

“I miss you when you’re busy at school, baby…” she said softly, her voice gentle and a little sleepy. 

You opened your eyes and turned onto your back so you could look up at her. The lamp on her nightstand embraced her in a warm glowing outline around the crown of her head through her hair, making the soft glow look like a halo. 

“Really…?” you asked. 

Her warm hand cupped your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin. She nodded. “So much. I think of you all the time, Y/N. Our phone calls aren’t enough.”

You turned your body and pressed your face against her stomach. 

After a few silent moments of Wanda brushing her fingers through your hair. “Why don’t you take care of yourself? You need to eat and sleep properly, honey.”

You muffled indiscernible words into her stomach, not really trying to give an answer. 

“Are you listening, Y/N?”

You spoke, intelligibly this time, albeit still against her stomach. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Let’s get into bed,” she said, taking your chin in her hand and making you look up at her. She smiled down at you and you turned your head to kiss her palm. 

You weren’t ready to stop clinging onto Wanda even after she turned off the lights and you got under the blankets together; your arms were wrapped around her waist snugly, your head tucked under her chin. Her hand gently stroked the back of your head.

Your breathing was in time with Wanda’s in a way that when her chest expanded as she inhaled, your shoulders relaxed as you exhaled, creating a subtle push and pull of your bodies’ contact.

“I think I might’ve done really badly on my midterm paper,” you said quietly, turning your head and opening your eyes, looking at the subtle shifting of her shoulders.

“Really?” she asked, continuing to stroke the back of your head. “Why?”

The heavy ache in your chest that arose when you normally thought about your terrible paper had somehow dissipated, and in its place a dull and hollowed out feeling where you expected to feel its weight. 

You tightened your arm around Wanda’s waist, pressing your chest against hers. 

“I knew it was terrible as I was writing it. I was just in such a rush. I didn’t take the time to plan it — nothing,” you explained. The words felt like a confession, finally releasing what you’d done without denying it to yourself and storing it deep within that ache that was presently missing.

“What happens if you get a bad mark?”

For the first time, you genuinely thought about a future that took place after receiving the paper’s grade. “I guess I’d have to talk to a teaching assistant about it… Or my professor.”

Wanda hummed in acknowledgment. “It’ll be alright, Y/N. It’s a midterm for a reason; it's not your final, and you’ll certainly have ways to make up for it.”

“But it’s just stupid…” you mumbled, hiding your face in Wanda’s chest again. 

She pulled her head back a bit and looked down at you. “What’s stupid, baby? Come on, look at me when you’re talking.”

“No, I don’t want to,” you replied childishly. 

Wanda gave in with an exhale through her nose and rested her chin on top of your head again. “Can you tell me what’s frustrating you?”

“I’m just stupid. I’m supposed to be able to do these things properly, and I can’t.”

“It’s not that you can’t, Y/N, it’s just that you couldn’t for that assignment. Don’t call yourself stupid.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” you insisted. “You weren’t there with me when I knew I could’ve done better.”

Above you, Wanda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and sighed. She took your chin in her hand and forced you to lift your head from her chest. 

You looked up at her. 

“Why do you want me to scold you so badly, hm? You want me to agree with you and tell me you should’ve and could’ve done better, and that you’ve done a terrible thing?”

The suggestion wasn’t entirely far from what you had been trying to do, but the idea of Wanda actually doing it made you upset. You felt your bottom lip tremble a little. 

“Why won’t you just make me feel bad about things? Just make me feel bad about things I do.”

Pads of her fingers pressed against your cheeks and Wanda frowned as she looked down at you.

“I would never do that, Y/N,” she told you softly. 

You couldn’t tell if you felt more defiant and stubborn, or overwhelmed again by the realization of how much Wanda loved you. 

“Why not?” you asked. 

Her hand combed down your hair until she was holding the side of your face in her hand. “I love you. You’re loved when you’re with me. That’s why.”

You rubbed eyes with the back of your wrist, feeling an onset of tears. You didn’t want to cry — it wasn’t the time, and all you’d been doing since you arrived was cry and whine and want Wanda’s attention. 

“Oh, baby…” Wanda whispered, kissing your forehead and pulling your head against her chest again. “I know. You’re just feeling overwhelmed.”

You wrapped your arm tightly around her waist again, now feeling her shirt dampening against your cheeks. 

“I will always be proud of you, Y/N,” she spoke against the top of your head. Her hand rubbed your upper back. “I will never scold you for falling behind or making a mistake when you tried your best. And I know you did. You’re a hard worker and a good girl.” 

At her words, your silent tears grew into soft sobs and pathetic whimpers which you didn’t care enough to try and silence. 

Wanda asked with a sweet and patient tone, “You’re a good girl, right, sweetheart?” 

You nodded against her chest. 

She pulled away and lifted your face up with two hands. She wiped your tears away and craned her head down to kiss you softly. 

When she pulled away, you sniffled and immediately wrapped your arms around her neck to give her a hug. 

Several quick kisses were pressed to your cheek, and Wanda hugged you tighter. You knew that her arms were hugged around your torso, but it really felt like she was hugging you all over.

“You will always have somewhere to go to be loved and cared for, Y/N. I love you so much,” she said, her lips brushing against your temple. 

You were a mess of sniffles and whines. “But I can’t come over as much as I want. I wish I was with you all the time. I wish I didn’t have to go anywhere, ever.”

“I know, sweetheart. I wish you could stay here all the time and wake up with me every morning, and be here every time I get back from work. I wish neither of us had to do anything.”

Her fingers combed through your hair. “But I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. I’m not upset when you can’t visit. I know you get busy and I want you to do well in school. You’re a very smart girl.”

“I love you, Wanda,” you said. Your words were slightly muffled but your lips were close to her ear, so she could hear. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you in my life. I love you so much.”

Wanda’s arms tightened slightly around your body. “I love you too. I don’t know what I’d do without you either. Talking and being with you is my favourite part of every day. You’re the most important thing in my life.”

For the rest of the night, you and Wanda talked about how you’d figure out having you come over more. Now that you had keys to her place, you could come whenever you wanted, even if she was at work, and stay until she got home. 

She suggested you come over just to eat between classes even if she was out, but you said you weren’t ready to be at her place without her yet; it would feel too lonely and you wanted to see her every time you came over. 

In the morning, Wanda made you breakfast while you brewed the coffee. You didn’t want to miss her when she left for work, so you woke up early and decided to study on campus before your first class, so you could leave with her and spend more time with her in the car. 

Everything in the world and in your life made so much sense when you were doing your daily tasks with Wanda, as if your ordinary life was meant to be aligned with hers. 

This was the woman you were supposed to spend your life with, and it was no wonder everything felt better when you were with her.

[legomaster333]

from classmate to boyfriend, jungwon has always been attentive towards you ୨୧ yang jungwon x fem, wc 0.4k

⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏ ⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀ ͏· · ୨୧ · ·

classmate!jungwon who you always find quietly saving you a seat, even if he acts like it’s just a coincidence. he smirks slightly when you thank him, but the pink dusting his ears gives him away.

classmate!jungwon who never stammers but still gets a little flustered when you catch him staring. he always remembers the little things—like how you take your coffee or which pens you prefer for notes.

classmate!jungwon who notices when you're tired and casually pushes a coffee toward you, acting nonchalant but tapping his fingers against his cup as he waits for your reaction. "thought you might need this."

classmate!jungwon who always offers to walk you back to your dorm, his voice steady but warm.

"it’s getting dark," he says, eyes holding yours this time. "i’d feel better if you weren’t alone."

bf!jungwon who always has a hair tie on his wrist, smoothly handing it over when you need one. he even stayed up all night watching tutorials and practicing how to tie hair just so he could do it for you if you ever needed help.

one evening, as you're cooking, he gently gathers your hair and ties it back without a word, his fingers careful and precise. "don’t want it getting in your food," he murmurs, a small, proud smile on his lips.

bf!jungwon who gives you a small bottle of pepper spray one day, his ears turning pink as he says, "just in case. i’d worry too much if you didn’t have it."

bf!jungwon who insists you use his name whenever you order food for pickup because he thinks it’s safer.

"but why yours?"

"because it's safer to use a guy’s name," he shrugs, but the way he fiddles with his sleeve betrays how much he’s thought about it.

bf!jungwon who instinctively pulls you closer in a crowd, his hand easily finding yours like it belongs there, his cheeks slightly pink but his grip firm.

bf!jungwon who melts when you rest your head on his shoulder, tilting his head slightly so he can rest against you too, pretending it’s no big deal but secretly loving every second.

bf!jungwon who gives you his hoodie even when he’s freezing, rolling his eyes playfully but still nudging it toward you. "i’ll be fine, just take it."

bf!jungwon who never lets you doubt how much he cares about you. who makes sure you’re safe, warm, and loved every single day.

"i don’t care what happens, i just need you to be okay."

he has and always will put you first.

© legomaster333, all rights reserved.

letters from author here comes the poll winner! ill post the jake draft i have like tmrw or the day after (or whenever i finish my actual english essay..)

[hoe4hotchner]

can i req aaron with an s/o who's ovulating or has a high sex drive and is easily turned on by him (regardless of if he's trying to or not)

The Hotchner effect | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 2.0k | CW: MDNI, 18+, smut, Couch sex.

A/N: Well…… this was the smut I was excited about writing the night before I was hit by that car. So, here you guys go ;) To anyone interested: I've almost made a full recovery at this point. In a couple of days I'll probably be 100% fine again :D

You always thought you had decent control over yourself and your body—at least until you met Aaron Hotchner. Somehow, just being around him tested your limits, especially when he wasn’t even trying. Every. Single. Day. Whether it was his voice, as low and commanding as it was when you visited him in the middle of a case brief at the BAU, or the way his tie shifted as he rolled up his sleeves, everything he did made your heart race—and that was on a normal day.

But today? Today, your hormones were in overdrive. Ovulating didn’t just make you aware of him; it made everything he did feel like it was specifically designed to unravel you. All of your senses tuned onto his wavelengths.

His scent lingering in the sheets—hypnotizing.

The sound of his footsteps across the floor—ears perked.

Every little twitch and movement he made—you suddenly had 20/20 vision.

Like now, as he stood in the kitchen casually pouring himself a cup of coffee before retreating back to his office. The crisp white shirt he wore hugged his frame just right, the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders, his suit jacket long forgotten on the back of his chair after he had returned home.

He wasn’t even speaking, but the way he leaned against the counter, so composed and yet so authoritative, was enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts veer wildly off course.

“Are you alright?” His voice cut through your haze, and you froze, realizing you’d been staring at him.

“Uh, yeah! Fine. Totally fine,” you said quickly, reaching for a cup as if that was why you’d been standing there in the first place.

His lips twitched in a faint smile, and you cursed internally because even that was hot. Damn him.

The problem was, Aaron knew. Maybe not the full extent of it, but he was far too observant not to notice the way your breath hitched when he looked at you or how your cheeks flushed whenever he got too close. And right now, you could see the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes as he stepped closer, seemingly to grab the sugar.

“Sure you’re fine?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You gripped the counter, your body betraying you as heat flushed through your skin. “Y-yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze lingered, assessing, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But instead, he leaned back, sipping his coffee, completely unbothered by the chaos he was causing inside you.

The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Whether it was the way he adjusted his tie, the faint scruff on his jaw after a long phone call, or how his hand brushed yours when he came out of the office for a moment, you were practically vibrating with tension.

By the time he finished his workload, you were ready to combust.

Aaron was undoing his cufflinks when you finally snapped. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” you blurted, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of the living room.

He glanced up, eyebrows raised, but the smirk tugging at his lips told you everything. “I might have an idea,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, and damn him again because he was still so calm, so composed, while you were unraveling.

“You’re driving me insane, Aaron,” you confessed, and this time, his smirk softened into something deeper, more knowing.

“Come here,” he said, his tone shifting, and the weight of it alone made your knees weak.

You didn’t hesitate, crossing the space between you in an instant. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as his lips brushed your temple. “You know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been trying to keep my distance all day because I could tell you were… distracted.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Distracted is an understatement.”

His fingers tightened slightly on your hips, his lips grazing your ear now. “Well, sweetheart, I’m all yours now.”

And that was all it took for you to finally close the gap, pulling him into a kiss that was every bit as heated as the tension that had been simmering between you all day.

As soon as your lips met, it was like all the pent-up desire and arousal from the day came pouring out in a wave of pure, unbridled passion. Your kiss was hungry, almost feral, your hands roaming over Aaron's body as if trying to memorize every edge and angle.

Aaron groaned into your mouth, his own hands slipping under your shirt to explore the soft skin of your back. He tugged impatiently at the fabric, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside before his fingers quickly found the clasp of your bra and unhooked it.

His gaze raked over your exposed breasts as he freed them.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, palming your one, the callous on his fingers rough against your skin. "You're so gorgeous. I can't get enough of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening almost painfully under his touch. You arched into his hand, a needy whimper escaping your lips. He took the opportunity to lower his head and capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your core.

You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close. He lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between nipping and sucking until you were writhing against him, your body aching for more. Your hands scrabbled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Aaron seemed to understand, moving back just long enough to yank his shirt off before continuing his attack on you again. The feel of his bare chest against yours was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your nerves. You ran your hands over his muscles, marveling at the way they flexed beneath your touch.

Your arousal was growing with each passing second, and your panties soaked. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your body crying out for release. Aaron seemed to sense it, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me what you need, baby," he murmured, his fingers toying with the button. "Tell me how you want me to make you feel."

His words were like a match thrown in a puddle of gasoline, igniting the fire in your veins. "I need you," you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need you inside me. Please, Aaron, fuck me."

A wicked grin spread across Aaron's face, his eyes glinting with promise. "With pleasure," he purred, popping the button of your pants and sliding them down your legs. You kicked them off eagerly, leaving you in nothing but a damp pair of panties.

Aaron drank in the sight of you, his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. "God, you're perfect," he breathed, running a finger along the edge of your panties. "So perfect."

He hooked his fingers under the fabric, slowly pulling them down and baring you completely to his hungry gaze. You flushed under his scrutiny, but the heat of his stare only served to fuel your desire. He leaned you back, the weight os his body pressing against you as your back hit the cushion of the couch.

"I'm going to taste every inch of you," he promised as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

And with that, he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your back arching off the couch. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold, finding all the spots that made you gasp and moan. He knew you too well.

Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over with skill. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more. He obliged happily, sliding two fingers inside you and curling them just right, hitting the spot that made stars blind your vision.

"Oh god, Aaron," you keened, your head thrashing from side to side. "Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm so close."

He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress. But Aaron was far from done with you.

He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his stiffness pressing against you, hot and insistent. Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock.

"I need to be inside you," he grunted, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me. Think you can take one more, for me?"

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.

Aaron set a hard and fast pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful stroke. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle and allowing him to go even deeper.

"You feel amazing," he panted, his eyes locked on yours. "So tight and wet and perfect. I never want this to end."

His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, your walls clenching around him in response, your eyes watering from pure bliss. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts becoming erratic and uncoordinated as he chased his own release.

You could feel another orgasm building low in your belly, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Harder," you gasped, digging your nails into his back. "Fuck me harder, Aaron."

He obliged with a guttural moan, hammering into you with all his strength. The bed creaked beneath you, rocking with the force of his thrusts. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.

"Cum for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."

His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a near-silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Aaron followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you and flooding your womb with his seed.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."

He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure. As you drifted off to sleep, safe and sated in his embrace, you knew that this was where you belonged.

[mariasont]

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart?  There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him. 

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. 

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it. 

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back. 

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[mosoderbergh]

So as a trans guy myself, the way Veilguard deals with these topics has been really nice to see. Like... I am lucky enough to have a really supportive group of people around me, but I've had days where Emmrich's dialog options on the topic ("most people accepted me, but not everyone" - "they are fools") has meant more to me than I care to admit. This MIGHT have spun off into a little scenario in my head.

One where Rook gets wounded in battle. *Badly* wounded. He's pretty sure he's going to die. He can feel his life seep out of him. and even as someone else is already healing him, he calls for Emmrich. Even if all he's had with him were a few moments of passing flirtation.

Emmrich is at his side immediately, taking his hand, all practiced but warm-hearted bedside manner.

"You mustn't strain yourself now", Emmrich says, trying and failing to mask his concern. But Rook doesn't listen. He's wide-eyed, gasping. Panicked.

"Emmrich, my parents are going to bury me under my old name."

"No one is going to bury you, Rook."

"Please! They can't... Don't let them bury me as a woman."

And Emmrich, who still wants to tell Rook he's going to be fine, stops himself. Because he doesn't know. And because this is important. He leans in, professionalism replaced with rasped intensity.

"Never."

Then, and only then, Rook lets himself sink into unconsciousness.

He survives, of course. And after he's recovered a bit, Emmrich presents him with a stack of papers. Because it turns out it's not his first rodeo when it comes to this topic. And so he explains to Rook how, once your gender is cemented in Nevarran bureaucracy, there's nothing any ill-meaning relatives can do about it. And Emmrich was fully prepared to take care of this process for Rook - it's more difficult to do posthumously, but not impossible, especially not for a corpse whisperer of his standing.

"I must say, though: I much prefer doing it this way", he says as he settles in his library with Rook for an evening of tea and paperwork.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Just thinking about how clingy Jack is after a roadie. That man won’t let you do anything

Yeah, lets be real, Jack is a clingy baby. Olympic levels of clingy when he's finally back home. Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

Jack's always been clingy. This is only made ten times worse when he's missed you. He's under your feet every time he comes back from a roadie. He's a tactile person by nature, always reaching for you on any given day, but it's made 100 times more severe when he's been gone for a few days or worse a week. In a lot of ways it's sweet and flattering that he cares and misses you so much that he has to be on top of you the moment he’s home, has to be under your feet. In other ways? It's a bit of an inconvenience, and depending on your mood can actually make you a little grumpy.

It starts with him just being in the same room as you, whether it’s watching you cook or watching you fold laundry, Jack’s eyes follow you wherever you go. But, it never stays like that for long, maybe 5 minutes tops. Soon he’ll start physically following you around the room, not quite under your feet, but close enough that he’s in your peripheral vision, your shadow. You can feel him behind you, can sense where he is at all times even when he isn't yapping away at you. This is manageable, he’s not in the way and he’s never stopping you from doing what you need to at this point, but it never lasts long. Usually within 20 minutes of Jack being home he’s on you like the plague, arms latched around you, chest to your back, face nuzzled into your neck.

It’s sweet but impractical, you’re trying to go about your day and he refuses to let go of you, he has to be physically attached to you in some way whether it’s wrapping you in his arms and waddling behind you or putting his chin on your arm or a hand on your leg.

"Jack, I'm trying to make my lunch," You can't help but laugh as you try to cut up some veggies, arm movements somewhat restricted by the band of arms wrapping around your chest. Jack's so close to you he's practically pressing you into the counter.

"You can still make lunch like this..." He grumbles into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, the kisses are so light that you can't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation. This only draws an encouraged smirk from him, one that you can feel widening against your skin.

"Jack..."

"Angelllll...."

"Jackkkkkk," Nothing you say or do will get him to let go, he'll waddle around the kitchen with you, waddle to the kitchen table. Even when you sit down, he drags a chair so close to you that your legs are touching from hip down to ankle and he's got his arms wrapped around your waist, chin pressed into your shoulder the entire time you eat. You can't help but feel a mite embarrassed at him watching you so intently with those baby blues while you eat, the only thing making it bearable is the fact he's smiling the whole time like you're doing something amazing. Not just eating lunch.

Even when you try to shower, he's there, unable to detach himself from you because he's been gone so long and don't you love him? Didn't you miss him? He just wants to be around you...and Luke will more than happily confirm that Jack has been unbearable the entire roadie, nonstop talking about how he can't wait to get back home to you when he isn't talking about hockey.

“Jack, baby, I need to shower…” Your hands are pushing at Jack's shoulders in an attempt to get him to unlatch from you, but he's a hockey player. He's strong and if he doesn't want to be move then he's not moving.

“Can’t I just shower with you?”

“As if you could keep your hands to yourself..." You scoff at him trying to peel his arms off you, Jack only squeezes your waist tight. He's pouting up at you like you're being mean for wanting to have a shower without his arms attached to you for five minutes.

"I promise I can, I promise, baby..."

"No."

"Then I'm sitting in here." It's like watching a toddler sit on the floor of a supermarket refusing to get up because they can't have the thing they wanted. The way he points at the closed toilet lid to further illustrate his point, that he's not going anywhere.

"You're going to sit there and watch me shower? Like a creep?"

"Like a boyfriend who's missed his girlfriend who he loves dearly and who's girlfriend won't let him help her shower because she doesn't trust or love him." He's ultimately joking, you can see it in the twinkle in his eyes. You know if you told him that you wanted him to leave, that he was making you uncomfortable, he would. It's what makes the whole thing sweet and endearing because you don't mind him wanting to constantly be under your feet, you actually kind of love it.

"I trust you..." you pause for a second before grinning at him, "I just don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself."

"Baby..." He whines at you, almost throwing a tantrum, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. You know this phase will go soon, after a day back he'll still be clingy but not to this extent, so you find it cute and endearing rather than irritating while it lasts.

"Do you promise to help me wash my hair and not make any untoward advances?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise!"

"Okay, you can help me shower you big baby."

And he does help you wash your hair, but maybe his hands do wander a little...because he's Jack and he's missed you.

[yaniluvs]

is it a kiss if we share a straw? ✿ 'cause i like you a (matcha) latte

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎  . . 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 !

⟡ read the prequel here ⟡

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader g. fluff , humour , uni!au , classmates to lovers, skz ensemble. I3,7OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. bantering , jokes , intimacy , pets. ✦ requested. ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ oh god when i tell you all i had reached the IOOO blocks limit.. i almost died. so i had to edit this entirely to merge some blocks. haha.. the sequel is much longer than the prequel. well, you all deserve it since you loved the prequel !! i loved this fic so much >< thank you to the lovely iza for helping me w the titles bc my brain almost died !! also y'all please send me some requests for valentines/galentines month <3 anon. claims are also open !! hope you all like it !!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

it was a normal morning. seungmin had woken up to the sound of jisung dramatically singing in the shower, half-dressed and flinging water everywhere like they were in some kind of k-drama opening sequence. he had stepped over piles of jisung’s clothes, debated throwing one of his textbooks at him, and had finally settled at his desk, groaning at the mess around him. it was too early for this.

and yet— knock. knock. knock. the loud, rhythmic knocking echoed through their shared dorm. jisung, now out of the shower, poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. "you expectin' someone?" seungmin stared at him. and then his eyes widened. oh no. he was expecting someone. before he could even get up, the knocking intensified—faster, louder, insistent. jisung pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth and smirked. “that’s a very excited knock.” seungmin scowled. “shut up.” the knocking was immediately followed by a singsong voice. “seungminnnn~ open up!” jisung practically lit up. “oh my god.” he gasped. “is that—” seungmin groaned, pushing past him and heading for the door. and when he opened it— y/n stood there, practically glowing in the morning light, wearing sneakers that looked like they had been through war.

in her hands?

two matcha lattes in takeout cups.

a small bag of pastries.

and another little package tied up neatly with string.

she grinned up at him. “good morning, seungminnie.”

he deadpanned. “never call me that again.”

she giggled and stepped inside, unfazed by his immediate rejection.

seungmin closed the door behind her. “you’re early.”

she hummed. “i like being early.”

“of course you do. isn't that why you were always early to our study sessions at the café?”

jisung, still standing by the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, wiggled his eyebrows.

“so this is what you two were doing instead of the café.”

y/n turned to him, brightening. “jisung! good morning.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “don’t entertain him.”

too late.

jisung grinned. “are those for me?”

y/n gasped, clutching the drinks to her chest. “no.”

jisung pouted. “not even the pastries?”

“i brought these for seungmin and me,” y/n stated proudly. “and these—” she wiggled the little package tied with string, “—are homemade treats for star.”

seungmin blinked.

she baked for his dog.

for his dog.

well, star was hers first but you get the point.

“wow,” jisung muttered, shaking his head in amazement. “so this is what love looks like.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him.

“get out.”

jisung dodged with ease, snickering as he padded toward his room. “i’ll leave you two alone. have fun being married.”

seungmin turned to y/n, about to say something—

only to find her already halfway to the couch, scanning the room excitedly.

“where’s star?” she asked, looking around like an impatient kid.

seungmin sighed. “he’s in my room.”

y/n immediately made a beeline for his door.

“y/n, don’t just barge in—”

too late.

she had already swung the door open, stepping inside like she owned the place.

and then— her heart melted. because there, curled up in a nest of blankets on seungmin’s bed, was star.

his golden fur was slightly tousled from sleep, his body curled into himself, peaceful, warm. and when he lifted his head, his dark brown eyes blinking sleepily— y/n felt her entire soul leave her body.

“hi, baby,” she whispered, stepping closer.

star’s ears perked. his nose twitched. he recognized her.

in an instant, his tail thumped against the mattress, his body wiggling with excitement.

y/n squealed. “you remember me!”

seungmin leaned against the doorway, watching as star launched himself off the bed and into her arms. y/n caught him, stumbling slightly as she hugged him tight, her face buried in his fur.

she giggled, pressing soft kisses to his head. “i missed you.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “it’s been one day.”

y/n ignored him completely, pulling out the treats she had baked.

“look what i made for you, star,” she cooed, untying the package. “i made them with lots of love.”

seungmin snorted. “he’s a dog, not a boyfriend.”

y/n gasped, scandalized. “seungmin, take that back.”

“no.”

she glared. “you’re lucky i brought you a latte.”

“yeah, yeah.” he waved her off. “come on, let’s start the project.”

she pouted but followed him to the table, star happily munching on his treat at her feet.

seungmin slid into the chair across from her, sipping the matcha latte she brought.

(he wasn’t going to admit it, but it tasted really good.)

y/n, on the other hand, was already distracted.

“you know, seungmin,” she mused, sipping her drink. “i think you should get star a cute sweater.”

he raised an eyebrow. “a sweater?”

“yes.” she nodded firmly. “something classy. maybe a turtleneck.”

jisung, from the hallway, “a dog in a turtleneck??”

y/n gasped. “oh my god. yes.”

seungmin groaned. “you’re insane.”

she just grinned. “and you love it.”

seungmin opened his mouth to argue— only to close it again.

because, for some reason, watching her sit there, smiling so brightly, sipping her matcha like she owned the world—

he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. maybe he did love it.

maybe… he was starting to love a lot of things about her. and that thought? was a little terrifying. but still, a little exciting.

so, when thirty minutes into their so-called project work, seungmin had come to a harsh, undeniable conclusion: this was not a study session.

it was a y/n-admires-star-and-gets-distracted-every-five-seconds session. and it was infuriating.

"y/n," seungmin sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "focus."

"i am focused," she argued, still not looking at him.

seungmin followed her gaze—

she was star-ing at star. again. [see what i did there?]

the golden retriever was curled up beside her chair, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. and y/n? she had completely zoned out mid-sentence, her cheek resting against her hand, eyes soft as she watched star’s ears twitch in his sleep.

seungmin clicked his tongue. "what exactly are you focused on?"

she blinked, barely registering his words. "him."

jisung, from the kitchen, snorted.

"are you serious right now?" seungmin groaned.

y/n hummed. "mhm."

seungmin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "i knew this was a bad idea. we should’ve just gone to the café."

y/n finally tore her gaze away from star to look at him, gasping in fake offense. "excuse me?"

"you heard me," seungmin deadpanned.

she scoffed. "first of all, rude. second, blasphemy. third, i brought you a matcha latte, and this is how you repay me?"

jisung cackled. "she's got a point."

"shut up, squirrel-face."

y/n pouted dramatically, sinking into her chair. "you don’t appreciate anything. i bet star appreciates me more than you do."

seungmin exhaled sharply. "he's a dog."

she gasped. "and? that just means he has purer judgment."

seungmin narrowed his eyes. "so what you’re saying is that my dog likes you more than me?"

y/n grinned. "oh, absolutely."

jisung smirked. "can’t argue with that one."

seungmin threw his pen at him.

"okay," seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples. "since you're so focused on star, tell me—what exactly is so fascinating about him?"

y/n lit up. oh no. this was a mistake.

she leaned forward, clasping her hands together like she had been waiting for him to ask.

"well, first of all," she began, "look at him."

seungmin deadpanned. "i do look at him. every day. because he's my dog."

"dude, it's been three days since you've seen him. and the first was at the adoption cent-"

she ignored the two. "he's literally the cutest thing. did you notice how his ears flop when he breathes?"

jisung muttered, "here we go."

y/n gasped dramatically. "and the little scar on his eyebrow? he looks like a pirate. a handsome pirate."

seungmin tilted his head. "handsome pirate?"

"yes!" y/n cried. "he has this rugged, mysterious look—like a hero with a tragic past."

jisung choked on his water.

seungmin stared at her, baffled. "you think my dog has a tragic past?"

"...he does," y/n huffed. "the whole reason he was in the shelter is because— well, he was abandoned.. and not treated with care. which is why he deserves all the love in the world now."

her voice softened slightly at the last part.

and for a second—just a second—seungmin didn’t have a sarcastic remark ready.

he just watched as she gazed at star again, her fingers lightly brushing against the fur on his back.

soft. gentle. affectionate.

there was something about the way she cared that made something uncomfortable stir in his chest.

he quickly cleared his throat. "so you're saying he’s a main character."

"obviously," y/n nodded. "if this were a movie, he'd be the heartwarming, lovable side character who helps the protagonist through tough times."

"then what does that make you?"

she blinked.

then she grinned. "the best friend. duh."

jisung chimed in from the kitchen, "pretty sure you're the main character here."

[han's mind rn: the fourth wall??? what is it?]

y/n laughed. "oh no, seungmin's the main character. he's all broody and grumpy and—"

seungmin raised an eyebrow. "and what?"

she smirked. "secretly a softie."

jisung howled.

seungmin groaned, shoving his textbook over to her. "read. before i kick you out."

y/n giggled but picked up the book obediently, flipping through the pages. "fine, fine. but just so you know, i'm gonna see star every single day from now on."

seungmin sipped his latte. "did i have a choice?"

"nope."

he exhaled through his nose. "figures."

jisung snickered. "damn. she already owns half of this dorm and it hasn't even been a day."

y/n beamed. "you're right. i should start bringing decorations."

"don't even think about it."

she winked. and somehow—between y/n's constant distractions, jisung's unhelpful commentary, and star snoring at their feet— seungmin found himself not minding it at all.

. . .

seungmin had a headache. not because of uni. not because of work. but because the girl just wouldn't shut the fuck up.

the study session had officially derailed at this point. and to make matters worse, jisung—his supposed best friend—had fully switched sides and was entertaining y/n’s nonsense instead of helping to keep her on track.

“seungmin, do you think star has dreams?” y/n asked suddenly, staring at the sleeping dog beside her with a fond smile.

seungmin blinked, deadpan. “huh?”

“like—what do you think he dreams about?”

jisung smirked from across the couch, munching on one of the pastries y/n had brought. “bet he dreams about running through a field of treats.”

“or maybe about fighting evil!” y/n gasped, dramatically throwing a fist in the air. “like a true hero.”

seungmin dragged a hand down his face. “y/n, i swear—”

“or maybe he dreams about you,” she cut in, turning toward him with a teasing grin. “since you’re his owner and all.”

he hesitated. for a second. and for some reason, that second was too long.

y/n noticed.

her eyes twinkled, mischief curling at the edges of her lips. “oh my god. do you care about that?”

seungmin scowled, turning back to his notes. “i literally do not care.”

“liar.”

jisung snorted. “she got you there.”

seungmin groaned, flipping to another page in his textbook, pretending to focus. “can we please study?”

y/n hummed. “mmm, maybe later.”

his eye twitched. “maybe later?”

she nodded, taking a sip of her matcha latte. “mhm.”

jisung laughed. “yeah, man. priorities.”

seungmin closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

he could throw them both out. he could lock the door. he could actually get his work done in peace.

but he didn’t.

instead, he sighed and turned his head slightly—just enough to see y/n sitting on the floor, her legs tucked under her, her fingers running absentmindedly through star’s fur as she murmured something to him.

soft.

she was soft. i'm aware i mentioned it before. but this man is just too smitten and he doesn't wanna admit it.

moving on.

it was annoying how much that was becoming a fact in his life.

his throat felt weird.

he cleared it. “if we’re not going to study, at least do something productive.”

y/n looked up. “like what?”

jisung pointed lazily. “laundry.”

“ew, i'm not washing some boys' laundry. pass.”

“dishes.”

“hard pass.”

seungmin sighed. “what i meant was.. help clean up the disaster you made on the table. not your chores, jisung.”

jisung pouted. “it was worth a try.”

she stood up, stretching her arms over her head before reaching for the empty takeout cups. seungmin didn’t know why—but his eyes lingered on her for a second too long.

the way her sleeves slid slightly down her wrists. the soft hum she let out as she moved. the light clicking of her rings as they tapped against the cups.

it was—

subtle.

but not enough. he looked away, shaking his head as jisung smirked at him from across the room.

don’t. seungmin mouthed.

jisung grinned.

seungmin glared.

jisung winked.

seungmin threw a pen at him. (x2)

by the time evening rolled around, the three of them had managed to not study for a total of six hours.

seungmin didn’t even know how that was possible.

somewhere in between y/n stealing one of his blankets (“it’s cold, seungmo, have a heart”), jisung and y/n dramatically reenacting an entire scene from a movie (“what are we, if not cosmic dust floating in the abyss?”—“jisung, shut up”), and y/n curling up beside star again (“you’re the cutest thing in the world—yes, i mean you, star”),

seungmin had lost control of the day.

and yet.

he let it happen.

because when y/n turned her head slightly and smiled at him—genuinely, softly, with that bright look in her eyes like she was just happy to be here—

seungmin didn’t mind it at all. not one bit. soon, enough, it was right after the sun had set, and y/n, unfortunately, had to leave.

she unlocked the door to her shared dorm, pushing it open with her shoulder. the soft hum of the night filled the space as she stepped in, her body exhausted but her heart… full.

“where have you been?”

rina’s voice rang from the couch, where she was lying upside down, her head hanging off the edge as she scrolled through her phone.

aeri, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cup of tea, smirked. “let me guess—seungmin?”

y/n shut the door behind her, pausing. “…no?”

a beat of silence. aeri and rina stared at her.

y/n groaned, kicking off her shoes. “okay, yes—but it was for the project!”

aeri snorted. “mhm. project.”

“yeah, totally.” rina rolled onto her side. “is that why you’re smiling like an idiot right now?”

“i am not—”

“you so are.”

y/n scowled, throwing a cushion at them. “shut up.”

they laughed, rina catching the cushion before sitting up properly. “seriously though, how was it?”

y/n sighed, plopping onto the couch beside her. “it was… nice.”

aeri hummed, sipping her tea. “just nice?”

“yeah. we didn’t even get much work done, honestly.”

rina raised a brow. “you didn’t get work done? that’s new.”

y/n shrugged, rubbing at her eyes. “i dunno… star was there, and jisung was being jisung, and it was just…” she trailed off, her gaze softening.

they noticed.

aeri set her mug down, tilting her head. “you really like that dog, huh?”

y/n smiled, running a hand through her hair. “yeah. a lot.”

she didn’t say more. she didn’t have to. because they both knew what she wasn’t saying.

knew how much that golden retriever meant to her.

knew how much she had worried about him for days.

and now—he was safe. with seungmin, of all people.

her stomach flipped at the thought.

“seungmin’s a good guy,” rina murmured after a moment.

y/n blinked, looking at her.

aeri nodded. “yeah. kinda stiff, but still.”

y/n huffed a small laugh. “yeah. he’s good.”

she didn’t realize she was smiling again. she didn’t realize how warm her chest felt.

she only realized when aeri and rina exchanged knowing looks.

“omg—”

“no.”

they gasped.

rina grabbed her arm. “you like him.”

“i do not—”

aeri smirked. “y/n and seungmin, sitting in a tree—”

“i will throw you out.”

they died laughing as y/n groaned, shoving her face into a pillow. her heart thumped in her chest.

god. she hated them.

but maybe, they weren’t entirely wrong.

the air was crisp. sunlight streamed through the glass windows of the university’s main hall, casting golden streaks across the floor. y/n walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder. the campus was bustling, students huddled in groups, talking, laughing, yawning from their morning exhaustion. she weaved through the crowd, searching—

“y/n!”

she turned at the sound of her name, spotting felix and hyunjin across the hall.

felix waved dramatically. “we were about to call you.”

hyunjin grinned. “where were you last night? we tried calling you.”

y/n sighed. “oh my god, not you too.”

felix perked up. “ooooh, why? who else asked?”

she immediately regretted speaking.

hyunjin gasped. “wait, wait—was it seungmin?”

y/n choked on her coffee.

felix clapped. “that’s a yes!”

“i hate you guys.”

they cackled as they walked toward their lecture hall, hyunjin slinging an arm around her shoulders. “c’mon, spill. what happened?”

y/n groaned. “nothing!”

felix wiggled his brows. “oh? you sure?”

“i will end you, lee felix.”

the university library was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with them in it. the scent of old books mixed with the sharp aroma of coffee, and the late afternoon sun filtered through the large glass windows, casting soft, golden hues over the long study tables. dust motes floated lazily in the warm light, drifting like tiny fireflies in the still air. the heavy shelves stretched toward the ceiling, lined with worn spines and crinkled pages, whispering secrets of past knowledge. somewhere in the distance, the occasional sound of a page turning or a muffled cough punctuated the silence, but at their table, silence was a foreign concept.

y/n sat between felix and hyunjin, her open notebook filled with neatly written notes, margins lined with underlined key points and little doodles she barely remembered sketching. the steady scratch of her pen against paper was a familiar rhythm, almost meditative, yet constantly interrupted by felix's restless shifting and hyunjin's occasional, dramatic sighs. across from them, aeri was flipping through her economics textbook, brows furrowed, her highlighter hovering in hesitation before finally marking a passage in a precise, straight line. rina, on the other hand, looked far too unbothered for someone who was definitely lagging behind, sipping lazily on her iced americano, the condensation dripping onto her untouched notes. the cup left a wet ring on the paper, but she didn’t seem to care, content to simply exist in this moment of chaotic tranquility.

felix stretched his arms above his head before slumping back into his chair with an exaggerated groan, the wooden legs creaking under his weight. he adjusted his reading glasses, even though they served no real purpose beyond aesthetics. "so let me get this straight," he began, tilting his head as if the angle would somehow change the reality of the situation. "you guys have been studying for the past week and i just found out we have an assignment due tomorrow?"

hyunjin snorted, flipping his pen between his fingers with practiced ease. "lix, it was literally on the syllabus."

"who reads the syllabus?"

aeri sighed, flipping a page, her expression exasperated yet unsurprised. "people who want to pass, maybe?"

felix rolled his eyes before turning to y/n, nudging her arm with the side of his hand like an impatient child. "you’re good at this. help me."

y/n sighed dramatically, her gaze shifting from felix’s pleading expression to the scattered mess that was his notes—half-written sentences, numbers that had no business being in those equations, and a truly concerning number of crossed-out attempts. "i always help you."

"that’s ‘cause i’m your favorite."

rina leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "that’s funny, because i thought i was her favorite."

"i thought i was," hyunjin added, raising a brow.

aeri scoffed, feigning offense. "she likes me the most. y/n, tell them."

y/n stared at them all, unimpressed, tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook. "none of you are my favorite."

a beat of silence stretched between them.

"yeah 'cause it's probably seungmin now." murmured a devastated hyunjin.

felix gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if physically wounded. "how could you?"

hyunjin wiped a fake tear. "we were best friends, y/n."

aeri shook her head in disappointment. "wow. betrayal."

rina sighed, sipping her coffee with the air of someone deeply wronged. "i trusted you."

y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. "oh my god, shut up and study!"

felix pouted but leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand. "fine. but only if you explain this." he pointed to his book, where a bunch of equations were scribbled down, some very wrong.

y/n took one glance and winced. "felix… what is that?"

"my attempt at math?"

"it looks like you just guessed."

"…isn’t that how math works?"

aeri smacked his arm with her highlighter. "no."

hyunjin burst into laughter while rina shook her head, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "you are so hopeless."

felix whined, turning back to y/n. "okay, okay, explain it to me."

y/n sighed, but there was fondness in her voice. "alright, listen carefully…" she leaned in, grabbing a pen, and started breaking down the equations step by step, her handwriting smooth and deliberate, looping over the lined paper in a way that made even numbers look elegant. felix watched with exaggerated concentration, nodding along as if he actually understood, though his occasional side glances at hyunjin betrayed his confusion. hyunjin watched for a few seconds before stretching his arms out with a groan. "i give up. my brain hurts."

"same," rina mumbled, propping her cheek against her palm.

aeri rolled her eyes. "you guys have the attention span of goldfish."

"i have the attention span of a very smart goldfish, thank you," hyunjin corrected, tossing his pen onto his notebook with a soft clatter.

felix nodded. "same. i’m a gifted goldfish."

"omg, lixie, what if we become cute goldfish together!"

y/n groaned, pressing her forehead against the table for a dramatic moment. "yeah, actually, why don't you? the pool's in the next building!"

y/n had a talent for many things. writing poetry? check. memorizing entire songs after listening to them twice? absolutely. winning over strangers with her sunshine personality? without a doubt.

but being on time? yeah, no.

her eyes widened as she looked at the time on her phone. the numbers blinked back at her, unforgiving and merciless. oh shit indeed.

the library around her suddenly felt suffocating, the quiet hum of study murmurs and the distant shuffle of pages all blending into white noise. the golden afternoon light spilling through the windows no longer felt warm and dreamy; it was a glaring reminder of the twenty minutes that had already passed.

“oh shit.”

felix and hyunjin, who were still lounging at their study table, looked up in unison, their gazes slow and unconcerned. the contrast between their leisure and her rising panic was almost comical.

hyunjin blinked. "language."

“oh my god, i’m late!” y/n scrambled to shove her books into her tote bag, her movements frantic and chaotic. papers crumpled under the force of her hands, and in her rush, her elbow nearly knocked over the remnants of her coffee. the cup wobbled dangerously before felix, ever the observer, reached out and steadied it with a lazy hand.

“i was supposed to meet seungmin twenty minutes ago!” her voice wavered somewhere between hysteria and despair.

felix, unfazed, took a slow sip of his drink. “oh, he’s gonna murder you.”

“i know!”

hyunjin grinned, resting his chin in his palm. “do you want us to attend your funeral, or would you prefer we just remember you as you were?”

“not helping!” she hissed, yanking the strap of her bag over her shoulder with more force than necessary.

aeri, who had been listening from the next table, raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "you guys are studying again?"

y/n waved a frantic hand. "yes, but listen—i planned something. a genius plan. a brilliant plan."

felix leaned forward, intrigued, though his smirk suggested he was already expecting something ridiculous. “do tell.”

“we’re not studying in his dorm.”

hyunjin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “then where?”

y/n’s fingers flew over her phone as she sent a frantic ‘sorry! on my way!! don’t kill me!!!’ text before looking back at them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“i thought… instead of just sitting indoors, we could take star out.” she grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “maybe a walk? or even better—a garden! a little picnic study session! nature, fresh air, vibes.”

felix stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter. "you’re just using the project as an excuse to hang out with star, aren’t you?"

“…no.”

aeri smirked, arms crossed. "uh-huh. sure. and does seungmin know?"

y/n cleared her throat, her gaze darting to the side. "…he’ll find out when we get there."

hyunjin grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “so basically, you’re kidnapping him.”

“i prefer the term forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,” y/n corrected, lifting her chin in faux sophistication.

felix leaned back in his chair, his laughter still lingering in the air. “or it's more of a date.”

“okay, okay, i have to go.” y/n swung her bag over her shoulder with all the grace of someone teetering on the edge of disaster. “if i don’t text in the next hour, assume seungmin has buried me alive.”

“will do,” hyunjin said cheerfully. “good luck, kidnapper.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t stop to argue. instead, she bolted out of the library, weaving between study tables and stacks of books, her hurried footsteps echoing against the quiet hush of the space. the moment she pushed through the heavy doors and into the cool evening air, her heart pounded against her ribs.

seungmin was so going to kill her. but at least he’d have to do it after their impromptu picnic.

“notice how she didn't deny about it being a date?”

y/n practically sprinted to her dorm, dodging students and weaving through the hallways like she was in an action movie. her hair whipped around her face, strands catching in the soft glow of overhead lights, and her breath came in short, determined bursts. her mind raced faster than her feet, already imagining seungmin’s unimpressed stare, his sharp eyes narrowed in something between disappointment and reluctant amusement.

she nearly crashed into rina, who had just stepped out.

“woah—where’s the fire?” she laughed, stepping aside.

“in seungmin’s eyes if i don’t get there soon!” y/n yelled, yanking open the door and rushing inside.

“told you he’d kill you one of these days.”

“yeah, yeah,” y/n huffed, throwing her tote bag onto the floor. she hurriedly grabbed her water bottle, some notebooks, and very important essentials—star’s treats, a small blanket, and, of course, snacks. rina peered into the bag, her expression knowing. "you realize you’re doing more for this dog than you did for our last project, right?"

"first of all, rude," y/n shot back, stuffing one last thing into her tote. "second of all—no time to argue, i gotta go!"

she waved lazily. "don’t get yourself murdered."

y/n barely heard her as she bolted out of the dorm, her feet pounding against the pavement, heart racing. the wind bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. she had a mission.

so, by the time y/n reached seungmin and jisung’s dorm, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but victorious. she knocked rapidly, shifting her tote bag from one shoulder to the other. the door swung open, revealing jisung with terribly disheveled hair, not that she judged.

“ah,” he said, arms crossed, his features alight with mischief. “so you do have a death wish.”

y/n pouted. “i apologized!”

“thirty-eight minutes late,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “a bold move, considering the man inside is the seungmin.”

y/n huffed, lifting the three matcha lattes in her hand. “bribery, if you will.”

jisung’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he stepped aside. “well, in that case, welcome.”

she stepped in, spotting seungmin at his desk. he barely looked up.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” y/n whined, setting the drinks down. “i had a valid reason.”

seungmin glanced at the drinks, his lips twitching. “bribery won’t work.”

“but this bribery includes your favorite matcha latte. i brought one for you too, ji!” she grinned.

jisung nodded. “compelling argument.”

seungmin sighed but grabbed the drink. “fine. you’re forgiven. for now.”

the second y/n stepped into the hallway, her eyes immediately searched for the golden fluffball.

“star!” she gasped, dramatically dropping to her knees as if she’d been away for years.

star, in all his fluffy, golden, star-like glory, perked up at the sound of her voice, tail wagging furiously.

“oh my baby—” y/n cooed, completely ignoring seungmin as she placed her tote bag down and reached for star. he excitedly trotted toward her, his tail thumping against the floor as she cupped his face and showered him with scratches.

“i missed you so much,” she whispered against his fur, her voice soft as she ran her hands over his head and back. she checked his food bowl, peeked at his bed, and gave him a homemade treat like the concerned parent she definitely wasn’t but absolutely felt like.

seungmin, watching the whole ordeal with an unimpressed expression, sighed. “are you actually here to study or just to visit him?”

“both,” y/n shot back, still petting star. “but mostly him.”

“figures,” seungmin muttered.

“good. now, time for the next part.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “what next part?”

y/n blinked innocently. “oh. did i forget to mention?”

seungmin stared. “excuse me?”

jisung, watching from the couch, was thriving on the dynamic. “okay, so are you guys going now or…?”

y/n stood up suddenly and grabbed seungmin’s wrist. “yep! let’s go.”

seungmin blinked. “go where—”

“no questions.”

“so you're kidnapping me now?”

“i prefer the term ‘forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,’” y/n corrected.

seungmin’s deadpan stare could have melted steel.

“no.”

“yes.”

jisung, delighted, grabbed a snack. “i voted yes ages ago.”

y/n huffed. “well, too bad, seung. you’re coming whether you like it or not.” she grabbed his wrist and pulled.

seungmin groaned. “i hate this already.”

“no, you don’t.”

“…no, i don’t.”

jisung waved. “have fun, lovebirds.”

“say that to my face when i come back to you and minho making out on the couch.”

“um, is privacy just a concept now???” jisung's eyes widened and he almost fell off the couch from the remark. “leave us alone!”

and just like that, she was dragging him forward, with star happily trotting beside them.

seungmin let himself be pulled (because, really, what other choice did he have?) as jisung waved them off. as they stepped outside, y/n grinned triumphantly. she was taking seungmin and star on a picnic.

call it a date, if you want to.

this was a win, either way.

the streets were alive with the hum of the noon—the soft chatter of pedestrians, the occasional honk of a distant car, the faint rustle of leaves as the wind carried whispers through the trees. the golden hour painted the world in warmth.

seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets as y/n led the way, walking slightly ahead with star. the breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair, lifting them gently as if the wind itself were playing along. she was practically bouncing on her feet, occasionally turning back to look at seungmin with the biggest, most childlike grin ever.

he hated how cute it was. star trotted beside her, his tail wagging as he happily sniffed the air. the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby café mixed with the subtle fragrance of damp earth, the aftermath of a brief afternoon drizzle. y/n giggled, reaching down to scratch star’s head.

“you’re such a good boy, you know that?” she cooed, her voice soft. “you deserve all the happiness in the world, my baby.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “i hope you know you’ve just activated his ‘spoiled prince’ mode.”

y/n shot him a look. “excuse me? star deserves to be treated like royalty.”

“he’s literally been in my dorm for one day, and he already walks around like he owns the place.”

“that’s right, baby, you’re the king. own it.”

seungmin muttered something under his breath, but he couldn’t hide the amused look in his eyes.

they turned a corner, walking past a row of small cafés. the air carried hints of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, the kind of scents that made everything feel a little warmer, a little cozier. y/n pointed at one of them.

“oh! that’s where felix and i go for late-night coffee runs.”

“late-night coffee runs? you mean ‘let’s see how much caffeine we can consume before death’ runs?”

“how dare you? we are simply connoisseurs of the fine art that is coffee appreciation.”

“you’re addicts.”

“you sound like aeri.”

“well, maybe aeri is right.”

“betrayal. i trusted you.”

“you trust way too easily.”

“that’s called being nice, seungmin.”

“more like being reckless.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “you’re just mad because i forced you outside.”

“i am mad,” seungmin deadpanned. “i was perfectly fine at home, but no, you had to drag me into the world of socializing and fresh air.”

“fresh air is good for you.”

“no, staying inside and avoiding people is good for me.”

y/n snorted. “you are such a grandpa.”

seungmin side-eyed her. “and you are such a child.”

“and yet, here you are, following a said child to a picnic.”

seungmin sighed, looking up at the sky. “this is my life now.”

y/n just laughed, swinging their hands slightly before realizing what she was doing and immediately letting go.

seungmin didn’t say anything. they reached a quieter street, lined with trees. the golden hour made everything glow, and y/n looked at the street, eyes sparkling.

“it’s so pretty,” she murmured.

y/n suddenly turned to him, her expression soft. “aren’t you glad i dragged you out now?”

seungmin glanced at her, taking in the way her eyes shone in the golden light, the way she absentmindedly reached down to scratch behind star’s ear, the way she looked so effortlessly happy.

he sighed. “i guess it’s not that bad.”

y/n grinned. “that’s the closest thing to a compliment i’ll ever get from you, huh?”

“correct.”

she giggled, and they walked on, letting the peaceful evening carry them forward.

the park was bathed in golden sunlight by the time they arrived, the grass glowing under the warmth of the late afternoon. the blades swayed gently with the occasional breeze, casting playful shadows over the earth. the air smelled of sun-warmed leaves and the faint perfume of wildflowers that lined the walking paths. birds flitted between branches, their soft chirping blending seamlessly with the rustling of leaves. in the distance, laughter and chatter wove into the afternoon air—people jogging along the winding trails, couples lounging on picnic blankets, and children chasing soccer balls with delighted squeals.

but for y/n, it was perfect. a vast, open space. fresh air. the scent of flowers. and most importantly—star.

“finally!” y/n cheered, practically skipping onto the grass as she let go of seungmin’s wrist and crouched down.

“star! you’re free! run, my love, run!” she dramatically spoke.

the dog, catching onto the excitement, let out a happy bark and dashed across the field. his golden fur shimmered under the sunlight as he zoomed in circles, his ears flopping with every movement. the grass bent beneath his paws, tiny petals bursting into the air where he ran.

seungmin exhaled, rubbing his temples. “i feel like i’m babysitting two creatures at once.”

y/n shot him a playful glare. “excuse you. i am a fully functional human being.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “are you? because i just watched you sprint into the park like a five-year-old.”

“i am excited, seungmin! let me live!” y/n huffed, standing up straight and placing her hands on her hips. “look at him. look at my son being all happy.”

seungmin followed her gaze, watching as star excitedly sniffed around, kicking up grass with his paws. he had to admit—watching the dog so free and joyful was kind of… nice. the late sunlight glowed against star’s fur, a halo of gold against the soft green of the park.

y/n, noticing seungmin’s soft expression, nudged him. “see? this is fun. you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

seungmin scoffed. “i'll have fun when we finish our project.”

y/n gasped dramatically. “you love star. you love spending time outside with me. you just don’t wanna admit it.”

seungmin turned to her, deadpan. “i tolerate you at best.”

y/n smirked. “mm-hmm, sure, mr. ‘i secretly enjoy this but will never admit it.’”

seungmin ignored her, crouching down and clicking his tongue. “star, come here.”

star, tail wagging, instantly ran over to seungmin. y/n watched in amusement as seungmin gently patted the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“wow,” y/n teased, arms crossed. “you really are a softie.”

“i am not,” seungmin retorted.

“oh, you so are,” y/n giggled, dropping down beside them. she reached out, rubbing star’s belly as he flopped onto the grass.

for a moment, the world was quiet—just the sound of birds, the occasional laughter of kids in the distance, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. and then, unexpectedly, seungmin chuckled.

it was soft—barely there—but y/n heard it.

she turned her head quickly, eyes turning into little crescents as she smiled, looking at the guy while he pet star.

“your smile is adorable, you know,”

“can we go and actually study now?” seungmin insisted, turning away.

y/n grinned mischievously. “seungmin has a pretty smile, confirmed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

“make me.”

seungmin shot her a look. “do you want me to throw you in a bush?”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

seungmin smirked. “test me.”

y/n, still grinning, turned back to star, petting his fur. she didn’t push further, but something about this moment—seungmin smiling, actually enjoying himself—made her heart feel… warm.

then, after what felt like forever of running around with star, playing fetch, and letting him explore every flower patch in sight, they finally settled under a large oak tree. the bark was rough against their backs, but the shade was cool, offering a soft reprieve from the sun’s golden heat.

seungmin stretched his legs out, pulling out his laptop. “alright. now can we actually get to work?”

y/n sat cross-legged across from him, her notebook and a takeout cup in front of her. “yes, yes, fine.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you say that, but you’re still petting star.”

y/n froze mid-pat. “…okay, maybe i have a problem.”

seungmin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you definitely have a problem.”

still, he opened his laptop, scanning through the project notes. y/n followed along—at least, she tried to. but every few minutes, she found herself glancing at star, who was now napping beside them, his head resting on her thigh. he noticed.

“y/n.”

“hm?”

“you’re not paying attention.”

y/n blinked. “what? yes, i am.”

seungmin gave her an unimpressed look. “oh yeah? what did i just say?”

y/n panicked. “uh. something about, businesses..?”

seungmin sighed. “you’re impossible.”

y/n pouted. “look, i am listening, but how can i not admire this beautiful creature sleeping on my lap?”

seungmin side-eyed star. “yeah, yeah, he’s adorable. now focus.” y/n huffed, reluctantly turning back to her notes.

for a while, they actually worked—throwing around ideas, writing down key points, and organizing their research.

at some point, though, y/n noticed the way seungmin’s brows furrowed when he was focused, how he tapped his fingers against his laptop absentmindedly. and more than once, seungmin caught y/n just staring at him.

“what?” he finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

y/n shook her head. “nothing.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “are you admiring me now?”

y/n scoffed. “you look peaceful when you're reading.”

seungmin just blinked. “well.. i'm reading.”

they continued working, but there was something different now—something softer in the air. subtle things.

like how y/n adjusted star’s sleeping position carefully so he’d be more comfortable. like how seungmin absentmindedly handed y/n her coffee when he noticed she hadn’t taken a sip in a while.

like how their shoulders would brush every now and then, neither of them pulling away. it was all so small, yet it lingered.

and when the sun dipped lower, when the air got a little cooler, when the world felt quieter, y/n found herself thinking—

maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

“star, come back, you little menace!” she giggled, barely able to keep up.

seungmin, standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, watched the scene unfold with an unreadable expression. his gaze flickered between y/n’s bright, joyful smile and the way star eagerly circled around her, tail wagging furiously.

it was ridiculous, how happy they looked together. ridiculous, and maybe a little… endearing.

star, realizing he was being chased, took that as an invitation to run even faster, his paws kicking up little tufts of grass.

“seungmin!” y/n called, breathless. “help me!”

seungmin sighed. “you brought this upon yourself.”

y/n pouted dramatically. “rude.”

still, seungmin finally crouched down and clicked his tongue, calling for star. instantly, the golden retriever skidded to a stop, his ears perking up as he sprinted toward seungmin instead.

y/n gasped, stopping in her tracks. “traitor!”

seungmin smirked as star practically crashed into him, licking his face. “i guess he likes me better.”

y/n stomped over, hands on her hips. “he does not!”

seungmin wiped his face with his sleeve. “he literally abandoned you for me.”

y/n huffed, flopping onto the grass beside him. star immediately lay down between them, tongue lolling out in content.

“fine,” she said dramatically. “maybe he likes you a little bit.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “wow. high praise.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attention back to star. she rubbed his belly, murmuring sweet nonsense as he wagged his tail in delight.

the moment was peaceful. warm. the kind of easy happiness that made time feel slower.

until—

a blur of brown and white fur came bounding toward them, yapping excitedly.

another dog, a lot smaller than star, skidded to a stop right in front of them. her fur was a mix of ginger-brown and cream, her ears flopping as she wagged her tail in excitement.

“oh?” y/n blinked, watching as the new dog sniffed star curiously.

before seungmin could react, a voice called out.

“berry! berry, you little gremlin, get back here!”

a guy—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in casual sweats—ran toward them, slightly out of breath, his australian accent quite evident. his curly hair was ruffled from the wind, and he had a charming, easygoing smile as he stopped a few feet away.

“oh man, i’m so sorry,” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “she just—she loves meeting other dogs.”

y/n, already grinning, waved him off. “no worries! star’s the exact same.”

the guy straightened, flashing a sheepish smile. “yeah? that’s good. she’s too friendly sometimes.” he gestured toward the excitable golden retriever, who was now playfully nudging star’s side. “her name’s berry.”

y/n gasped. “that is the cutest name ever.”

the guy laughed, clearly amused. “you think so? i was kinda worried it was too cutesy, but she looks like a little berry, so it stuck.”

seungmin, who had been standing quietly the whole time, resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

this guy is too friendly.

and y/n is too easily charmed.

“i’m chris, by the way,” the guy continued, offering a hand.

“y/n!” she shook his hand enthusiastically. “and this is seungmin.” she nudged seungmin’s arm. “say hi.”

seungmin sighed. “hi.”

chris chuckled. “nice to meet you two.”

seungmin nodded stiffly, before deciding to step back, returning to where their books were laid out under the tree.

y/n, completely unaware of the shift in his mood, continued chatting.

“so how old is berry?” she asked, scratching behind the pup’s ears.

“just over nine! she's been an amazing girl.” chris crouched down beside her, watching as berry and star playfully tumbled over each other. “she’s usually tired but still excited, though.”

y/n laughed. “oh, she's adorable. star has the energy of a child with unlimited sugar intake.”

chris snorted. “that’s the best kind, though.”

seungmin, from where he sat, clicked his tongue.

what’s so funny? what’s so interesting?

he tried to focus on his notes, but his mind kept drifting back to y/n’s voice—bright and animated as she talked to this guy like they’d known each other forever.

it was annoying. not that he cared. of course not.

except he did. a little. maybe. a tiny bit.

“seung!” y/n called suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “come back here! your kid's making a new friend, and you’re missing it!”

seungmin sighed, shutting his laptop a little too aggressively.

when he walked back over, y/n gave him a big, innocent grin. “welcome back. did you miss us?”

seungmin looked at her. then at chris. then at the two dogs playing.

“no.”

y/n laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “liar.”

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. he hated how she could read him so easily.

chris, still petting berry, smiled. “you guys come here often?”

“sometimes, alone though. he just adopted star two days ago.” y/n chirped. “seungmin and i have a project, but i lowkey tricked him into coming here instead of the library.”

chris laughed. “genius.”

seungmin groaned. “please don’t encourage her.”

chris just grinned. “i mean, i get it. if my friend tried to make me study in a library instead of chilling outside with pups? i’d revolt.”

y/n gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “seungmin! you hear that?! i am validated!”

seungmin stared blankly. “i am regretting my life choices.”

chris chuckled. “well, if you guys ever wanna do another dog hangout, berry and i are around a lot.” he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “here, y/n, you should give me your number. we can plan something.”

seungmin nearly choked.

y/n, completely oblivious to the way seungmin visibly tensed, beamed. “oooh, yes, of course! looks like our dogs are already friends.” she quickly typed her number into chris’s phone, and seungmin felt a very unreasonable surge of irritation.

chris stood, grinning. “cool. see you guys around!” as he walked away, berry gave star one last playful nudge before trotting off after her owner.

the moment they were out of earshot, seungmin exhaled.

y/n, grinning, turned to him. “that was fun, huh?”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you gave a random guy your number.”

“he’s not random! he has a dog, seungmin. that makes him automatically trustworthy.”

“that is the worst logic i’ve ever heard.”

y/n just laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “you’re cute when you sulk, you know.”

seungmin scoffed. “i do not sulk.”

y/n just smirked. “mmm-hmm.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but as they sat back down under the tree, watching star flop into the grass with a content sigh, he found himself almost smiling.

almost.

so with chris and berry gone, and star finally exhausted from his zoomies, seungmin and y/n settled back under the tree where their books, laptops, and coffee cups were scattered. ☆, now thoroughly worn out, plopped onto the grass with a deep, satisfied sigh, his golden fur catching the sunlight. he lay near y/n’s side, occasionally shifting to rest his head on her lap as she absentmindedly scratched behind his ears.

seungmin, on the other hand, was busy flipping through pages of notes, fingers tapping against his knee. he had somehow ended up with y/n’s pink highlighter, and though he’d never admit it, he kind of liked the contrast of bright neon ink against his otherwise meticulously organized notes.

“well,” y/n stretched, her head tilting back as she groaned dramatically, “we have two days to get this done. two. days. and i still have, like, 40% of the work left.”

seungmin glanced up. “you should be worried, but you don’t look worried.”

she grinned. “because i have you to keep me on track.”

he blinked, unamused. “i regret letting you meet my dog.”

y/n gasped. “excuse me? star was mine first.”

seungmin smirked, tapping the back of his pen against his notebook. “i literally signed the adoption papers. he’s mine now.”

y/n pouted, leaning down to rest her cheek against star’s fur. “baby, did you hear that? your so-called dad is so mean.”

star wagged his tail once but didn’t move.

seungmin scoffed, but there was something fond in the way he looked at her.

“anyway,” he said, flipping a page. “we need to get through at least two sections today if we don’t wanna pull an all-nighter before submission.”

y/n sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “alright, alright. time to be productive.”

for a few minutes, it was actually quiet. seungmin explained a concept, y/n listened, asked questions, and for a rare moment, she was focused.

and then— star stretched, rolling onto his back with his paws in the air.

y/n immediately melted, again.

“oh my god,” she whispered, “he’s so cute.”

seungmin closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. “y/n—”

“just look at him!” she gushed, putting her laptop aside to rub star’s belly. “how am i supposed to study when this exists?”

seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose. “you dragged me here for a study session and now you’re the one getting distracted.”

y/n pouted. “i can’t help it!”

seungmin let out a slow exhale before leaning forward to flick her forehead.

“ow—hey!” y/n rubbed the spot he’d flicked, looking betrayed.

“focus,” he said, smirking.

y/n narrowed her eyes but sighed, reluctantly returning to her notes.

minutes passed. then an hour.

despite her initial distractions, y/n actually did well. she caught up on most of the sections she had been behind on, taking notes diligently while seungmin occasionally tested her on concepts.

somewhere between paragraphs and equations, their coffee cups ran empty, and star dozed off beside y/n, his soft snores blending into the comfortable silence.

when the sunlight softened into afternoon hues, y/n stretched again, cracking her back dramatically.

“i think we actually made progress,” she said, sounding surprised.

seungmin glanced at her, amused. “you doubted me?”

“i doubted me,” she corrected. “you, on the other hand, are like an annoyingly effective tutor.”

he smirked. “annoying but effective. i’ll take it.”

she snorted.

then, after a beat, she turned to him with a softer expression.

“thanks for today,” she said.

seungmin blinked. “for… studying?”

“well, yeah,” she shrugged, “but also for letting me see star. and for putting up with my distractions.”

he glanced away for a second, pretending to focus on closing his laptop. “it’s fine. you were less annoying than usual.”

y/n gasped. “seungmin. was that… a compliment?”

he groaned. “forget i said anything.”

but y/n just giggled, nudging his shoulder.

. . .

with the study session wrapping up, y/n shut her notebook and stretched, arms reaching towards the sky as she let out a satisfied sigh.

“i think my brain is officially fried,” she declared, flopping back onto the cool grass.

seungmin rolled his eyes, finishing up his notes. “you always say that after studying for an hour.”

“that’s because my brain isn’t built for intense academic labor.”

“yeah? what is it built for?”

y/n hummed, glancing at the sky. “talking. music. daydreaming. falling in love with random fictional characters—”

seungmin scoffed. “should’ve figured.”

y/n giggled, turning to her side to look at him. “what about you? you’re a music major, right?”

he nodded. “yeah.”

“so, you like music?”

he blinked at her. “no, y/n, i hate it. that’s why i chose to major in it.”

she snorted. “okay, i get it. but like… do you just sing, or do you compose too?”

seungmin hesitated, eyes flickering to the grass as he picked at the hem of his sleeve. “…i write, too.”

y/n’s eyes widened. “wait, really?”

“that’s so cool,” she grinned. “what kind of stuff do you write?”

he glanced away, pretending to be uninterested, but there was a faint pink dusting his ears. “it depends.”

“depends on what?”

“…on the mood.”

y/n tilted her head. “like, do you write sad songs when you’re sad?”

“sometimes.”

“and happy songs when you’re happy?”

seungmin exhaled a laugh. “yeah, something like that.”

y/n hummed in thought before sitting up, crossing her legs. “can i hear something someday?”

he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “you wanna hear my songs?”

“well, yeah,” she said like it was obvious. “if you wrote them, they must be good.”

seungmin looked at her for a moment, slightly taken aback.

it wasn’t that he hid his music, but he also never had someone be this… interested.

y/n, on the other hand, seemed genuinely eager. her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity, her black curls catching the golden sunlight as she leaned in slightly.

“…maybe one day,” he finally said.

she gasped, dramatically placing a hand on her heart. “did i just get kim seungmin to agree to something?”

he rolled his eyes. “regretfully.”

y/n laughed, the sound soft and warm, blending into the lazy afternoon air.

then, after a beat, she asked, “so, when did you start writing?”

seungmin hesitated, staring at the ground for a second before answering. “…high school, i guess.”

“because you liked it?”

“because i needed to.”

y/n’s playful grin softened. “needed to?”

he sighed, leaning back on his hands. “…it was just an outlet, i guess.”

y/n nodded, understanding. “music’s like that, huh? the way it can say what words can’t.”

seungmin turned to her, surprised. “…yeah.”

for a second, they just looked at each other.

the breeze was soft, rustling through the leaves, and the golden afternoon light framed y/n’s face perfectly.

seungmin swallowed.

she was—

“…anyway!” y/n broke the silence, grinning again. “do you have a favorite song you’ve written?”

he blinked, shaking off whatever that thought was. “not really.”

“what? no way.”

he smirked. “i don’t.”

“well, what’s your most recent one about?”

he hesitated, the corner of his lips twitching. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

y/n groaned. “you are so annoying.”

“you’re the one asking questions.”

“because i wanna know you!” she huffed.

seungmin stilled.

y/n blinked, realizing how that sounded, and quickly scrambled to fix it. “i mean, like—! not in a weird way! just in a ‘we’re friends and i’m curious’ way—”

seungmin chuckled, amused at her sudden flustered state.

her face was slightly red, lips pursed, avoiding his gaze.

and he—

…was noticing too much.

clearing his throat, he glanced away, staring at star, who was now lazily sprawled across the grass, napping.

“…it was about wanting something you can’t have,” he finally said.

y/n turned back to him, blinking. “what?”

“the last song i wrote,” he said, not looking at her. “it was about that.”

y/n tilted her head. “oh…”

silence.

“…like a person.. or a thing?”

seungmin’s jaw tensed. “something like that.”

y/n’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t push.

instead, she smiled gently. “well, if you ever wanna share, i’d love to hear it.”

seungmin glanced at her.

she meant it.

it was in the way her voice softened, the way her eyes held nothing but warmth.

“…yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “maybe.”

y/n grinned. “i’ll hold you to that.”

seungmin exhaled, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched.

and as the afternoon stretched on, filled with more questions, quiet laughter, and stolen glances—

he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

the golden hues of the afternoon had softened into a dusky warmth, but neither of them had moved from their spot. the books had been closed a while ago, pushed aside, making way for idle chatter and occasional banter. star was still sprawled across the grass, now lazily flicking his tail in his sleep.

y/n reached for her matcha latte without thinking, bringing it to her lips as she listened to seungmin talk.

“so, basically, jisung thought he was auditioning for a singing position but it was actually for theatre,” seungmin smirked, recalling the tragic yet hilarious memory.

y/n, mid-sip, choked on her drink. “what?!”

seungmin watched as she coughed, eyes wide in disbelief.

“you’re telling me he— he accidentally signed up for a theatre audition? how does one confuse that..”

“oh yeah.” seungmin nodded, crossing his arms. “i swear, i’ve never seen him improvise so fast. he ended up just… dramatically narrating the lyrics to some song.”

y/n wheezed. “please tell me there’s a video.”

“there is.”

“i need to see it.”

“we all do,” seungmin sighed. “but it’s buried in the archives of shame.”

y/n wiped the corner of her mouth, shaking her head. “jisung is actually insane.”

seungmin hummed in agreement, watching as she absentmindedly took another sip of matcha.

it took him approximately three seconds to realize—

that wasn’t her drink.

it was his.

his eyes flickered between the cup in her hand and his own, which was still sitting untouched beside him.

for a split second, he considered telling her—maybe teasing her for it.

but instead—

he said nothing.

maybe it was because she looked so natural, holding it like it had always been hers. or maybe it was the way she kept laughing, completely unaware of the fact that she had just—

whatever.

it didn’t bother him.

which was weird.

but before he could overthink it, y/n placed the cup back down, already moving to stretch.

“i need to move,” she groaned, standing up. “my legs are gonna cramp.”

seungmin leaned back on his hands. “what, so you’re just gonna run away?”

“not run,” she corrected, dramatically dusting off her jeans. “just gonna go play with my favorite boy in the world.”

seungmin raised a brow. “i’m right here.”

“i meant star, you nerdy narcissist.”

seungmin scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her crouch beside the golden retriever, gently running her fingers through his fur.

“cute.” there was a mumble.

star blinked up at her sleepily before sighing, dramatically rolling onto his back.

y/n gasped. “oh my god. you are so adorable.”

seungmin exhaled, his gaze lingering.

there was something about the way she was—so effortlessly warm, so naturally affectionate.

the way her eyes softened when she looked at star. the way she giggled when he licked her cheek. the way she—

“…min, look!”

he blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as y/n turned to him, beaming.

“what?”

she pointed at star, who was now trying to hold her hand between his paws.

seungmin huffed out a small laugh. “yeah, yeah. he likes you.”

“like???” y/n scoffed. “loves. he loves me.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, pushing himself up from the grass and walking over to them.

as he approached, star wagged his tail excitedly, shifting his attention to him.

“see?” y/n grinned. “he loves you, too.”

seungmin crouched down, scratching star behind the ears. “obviously. who wouldn’t?”

y/n shot him an unimpressed look. “you have no shame.”

he smirked. “why would i?”

y/n groaned, flopping onto the grass dramatically.

star, thrilled by her sudden movement, barked before immediately climbing on top of her.

“wait, no—!” y/n squeaked.

seungmin stood over them, arms crossed. “this is hilarious.”

“help me, you traitor!”

he shrugged. “nah, you’re his favorite, right? deal with it.”

y/n glared at him through a mess of golden fur, breathless from laughing.

and seungmin—

he noticed it again.

the way her cheeks were flushed. the way her curls were sprawled against the grass. the way—

“…oh my god, is this your revenge?” y/n gasped.

seungmin snapped out of it. “what?”

“you planned this.” she squinted at him, grinning. “you trained star to betray me.”

he snorted. “yeah, because i totally trained a dog i adopted yesterday.”

“exactly!”

he rolled his eyes. “you’re insane.”

“thank you.”

with that, she finally managed to wriggle out from under star, sitting up and dusting off her clothes.

star happily plopped his head onto her lap, sighing contently.

y/n smiled, running her fingers through his fur.

and seungmin—

he exhaled, sitting beside them.

he didn’t get it.

didn’t understand why—

why it was so easy to be here, with her.

why it was so easy to look.

but for some reason—

he didn’t mind figuring it out.

soon, the sky had started shifting into deeper shades of indigo, the golden warmth of the sun melting into something softer, quieter. they hadn’t moved from their spot under the tree, their books still scattered on the blanket beneath them, long forgotten. star had long since worn himself out from his zoomies, only to reawaken with another surge of energy, bolting across the grass like a streak of gold.

y/n had her knees tucked up to her chest, her chin resting lazily atop them, watching the dog with the kind of fondness that made something in seungmin’s chest tighten.

“you do realize you’re going to be his favorite person for life, right?” she mused, glancing at him with a knowing smile.

seungmin, leaning back on his hands, scoffed. “he better be loyal.”

she gasped dramatically. “loyal? seungmin, that’s a dog. of course he's loyal.”

he laughed, tilting his head. “yeah?”

y/n exhaled, flopping onto her back. “yeah.”

“finally,” he hummed, shifting to look down at her, “it seems you're tired.”

she lifted a hand, flicking his forehead. “against my will.”

seungmin chuckled under his breath, rubbing the spot absentmindedly. “right. that’s why you’ve been making it your life’s mission to barge into my dorm every day like a ray of sunshine.”

y/n opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. she clamped it shut, lips pressing into a line.

seungmin smirked. “that’s what i thought.”

“you’re so annoying,” she grumbled, turning her head away.

“yet you’re still here.”

“stop repeating that!”

his laugh was warm, effortless.

the silence that followed was comfortable—easy in the way that it lingered without pressure, stretching between them as the wind stirred through the leaves above. the distant sounds of the park continued—laughter, conversation, the occasional bark—but between them, the world was quiet.

y/n was still lying on her back, her eyes tracing the deepening hues of the sky. seungmin sat beside her, his gaze naturally drawn to her profile—the soft curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. his hand rested against the blanket, fingers idly toying with the hem. he wasn’t entirely sure why he was still looking, but something about the way she was bathed in fading light made it impossible to glance away.

“do you ever just…” y/n’s voice was softer now, thoughtful. “feel so full of something but don’t know what to do with it?”

seungmin stilled.

“…what kind of ‘something’?”

she exhaled slowly. “like…” she turned her head, meeting his gaze. “something warm.”

his fingers curled slightly against the fabric beneath him.

warm.

he knew that feeling. he’d been feeling it this entire time.

a slow, deliberate kind of warmth. the kind that sneaks up on you and settles beneath your skin. the kind that lingers, even when you’re trying not to think about it.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before.

y/n’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his.

he didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was her—her breath hitching as she leaned ever so slightly closer.

maybe it was him—the way his hand lifted, fingers grazing against her wrist, tentative but not hesitant.

maybe it was something neither of them could name, something inevitable. all he knew was that when their lips met, the world stopped.

it was soft at first, unhurried—like a quiet realization unfolding in real time. her lips were warm, plush, molding against his in a way that sent a slow, curling heat through his veins. he could feel the tentative way she responded, the hesitation melting away as she pressed closer. his hand moved on instinct, cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing against the delicate skin of her cheek.

and then—

she sighed against him.

and something in seungmin broke.

the kiss deepened, slow and intoxicating, the warmth between them turning into something more. his fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head as he kissed her deeper, tasting the faint remnants of matcha on her tongue. her hands gripped his sleeves, clutching onto him like she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.

a slow drag of lips. the slide of warmth. the gentle push and pull, like a silent conversation in a language only they understood.

she made a soft sound—a quiet, involuntary sigh against his mouth—and seungmin groaned, his grip tightening. in one swift motion, he pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around her.

she gasped against him, fingers gripping his collar now, knuckles white.

seungmin barely pulled away, his breath mingling with hers. “okay?”

y/n nodded, dazed, her lips already parting for him again.

and so he kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, more deliberate. like he was savoring it. like he wanted to memorize the way she felt against him. the warmth of her. the way her lips yielded so easily to his. the way she sighed when he angled his head just right. he was good at this—really good at this. she could feel it in the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to kiss her like he had all the time in the world.

it was dizzying.

overwhelming.

addicting.

when they finally pulled away, y/n was breathless, her cheeks burning. seungmin exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. she looked adorable. her lips were pink, slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“wow,” she whispered.

seungmin smirked. “yeah?”

y/n blinked, nodding furiously. “yeah.”

he chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “good.”

for a moment, they just breathed, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

then—

a sudden blur of gold zoomed past them. they both turned just in time to see star bolting across the grass, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

seungmin sighed, rubbing his temple. “of course.”

y/n, still dazed, let out a giggle, her fingers still curled loosely around his collar. “guess he approves.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “yeah, yeah.”

y/n bit her lip, looking down at him. her gaze flickered to his lips. seungmin caught it. his smirk widened.

“you so wanna kiss me again.”

y/n shoved his shoulder. “shut up.”

he laughed, his arms still around her. “you’re not even denying it.”

y/n groaned, burying her face into his shoulder. “shut up.”

seungmin just grinned, his fingers slipping back into her hair.

yeah. this warmth? he could get used to it.

they stayed like that for a while, tangled in the warmth of each other, the air still thick with something unnamed yet understood. neither of them moved immediately—not because they didn’t know what to do next, but because this was nice. the weight of her against him, the slow rhythm of their breaths, the way their fingers stayed lightly curled in each other’s clothes as if neither was quite ready to let go.

eventually, though, reality had to set in.

y/n exhaled, shifting slightly in his lap, her fingers still resting on the collar of his hoodie. “we should probably… y’know.”

seungmin hummed, making no move to let go. “should we?”

she narrowed her eyes, giving him a half-hearted glare. “don’t be annoying.”

he smirked. “i literally can’t help it.”

rolling her eyes, she lightly flicked his forehead before pushing herself up, and immediately regretted it. her legs were numb, her heart was still racing, and the moment she was standing, she suddenly realized—

we just kissed.

the weight of it hit her all over again, sinking into her skin, making her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite place. seungmin was still sitting, looking obnoxiously unbothered, like he didn’t just leave her completely breathless. she huffed under her breath, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves.

meanwhile, seungmin watched her, eyes sharp, amused. he could see the way she was avoiding his gaze, could see the way her fingers twitched, adjusting her sleeves.

it was cute.

“something wrong?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

she snapped her gaze to him, lips parting, face slightly pink. “huh? no! why would anything be wrong?”

seungmin’s smirk widened. “mhm.”

“i—” she huffed, crossing her arms. “you’re so annoying, i swear.”

he finally stood, stretching his arms above his head before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “and yet…”

y/n groaned. “seungmin.”

he chuckled, glancing at her before tilting his head toward the scattered books. “c’mon, let’s pack up.”

she nodded, relieved for the momentary escape from the weight of that kiss. but even as they gathered their books, even as she stuffed her things into her tote bag, she could still feel it. the warmth, the way he held her, the slow press of his lips against hers.

she turned her back to him, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

seungmin noticed. he definitely noticed. but he didn’t say anything.

instead, he grabbed her unfinished matcha latte—the one that had started all this in the first place. without thinking, he lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. and y/n, ever the observant one, immediately noticed.

her eyes widened. “did you just—”

he raised a brow. “what?”

“that’s mine.”

seungmin blinked, licking his lips, as if only now realizing. then, he shrugged. “you drank from mine first.”

y/n’s face turned red. he smirked.

flustered, she grabbed her bag, whistled for star, and stormed off in the direction of the dorms. seungmin let out a soft laugh before following.

. . .

the walk back was… not awkward. but not not awkward.

there was something lingering in the air between them, something unspoken, something charged. y/n found herself hyperaware of everything—the distance between them, the way their hands occasionally brushed, the sound of their footsteps on the pavement.

seungmin, for once, wasn’t teasing her.

that, more than anything, made her nervous. she risked a glance at him. he was walking with his hands still in his pockets, eyes ahead, looking as relaxed as ever. if anything, he looked… deep in thought.

“seungmin.”

he turned his head. “hm?”

she hesitated. “are you—are you being weird?”

his lips twitched. “what does that even mean?”

“i don’t know,” she groaned, hugging her tote bag closer. “you’re quiet. you’re never quiet.”

he gave her a look. “i am quiet.”

“not around me.”

seungmin exhaled through his nose, looking away. “…i guess i’m just thinking.”

y/n frowned slightly. “thinking about what?”

he shrugged. “stuff.”

she narrowed her eyes. “what kind of stuff?”

at that, he glanced at her, meeting her gaze for a moment too long. “you.”

y/n’s breath hitched. her face burned.

seungmin looked back ahead, as if he hadn’t just casually said something that made her entire body short-circuit. she opened her mouth. closed it. opened it again. closed it again.

seungmin smirked to himself. they kept walking.

by the time they reached his dorm, the air was slightly less charged, but only because y/n had started rambling about how star needed a new toy collection. she was already planning an entire schedule for star—days when she’d take him out, what treats she’d bake, whether she should get him a sweater for when it got colder.

seungmin just listened, hands in his pockets, nodding occasionally.

when they reached the door, y/n turned to him, rocking on her heels. “so… see you tomorrow?”

seungmin leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head. “you’re not barging in again?”

she pouted. “am i that annoying?”

seungmin’s gaze flickered to her lips for a split second before he smirked. “nah.”

her heart did a thing. she quickly looked away. “okay, well. goodnight, seungmin.”

“ ‘night, y/n.”

she turned, starting down the hall, feeling a little lighter. just as she reached the end, she heard his voice.

“hey, y/n.”

she stopped. looked over her shoulder. “yeah?”

seungmin shoved his hands further into his pockets. for a moment, he just looked at her. then, with a slow, knowing smirk—

“sweet dreams.” and then he shut the door.

y/n stood there. processing. then, with an exasperated groan, she spun on her heel and stormed toward her own dorm.

her face was burning. seungmin, on the other side of the door, chuckled under his breath.

yeah. this was definitely going to be fun.

soon, y/n barely had time to recover from seungmin’s stupid smirk before she opened her dorm door and was immediately met with a chorus of gasps and dramatic expressions.

aeri was lounging on the couch, legs crossed, sipping on what looked like matcha tea (as if that wasn’t already triggering enough). rina was sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, arms crossed, eyes deadly sharp. felix and hyunjin?

they were standing. right in front of her.

like interrogators. waiting.

y/n blinked. “uh—”

aeri squinted. “you’re late.”

rina narrowed her eyes. “suspiciously late.”

hyunjin placed a hand over his chest. “and you didn’t text us back.”

felix gasped dramatically, gripping hyunjin’s shoulder. “she never does that.”

y/n gaped. “never?”

aeri pointed her straw at her. “never.”

“i was busy,” y/n whined, slipping off her shoes. “i did text you guys.”

“hours ago,” rina said.

felix crossed his arms. “so where were you really?”

y/n opened her mouth. closed it. looked around at all their expectant faces.

aeri gasped. “wait.”

everyone turned to her.

she pointed. “you look different.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened. “she does.”

felix leaned in, inspecting her face. “…she’s glowing.”

“i am not—”

“you’re blushing.”

y/n clapped a hand over her face. “i am not blushing.”

rina smirked. “did something happen?”

y/n groaned, throwing herself onto the couch beside aeri. “can i please just breathe?”

“no,” aeri said.

felix gasped again, grabbing hyunjin’s arm dramatically. “wait—what if—”

“what if she kissed seungmin?” hyunjin finished, eyes gleaming.

y/n choked. “what—”

“she totally did,” rina gasped.

aeri sat up, pointing. “you so did.”

felix clapped his hands. “we knew something was happening between you two!”

“i—no you did not—”

“we totally did,” hyunjin argued. “seungmin has never let someone drag him out for picnics.”

aeri wiggled her brows. “did you finally kiss, you slow-burn idiots?”

y/n smacked a cushion over her face. “i hate you all.”

“she’s not denying it.”

rina snorted. “so? how was it?”

“excuse me?”

felix and hyunjin jumped onto the couch, both of them pressing closer.

“be honest,” felix whispered.

“was he good?” hyunjin asked.

“did he—” aeri leaned in, smirking. “use tongue?”

“oh my god—”

. . .

meanwhile, in another part of the building, seungmin finally stepped into his dorm, tossing his bag near the door. he expected peace. silence.

maybe jisung playing some dumb mobile game and minho scrolling on his phone. instead..

the moment he closed the door, jisung and minho—sitting side by side on the couch—turned to look at him in perfect unison.

seungmin paused.

jisung raised a brow. “you’re late.”

seungmin exhaled. “oh my god, not you too.”

minho sipped his coffee. “he seems unusually… relaxed.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “and?”

jisung smirked. “you never come back relaxed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, moving toward the fridge. “you guys are annoying.”

jisung gasped. “minho. minho. look at him.”

minho hummed. “i see it.”

seungmin turned. “see what?”

jisung grinned. “you got some, didn’t you?”

minho smirked. “i knew you liked her.”

seungmin groaned, running a hand down his face. “you both need to shut up.”

jisung sat up, eyes gleaming. “you did kiss her, didn’t you?”

seungmin exhaled, grabbed a water bottle, and took a long sip.

minho raised a brow. “he’s avoiding.”

“he’s totally avoiding.”

seungmin sighed, leaning against the counter. “i hate both of you.”

jisung grinned. “we love you too.”

minho smirked, setting his cup down. “so? how was it?”

seungmin scoffed. “what is wrong with you people?”

jisung gasped dramatically. “you didn’t like it?”

seungmin froze for half a second.

jisung smirked. “ohhh, you totally did.”

minho nodded, smug. “he liked it.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

jisung grinned, leaning back. “it’s okay, you can tell us. we don’t judge.”

minho nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “we definitely judge.”

seungmin exhaled. “i hate you both.”

jisung smirked. “we know.” . . . “so…” rina wiggled her brows. “you’re seeing him again tomorrow?”

y/n groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “i see him everyday.”

felix smirked. “because you love him.”

y/n choked. “i do not—”

hyunjin held up his hands. “we’re just saying.”

aeri snickered. “you so do.”

y/n grabbed a cushion and screamed into it.

her friends just laughed.

meanwhile, back in seungmin’s dorm, minho stretched, setting his cup down. “so, what now?”

seungmin shrugged. “dunno.”

jisung smirked. “you gonna kiss her again?”

seungmin grabbed his pillow and chucked it at him.

jisung yelped.

minho snickered.

seungmin just leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, watching jisung groan into the pillow.

he would kiss her again.

he absolutely would.

but they didn’t need to know that.

yet.

“not like you two didn’t kiss or do each other while you had the dorm to yourself.”

minho didn’t even blink.

jisung, however. jisung choked on his own breath.

minho exhaled. “ah.”

minho took another sip of his coffee, unbothered. “he has a point.”

jisung spluttered. “excuse me?”

seungmin smirked. “you’re telling me you guys were alone for hours and did nothing?”

minho shrugged. “not my fault if he’s loud.”

jisung died. “i was not loud.”

minho hummed, setting his coffee down. “mm. sure.”

seungmin snorted. “see? it’s so obvious.”

jisung clutched his chest. “i hate you both.”

minho stretched. “no, you don’t.”

jisung threw a pillow at him.

seungmin just sat back, grinning, absolutely enjoying this.

jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i hate my life.”

minho patted his head. “that’s okay. i love you.”

seungmin smirked. “aw.”

jisung screamed into his hands.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @jeongs-world

!! please let me know under this post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

[rizzanon]

Stitches and Sarcasm

a jason todd and batsis! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: you’re stitching your brother up whilst trying to reconnect with him | events align with post-UTRH if you squint (like a few days later)

Jason Todd’s apartment was the kind of place that reeked of solitude. The dim light from a single flickering bulb casting long, warped shapes across the cracked walls. It smelled like gunpowder, whiskey, and something metallic, like dried blood. The place was barely lived in—no personal touches, no warmth. Just a temporary graveyard for a man who didn’t know how to stay dead.

He felt the moment something was off. A presence, silent and waiting. Someone watching.

His fingers curled around the grip of his gun before his brain even caught up with his instincts. Smooth, practiced, deadly. The weapon was out of the holster and pointed at the darkened corner of his apartment before he even registered the shape standing there.

“Y’know,” he drawled, voice rough from exhaustion, “if you’re gonna break into my place, you should at least try not to breathe so damn loud.”

Jason didn’t expect an answer. He expected a threat.

But instead, you stepped out of the shadows.

His grip tightened on the gun before his brain caught up—before recognition slammed into him like a bullet to the gut. His arms tensed, but he didn’t lower the weapon. Not yet. His stomach twisted, a strange, uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t place.

It was you.

He should’ve known. Should’ve realized the second he stepped inside, should’ve felt it in his bones. But he’d spent so many years trying to forget you, trying to let go of that part of himself, that he barely knew what it felt like to have you near anymore.

Still, his first instinct was to keep his guard up.

“Oh,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of anything remotely close to warmth. He finally lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. Just in case. “It’s you.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t react to the gun, didn’t react to the fact that he’d pointed it at you like you were a stranger.

Like you weren’t—like you hadn’t been—his family.

Jason felt something ugly coil in his chest.

You were studying him. He could feel it—the weight of your stare, the way your eyes darted over him, cataloging every little thing. The stiff way he carried himself, the limp he hadn’t been able to fully shake, the way his jacket sat unevenly on his shoulders. Jason hated that look. You were picking him apart, analyzing him the way you always had.

It made something bitter rise in his throat.

“How the hell did you find me?” His voice caught, the deep rasp unmistakable.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly. “It’s been years, Jason. You think I wouldn’t have picked up a thing or two from Bruce?”

A scoff. Dry. Unimpressed. “Cute. Real cute. Now answer the question.”

The gun stayed firmly aimed at your chest.

You sighed, tilting your head slightly. “Tracked your supply runs. You have a pattern, whether you realize it or not. You’re good, but not perfect.”

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Guess I got sloppy.”

The silence between you was heavy. Uncomfortable. Unforgiving.

You could feel Jason’s eyes raking over you, scrutinizing. He was studying you, just as much as you were studying him.

You were still looking at him like that—like you were trying to understand him, like you were trying to see through all the layers of armor and blood and anger to something that didn’t exist anymore.

It made his skin itch.

You took in everything—the way his jacket sat unevenly on his shoulders, the stiffness in his stance, the way he was favoring his right side just a little too much.

“You’re hurt,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them, and Jason felt something tighten in his chest.

He scoffed, shifting his weight slightly to take the pressure off his bad leg. “No, I’m not.”

“Jason—”

“I said, I’m fine,” he snapped, voice like a blade.

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did.

“Lying doesn’t work on me,” you said, meeting his stare head-on. “I know you.”

Jason hated that. Hated the way you said it like it was still true.

Because the person you’d known was dead.

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, you thought he might actually argue. But then he sighed, shaking his head, looking exhausted.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Why are you here?”

You hesitated. Jason caught it—the brief flicker of uncertainty in your expression before you pushed through it.

“I needed to see you.”

Jason let out a bitter chuckle. “Congratulations. You saw me. Now leave.”

He saw the way your shoulders tensed at that. The way you took a slow breath like you were forcing yourself to keep steady.

You still cared.

And that was dangerous.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Of course you’re not,” Jason muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

You took a step forward. “Let me help.”

Jason stiffened. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“Help?”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head.

“You’re kidding, right? Did you tell anyone where I am? Did you tell Bruce?”

“No!” you said quickly, taking another step forward. “I told no one. I turned off my tracker before coming here. It’s just me.”

Jason’s mouth twisted slightly, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment.

Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating. Jason tilted his head, as though trying to read your expression, but you knew he couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t read his anymore.

“You’re bleeding, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “That’s nothing new.”

“Jason,” you said, voice softer this time. “Please.”

For a second—just a second—his expression cracked. Something raw and vulnerable flickered behind his eyes, something fragile and aching. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want you here, didn’t want the way his chest ached at the sound of your voice, at the way you looked at him like you still saw something worth saving.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered.

“And you shouldn’t be doing this,” you shot back.

“Doing what?”

“This,” you said, motioning around the dingy apartment. “All of this. What are you trying to prove?”

Jason let out a humorless laugh. “That Gotham doesn’t need a fucking coward. She needs someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty for justice.”

“This isn’t justice.”

His eyes darkened. “Then what the hell is it, huh? What do you call it?”

“Pain,” you whispered. “Self-destruction. A slow suicide with a gun instead of a noose”

Jason flinched. Just barely.

But you caught it.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Don’t,” he warned, voice dangerously low.

“You’re pushing everyone away,” you said, taking another step closer. “You’re pushing me away.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward again. “You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

Jason snaps his gun back up, his voice rising. “Don’t take another step unless you want a bullet in your chest.”

You froze, the hurt flashing across your face before you could mask it. “Jason…” you murmured, taking a slow, hesitant step.

“I’m serious,” he growled. “Go home.”

The two of you locked eyes, his steel gaze clashing with your own. His were hard, unrelenting, but there was a flicker of something else—hesitation, vulnerability, maybe even longing.

You exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Jason shot back. “It really is. You leave, you go back to your nice little world where everything makes sense, and I—”

He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

You frowned. “And you what?”

Jason’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

The silence stretched between you once more. Stretched too long. It was the kind of silence filled with things unsaid, the kind that felt like it carried the weight of every mistake, every moment of time lost between you.

Jason shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You should give up on me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“You should,” he muttered.

“But I shouldn’t, though.”

Jason bristles at that.

“I don’t need you,” he said, forcing the words out.

“You’re lying.”

Jason clenched his fists. “Am I?”

“You don’t believe that.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to you, something sharp in his eyes. “Don’t I?”

You didn’t back down.

You took another step forward, slow and careful, like you thought he might bolt. “At least let me stitch you up.”

Jason didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

But then, finally, he let out a slow, frustrated breath and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

It wasn’t an invitation.

It wasn’t acceptance.

But it was enough.

For now.

Jason refused to sit.

You could see it in the way his muscles tensed, in the way his stance shifted, like he was ready to bolt the second you let your guard down. But you weren’t giving him the chance.

“Sit down,” you said, voice steady.

Jason didn’t move. His gaze flickered to the door, then back to you. Weighing his options.

You shoved him—not hard, just enough to throw him off balance, to get him to land heavily onto his worn-out couch. He let out a sharp exhale, one hand instinctively going to his side, fingers pressing against the bleeding wound through his jacket.

You glanced at the couch, wrinkling your nose. “You need a new couch.”

Jason huffed out a dry laugh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric. “Yeah, I’ll add that to my to-do list. Right after ‘get shot’ and ‘bleed out on my own floor.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe try not to get shot in the first place.”

Jason scoffed but didn’t argue. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching like he was debating getting back up. You ignored it.

You crossed the room without another word, heading toward the kitchen. “Where’s your first aid kit?” you asked over your shoulder.

“Cabinet. Left of the sink,” Jason muttered, rubbing at the tension in his neck. He heard you hum in acknowledgment before you disappeared from his line of sight, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

And just like that, the weight of the night came crashing down on him.

His ribs ached, the sharp sting of broken skin screaming at him every time he moved. The fight had been messy—sloppy, even. He’d underestimated how many guys would be there, how deep into the pit of Gotham’s underbelly he’d wandered. It wasn’t just some back-alley arms deal; it was an entire trafficking operation. He hadn’t planned on taking them all out tonight, but when he saw the cages—saw the way the kids inside flinched at the mere sight of him—something inside of him snapped.

He had gone in reckless. Let the rage take control. Got sloppy.

One of the guys had landed a solid hit with a crowbar to his side. Jason gritted his teeth at the memory, his fingers unconsciously curling into fists at the phantom pain. A fucking crowbar.

Because of course it had to be a crowbar of all weapons.

It hadn’t been the finishing blow, though. The bullet graze along his abdomen had done that. It was shallow, but deep enough that it wouldn’t stop bleeding. He hadn’t planned on tending to it anytime soon—had figured it would scab over like all the others. Another wound on a body already covered in them.

But then you showed up.

He still wasn’t sure how you found him. The fact that you did sent something cold and sharp through his chest. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be looking for him.

How the hell did you even find him?

And why did it make something in his chest tighten?

Jason gritted his teeth, pressing his fingers into his temples.

It didn’t matter.

Pain was just part of the job.

What mattered was that the kids were safe.

That was the only thing that mattered.

But now you were here, forcing him to sit still, forcing him to acknowledge the damage, forcing him to—

Your footsteps echoed against the floor as you came back.

You reappeared in his peripheral vision, first aid kit in hand, and sat down beside him on the couch. The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, as you set the kit down and opened it.

Jason turned his head slightly, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You’d changed.

Older.

Tougher.

There was a sharpness to you now, something hardened and worn down. The way you carried yourself, the way your face held no trace of the wide-eyed kid who used to follow him around—it was like looking at a stranger.

And yet… it was still you.

Still the kid who used to cling to his side, still the kid who looked up to him like he was worth something, like he wasn’t just some street rat Bruce had picked up.

But you weren’t that kid anymore.

Just like he wasn’t your big brother anymore.

The realization made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

He had missed too much.

He had missed everything.

You started working in silence, peeling back his jacket, assessing the damage. Jason let out a quiet hiss as you pressed antiseptic to his wound, but he didn’t pull away. He just clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still.

Then, you spoke.

“How long are you planning on doing this?”

Jason’s gaze flicked up to yours, searching. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely at him. At the blood, the injuries, the bullet wound. “Running yourself into the ground like this. Taking on entire gangs by yourself. Going after people in ways Bruce wouldn’t.”

Jason scoffed. “So that’s what this is about. You’re here to play the morality police now?”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers pausing for a second before resuming their work. “That’s not what I said.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just pressed harder against his wound, making him grunt in pain.

“I’m here,” you said, voice tight, “because I care about you, Jason.”

His jaw locked.

You weren’t supposed to say that.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Well, don’t.”

You stilled for just a second, just long enough for him to notice. Then you continued cleaning his wound, voice tight. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

Jason let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I’m not the person you remember.”

Silence.

Then—

“No shit.”

Jason’s head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Then why the hell are you here?”

“Because I’m trying to understand you,” you shot back. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened to the Jason I knew.”

Jason let out a bitter laugh. “He’s dead.”

Your fingers faltered for just a second.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“Jay…”

Jason froze.

Everything inside him went still, his breath caught in his chest like a vice had closed around it.

Jay.

Not Jason. Not Todd.

Jay.

The name you used to call him when you were younger. When you still saw him as your big brother. When you still—

Jason’s mind spiraled back—years back—to late nights on rooftops, to laughter muffled beneath masks and walls, to whispered “be careful”s before patrols.

Back when you still trusted him.

Back when he still had you.

His throat went dry.

You must have realized it too because you tensed immediately, pulling your hands back, guilt flashing across your face.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence was deafening.

The word stung.

Don’t.

Don’t say sorry.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Jason stared at you, at the way your expression had closed off, at the way your fingers hovered uncertainly over his wound like you weren’t sure if you should keep going.

And for the first time in a long time, Jason didn’t know what to say.

His body had gone completely still, but his mind was spiraling, dragging him back to the past with vicious clarity.

“Jay, do you think I’ll ever be as good as you?”

“Jay, don’t go without me!”

“Jay, you promise you’ll come back, right?”

Your voice was younger in his memories, filled with something lighter, something innocent and naive. Something that hadn’t yet been shattered by reality.

Now, sitting beside him, stitching up his wounds, you looked like a ghost of that past. Same face, same eyes—but different. Hardened. Worn.

Unrecognizable.

Just like he was.

Jason swallowed thickly, forcing himself to breathe, to ground himself back in the present. Then, his voice came out rough, almost strained—

“Don’t… don’t say sorry.”

Another beat of silence.

You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he.

Neither of you looked at each other.

The weight of everything unspoken settled between you like a chasm neither of you could cross.

Jason shifted slightly, trying to ease the throbbing pain in his ribs. He should’ve said something else, should’ve changed the subject, but his head was still spinning, his chest still tight.

And then, after a long, suffocating pause—

“Who did this to you?”

Jason exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the couch. “Some asshole with a crowbar.”

Your body went rigid.

Your hands had stopped moving, still hovering near his wound, but your eyes weren’t on him. They were somewhere else—far away.

Jason let out a dry, humorless laugh at that. “Yeah. Ironic, right?”

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. “It’s not funny, Jason.”

“Never said it was.”

You looked at him then—really looked at him. And Jason saw something in your expression he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Because it looked like grief.

Like you were mourning someone who was still sitting right in front of you.

Jason turned away, staring at the floor. “I don’t need you to save me.”

“I know.” Your voice was soft. “But I still want to try.”

“You shouldn’t be playing nurse for me.”

You didn’t look up. “And you shouldn’t be doing… this. Any of this. What are you trying to get out of it, Jason?”

He scoffed, wincing slightly as you pressed the antiseptic to his wound. “Justice. Revenge. Call it whatever you want.”

“This isn’t justice,” you said quietly.

“Oh yeah? And what do you know about justice?” Jason snapped. “You’re still sitting pretty with Bruce, letting him call the shots. Letting the Joker live. Letting him get away with everything he’s done.”

“Bruce mourned you,” you said firmly. “He mourned for months. Years. We all did.”

Jason’s laugh was cold and bitter. “Sure he did. But not enough to do anything about it. Not enough to stop the Joker permanently.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands pausing mid-stitch. “He doesn’t kill, Jason. You know that.”

“And that’s why he’s weak,” Jason spat. “That’s why I had to step up and do what he couldn’t. What he wouldn’t.”

“He’s not weak,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “And neither am I. You think you’re the only one who’s suffered? We all lost you, Jason. I lost you. And now you’re back, but you’re not the same.”

Jason’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it. None of you do. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you snapped, your frustration boiling over. “I’m trying to understand you. I’m trying to be here for you, but you won’t let me!”

The room went silent, your harsh breaths the only sound. Jason looked away, his expression unreadable.

“Bruce still cares about you.”

Jason’s breath stilled for half a second.

You said it so softly, like you knew how he was going to react. Like you were already bracing for it.

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah?” His voice was rough, biting. “That why he threw a fucking Batarang at my throat?”

The silence that followed was immediate.

You froze.

Jason felt it—the way your hands had gone motionless against his skin, how your breath had caught ever so slightly.

And then he saw your face.

And fuck.

He knew that expression.

It had been burned into his brain since that night.

The night he’d come back, the night he’d stepped out of the shadows and made himself known to Bruce.

And to you.

He had expected anger, confusion, even disgust.

But the way you had looked at him—

Like you had been betrayed. Like he had ripped something apart inside you.

And now, that same look was back.

“…What?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Jason clenched his jaw.

Of course you didn’t know.

Of course Bruce had never told you.

His lips curled into a sneer before he could stop himself. “Of course you don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head. “All you ever see is this amazing man—Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s perfect hero, can do no wrong.”

Your brows furrowed, your eyes darkening. “That’s not—”

“He’s so good, right?” Jason continued, bitterness coating his words. “Loves all his kids equally, treats us all like we matter—”

“I know he’s not perfect, Jason.”

Jason stiffened.

You had cut him off this time.

And your voice—

It was sharp. Not with anger, but something deeper. Something more raw.

“None of us are,” you continued, voice lower now. “But he’s trying. He wants to—”

You stopped suddenly, exhaling hard through your nose as you dropped your gaze, your hands curling into fists.

Jason stared at you.

Scrutinized the tension in your shoulders, the clench of your jaw.

You were frustrated. But not at him.

At yourself.

For not knowing what to say.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

And then the overthinking started.

The overanalyzing, the picking apart every tiny movement, every breath, every twitch of your fingers.

Were you pitying him?

Were you angry at him?

Or—

Did you still see him as your brother?

Jason’s jaw tensed.

Finally, he muttered, “I don’t need you to be here for me. I don’t need anyone.”

“That’s not true,” you said softly.

Jason’s eyes flicked back to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his armor. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“You should give up on me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “You should. Everyone else has.”

“Well, I’m not everyone else, I’m your sister.”

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose.

He hated that word. Hated how easily it left your mouth. Like it still meant something.

Like it hadn’t been broken years ago.

But it did mean something.

His sister. You were his sister.

You still see him as your brother. Why?

“You shouldn’t have come.”

You didn’t even look at him. “You said that already.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

You finished the last stitch, cutting the thread with practiced ease before leaning back. “And I ignored it.”

Jason let out another bitter scoff, shaking his head. “Typical.”

You shot him a look. “You don’t get to talk about ‘typical.’”

Jason raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m not giving up on you, no matter how hard you try to push me away.”

Jason didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

You were still studying him, scrutinizing every movement, every flicker of emotion that passed through his face. He let you.

Because deep down, some part of him knew—he was doing the same to you.

And he hated what he saw.

Because all he could think about was how much you had changed.

How much he had missed.

You packed up the first aid kit and stood up, putting the kit back in its place. Still, before you left, you hesitated, your hand hovering for a fraction of a second before finally resting on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jason. Whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders tensed under your touch. It was barely a touch—gentle, fleeting—but Jason felt it..

He wasn’t used to this anymore. To the warmth. To the gentleness.

And then—just as quickly as it had come—it was gone.

You pulled away.

And the absence was visceral.

Jason clenched his jaw, an unfamiliar tightness creeping up his throat. He hated the way his body reacted to it—to the sudden cold where your hand had been.

It was stupid. He shouldn’t care.

But the second your warmth disappeared, something ugly curled in his chest, something hollow and raw and fucking unbearable.

His fingers twitched. A thought—brief and reckless—urged him to grab your wrist, to stop you from leaving just yet.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

As you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“You’re wasting your time.”

It came out quieter than he intended. More uncertain. More vulnerable.

Silence.

Thick. Stifling.

Jason hated silence.

Because silence left too much room for thinking. For remembering.

You hesitated. He could see it in the way your shoulders stiffened, in the slight pause before you finally glanced back at him.

Your eyes met his.

And fuck.

He should’ve looked away.

But he didn’t.

Because the way you were looking at him—soft, aching, certain—made something inside him twist violently.

Made even more memories resurface.

Like he was still your brother, still family, still someone worth standing beside—and it made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Maybe,” you said softly. “But you’re worth it.”

Jason sucked in a breath.

His throat felt tight. His chest felt tight.

And before he could stop himself, before he could shove the words down and bury them under every wall he had built, something broke through.

A quiet, fractured exhale.

He turned his head slightly, just enough that his hair shadowed his face. He didn’t want you to see. Didn’t want you to know what those words did to him.

Because you had said them so easily.

Like they were the simplest thing in the world.

Like you meant them.

And Jason—

Jason wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Because damn you.

Damn you for saying it like that—like it was the only truth in the world.

Like you actually believed it.

Like you still saw something in him worth holding on to.

He turned his head slightly, letting his hair fall forward to shadow his face, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Because if you kept looking at him like that—if you kept believing in him like that—

He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to push you away.

a part of me feels like i yapped too much with this lol 😭 but still, hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass | ask to be added <3

[cjjohansson]

i remember.

natasha romanoff x reader - angst, fluff - 6.2k

You don’t know what’s happening. That’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in an alley, gloved hands covered in blood. Confusion filters through your head. 

What happened?

Where are you?

You stand up slowly, your body swaying as you look down at what you’re wearing. You’re in a pair of black jeans, with rips throughout both legs and as you look closer you only notice how the rips have been made from slashes of a knife as your blood is dry underneath them. Your hoodie is soaking wet, your hands going into the pocket to be met with a gun and a knife. 

None of this makes sense. 

Standing there confused you try your hardest to remember anything. Anything at all. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

Death. Destruction. Pain. Loss. 

Memories whip through your brain as soon as your hand wraps around your gun. But still, none of it makes sense. 

What year is it?

You stumble down the alley, hand still wrapped around the gun resting in your pocket. You stare up at the buildings surrounding you. New York. You’re in New York. 

You watch as people pass by, words fading in and out of people’s conversations. You feel a pull, your body trying to get you to move in a certain direction but you have no clue why. 

You decide to give in, allowing your body to move. You stumble into someone muttering a sorry as they tell you to watch where you’re going. 

“What year is it?” You ask them, panic and confusion filling your voice.  “2018…” Panic feels you all over again. No that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not the year. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

A name to match the features. It echoes around your head in confusion. You know her. You can feel it. You can feel it with everything inside of you. 

Your breathing picks up, and you need to hide. You rush down another alley, hiding behind a dumpster as your head falls into your hands. 

It hurts. Your brain hurts. 

Everything is rushing through you. A place called SHEILD, the Avengers. Red hair and piercing green eyes. 

But then that stops. 

Memories of your hands hurting people now rush through you. People hurting you.

Cold. Dark. Wet. Pain. Agony. 

Then it all hits you at once. You can remember it so clearly. 

The mission, your arm getting trapped under rubble, telling her to leave. The building exploding. All you can remember after that was black and then it’s the pain. 

5 years. How, how has it been 5 years? 

Natasha? 

Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. 

Her face is now so clear in your head. 

You’ve been gone 5 years. You need to find her. 

You stand up again. Walking out of the alley, taking in your surroundings as you try to get your memory to cooperate with how to get to the tower. 

She will be at the tower. 

She is the only person who makes sense. 

Everyone else is a blur. 

You find yourself walking so fast down the street, people staring at you as you practically start running. The route becomes clear in your head as you finally stop outside. 

Your hand grips your gun, you can’t be too careful, not until you find her. They could still be looking for you. 

As you walk in, alarms go off behind you as you pass through the door. Confusion fills you as you hurry to the desk. 

“Natasha. Where is Natasha?” Your hand is gripping your gun so tight.  “We need you to step back.” Voices surround you. You turn slowly, people with guns ready and raised. Your hand now lifting out of your hoodie, gun in hand like it would even match theirs. 

“NATASHA. WHERE IS NATASHA!” You shout, frustration coursing through you, why won’t people answer you?  “PUT THE GUN DOWN!” You don’t. You move closer towards the man who is shouting. Before you can reach him he shoots. 

You feel the bullet lodge into your shoulder. But you don’t stop, no pain registers. 

“I need Natasha! Listen to me!!!” You beg, you plead. Why won’t they listen?  “Natasha, who?” You wrack your brain for an answer, you try so hard, your hands finding your head as you start to hit it to try and remember. 

“Red hair, piercing green eyes!” The men around you turn to each other, murmuring as they continue to look at you.  “Come with us.” Sirens go off in your head. You aren’t leaving unless it’s with her.  “No. No. You bring her here to me, NOW!” You raise your gun again. Everyone raises theirs to face you, matching your stance. 

“We need you to drop the gun.”

“Not until she is here.” You don’t give up. If you’re leaving it’s with her. 

She is the only thing clear in your head. Your body calms with the thought of her. Memories of whispered confessions, secret nights lying beside one another, her laugh, the way your body reacted to hers, and vice versa. She is the only thing clear. You need her here now. 

“Y/n?” A man’s voice has you turning around. Your gun now facing him. His face seems familiar but you can’t place a name. It’s so frustrating, having that familiarity, but none of it makes any sense. “I don’t, I need Natasha.” You stumble over your words, tears filling your eyes at the pain going through your head. 

“Okay, okay. Do you remember me?” The man asks you, you close your eyes, trying so fucking hard to remember but you can’t. You shake your head at his question, opening your eyes to see him moving closer. 

“No, stay back! Don’t, don’t come closer!” You shout at him. His movement instantly stopped at your words. “Ok, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here. Everyone clear the room!” He shouts his last sentence your body tensing as you watch everyone start moving around you, hurrying to the doors. You’re left in the lobby of the tower, just you and this man standing opposite each other. 

“Natasha.” Is all you can get out of your mouth once everyone has left. “She is coming, ok. How about we lower the gun and take a seat?” You shake your head no. You can’t sit down. Your hands find your head again. Your gun hits the side of your head as your frustration builds. You’re pacing around now. Even more, memories spiral around. 

The man with you, his face shows in some of the memories, but his name is still so far away. It frustrates you to no end. All of this is so confusing and you’re becoming tired. 

“Clint? What’s going on?” You turn around at the voice. Your arm lowers as your body sags in relief. Her voice is the same, she is the same. 

“Y/n?” She asks in shock, your body shaking as tears build in your eyes. She is real, you remember her. She starts rushing towards you and you hate how your body’s reaction is to raise your gun again. But she doesn’t stop moving. She keeps coming closer. 

“Stop, stop.” 

“Y/n, it’s okay. I’m here.” No, no. This could be a trap. 

“Tell me something only you would know.” Her eyes widen, you can see her wracking her brain for anything. 

“You have a birthmark that looks like a giraffe on the inside of your left thigh.” She smiles shyly at you but it only breaks you more. 

“No, no, they…they’d know that now!” You shout at her, gun gripping so tight as you move your aim to her head. If you pulled the trigger it would hit right in between her eyes. 

“Ok. Ok. Let’s calm down. It’s fine. Your favorite time of the year is winter, and it’s because it means we have longer nights in bed where we can just cuddle and be us. We can make hot chocolates and watch films in the comfort of each other arms. With no one else annoying us because they know it’s our time. Your favorite color is green, but not any green but the green in a forest when the sun hits it just right, it’s your favorite because you always said it reminded you of me. You only like marshmallows when they're toasted over a fire, other than that you hate them, they have to be gooey. You only like peanut butter with apples, anything else and you hate it. You used to hum songs in the shower no matter your mood. You would always wake before me and pull me closer to you and let me sleep for a little while longer before we had to get up to train-”

“Natasha…” You sob out, dropping the gun as you fall to your knees. Natasha finally approaches you properly now. Her arms surround you as she brings you so tightly into her. You hesitate to put your arms around her, but you grip her thighs so tightly you’re afraid you’ll leave bruises. 

“I remembered you. Only you. It’s taken me too long. I’ve been gone. I got taken. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Five years. Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. I remember you. I only remember you.” You can’t stop crying, your face pushing harder into her neck and finally, you allow your arms to surround her as you take in the scent of her shampoo. 

“You’re ok. You’re here now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Natasha whispers into your ear. Her hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you where you are, not letting you out of her arms. It’s like your body reacts to her now exaggerated breathing, her silently telling you that you need to calm down, you need to breathe. You take yourself out of her neck, your forehead finally resting on hers as you stare into her eyes. 

“I remember you.” You mutter. A smile and tears grace her face as she cups your cheek. 

“I’m glad you did. Let’s get you home, okay?” Confusion fills your face. Moving back and looking around you. “This is home?” You’re confused and rightfully so, it has been 5 years. 

“We moved a few years ago, somewhere bigger, more private. Come on, let me and Clint take you home.” She starts to stand up, her hand reaching out for yours. “Who’s Clint?” You whisper, holding her hand gently as she starts to walk towards the guy who called your name earlier. “This is Clint.” She points to him, he offers you a gentle smile, your face staying straight as you take him in. You know his face is familiar and you know that you do know him, the earlier memories of him popping up but everything else is blank. You hate it.

You stay silent the whole car journey, your hand fiddling with Natashas as she sits in the back with you. You keep trying to remember, but nothing is coming through, memories rifle through your head but they're all silent. Only she is clear, her voice is clear, her laugh. Nothing else. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you, moving between your bloodied gloved hands that she hasn’t said anything about, to your face, and then the blood seeping from your wounded shoulder. 

You pull up to the ‘compound’ as Nat called it, people rushing out of the doors have your body tensing, your hand instantly going into your pocket to grab your gun but come up empty remembering that you dropped it at the tower, but your hand wraps around the knife still present in the pocket. 

“Hey, it’s okay. They’re good, they’re safe. You know all of them but 3, it’s okay.” Natasha turns to you, her hand finding your cheek as she tries to reassure you. 

You step out of the car slowly, Natasha staying close to you as you finally approach the people standing in front of you. 

“Y/n?!” You meet eyes with another tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in your memories. He seems shocked, relieved, and also kind of scared. But you’re not shocked, they must have thought you were dead for the past 5 years. You go to reply but stop short when you take in the person coming up behind him. That’s another face in your memories but they’re not good. 

You take a glance at Natasha, her gun in a holster on her side, you reach towards it before anyone can see what you're doing, aiming the gun at him. Everyone stands still, no one talks, no one breathes as you stare at him. 

“You said it was safe.” You say out loud, your words aimed at Natasha, but you can’t look at her, you can’t take your eyes off of him. “It is. Put the gun down.” Natasha steps in front of the gun but you aim it higher, moving your body a fraction so if you shoot it will still hit him. 

“It’s not safe if he is here!” You try to tell her but she shakes her head. “He is good, whatever memories you're thinking right now, he is good. He was taken too. He was brainwashed, he is Steve's best friend, think back more, before the Avengers, think!” You close your eyes when you feel Natasha’s hand touch your chest, your arm lowering as you allow her to take the gun. You try to think, pushing away the bad, you try to think of anything and then it happens. The guy's face coming up next to the blonde man, both wearing army uniforms. It hurts, it’s confusing, and nothing makes sense.

“You’re safe here, I wouldn’t lie to you. Would I lie to you?” Natasha whispers between you both, your eyes opening and meeting hers, your body relaxes again as you shake your head no. She wouldn’t lie to you, she never would. She sends you a small smile as her hand finds yours again, walking you towards the compound, towards the people who move out of the way for Natasha and you. Only one person goes to speak, but Natasha shakes her head and pulls me along with her, the person instantly silencing themselves. 

You take in your surroundings. Counting every step you take, remembering the way to where Natasha is taking you. She places her thumb on a doorknob, the door clicking open, and she takes you into what looks like an apartment. You walk through yourself stopping just after the door not knowing what to do with yourself.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can talk, okay?” You nod your head, words seeming like they can’t come to you right now, the confusion lingers, and nothing makes sense. Everything is so quiet. 

A knock at the door has you gripping your knife again, Natasha pauses and moves back towards it being met with the guy called Clint. He hands some clothes to Natasha, sending her a smile before she closes the door again and meets you back in the middle of the room. She walks you through into a bedroom until she opens another door and you're suddenly in a bathroom. 

“Do, do you want or need help cleaning up?” You stare back at her, you don’t want her to leave, she is the only thing that makes sense. You nod, accepting her help as she places the clothes onto the side, moving to another cupboard taking some towels out, and placing them onto the same side. She stands opposite you, her eyes still filled with tears as she takes a deep breath. Her hand moves slowly to your jacket, peeling it off of your body gently, her hands then go to the bottom of your hoodie, lifting it over her head. When it hits the floor she steps away from you, her tears falling, her mouth hanging open as she stares at you. 

You don’t understand why until you look down on yourself. Your left arm is…it’s metal? Shock feels your face as you take off the gloves covering your hands, your flesh arm moves to touch the metal, it’s freezing. You spot a mirror on the wall moving quickly to stand in front of it, you try your hardest to ignore Natasha's gasp as you stand with your back to her. You take yourself in, your metal arm, scars littering your whole torso. 

You close your eyes again. 

Your left side was trapped in the explosion. You open your eyes suddenly, more memories coming to you as you hurry to take off your trousers pushing them down your legs. Your left leg is metal too… You suppose it makes sense, you were trapped, they were probably ruined, and whoever got to you knew you’d be useless to them without anything replacing them. You flinch slightly when you feel hands slowly gliding up you're back. You look into the mirror your eyes spotting Natashas as she looks back at you through the mirror. 

“You were trapped…” 

“I know.” 

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“I told you to.”

“I shouldn’t have listened.” 

“You’d be dead if you stayed.” 

She doesn't say anything to that, because she knows it’s true.

Her hands surround your waist as she buries her head in between your shoulder blades. 

“I missed you, every day, I missed you so much.” You hear her mumble. Your back starting to get wet from her tears. You don’t know what to say, the past 5 years don’t make any sense, you can’t tell her you missed her too when you don’t even know if, in those 5 years, you even remembered her. And it breaks your heart when your silence makes her sobs echo within the bathroom. 

You don’t move, allowing her to get out what she needs to. This can’t be easy for her either. She thought you were dead for 5 years just to show up all over again. The years of bent-up anger and grief spilled out of her. 

You only then move when you feel her arms losing their grip and her sobs only seeming to get louder, if that was even possible. You turn around just in time to catch her, her body giving out to her emotional turmoil. Bringing her head to your chest, while holding her so tightly just so she can feel that you're real, feel like you are truly here after all this time. And secretly to remind yourself of the same things. She is still here too, she is also real, she isn’t something your mind has conjured up in your state. 

It isn’t long before she pulls away again, turning her back to you as she subtly wipes her eyes and cheeks before moving towards her shower. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t make a single sound while she focuses on her task at hand. And when she is done, she stays with her back to you and leaves the room before you can even utter any more words to her. 

You let the water completely engulf you as you try to focus on everything flowing through your head. You need to remember everything, every single moment, every single name and memory. The bad, the good, the ugly, you don't care. You lean over to grab some body wash on the side and the smell seems to trigger everything. 

Memories flood through you, names, faces, voices, everything. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and it should overwhelm you. But all you feel is relief. Relief of remembering, regardless of the bad you remember after being taken, that somehow fades away when Natasha’s face sits at the front of your mind. 

You're drawn from your thoughts when you can hear shouting echoing through the sound of the water hitting the sides of the shower, rushing out and throwing on the clothes Natasha left you before stepping out of the bathroom. 

Natasha is standing with the door wide open as Fury stands opposite her. They both stop talking when you slam the bathroom door to draw their attention away from one another.

“Nicholas.” You say clearly, shock filling Natasha's face as you move closer to them. 

“Y/n.” He echos right back, a smirk filling his face when you finally approach him, your arm winding around Natasha's waist to bring her closer to you, needing to feel her body heat against your cold skin. 

“Why are you both shouting, I could hear you both in the shower.” Natasha stays silent, her eyes furrowing as she looks up at Fury, his face having the same expression as hers. He doesn’t answer you and neither does she, he simply looks between you both and then speaks to Natasha, “10 minutes, meeting room.” And then he walks away. 

Natasha gets out of your grip, closing the door when Fury moves away. She stays quiet again, her back facing you as she stays with her back to you. The coldness confuses you, it hurts just as much. 

“We should head to the meeting room.” She finally says, her back still to you. “Nat, what’s, what’s wrong?” You whisper, placing your hand on her shoulder but you're met with her shrugging it off and moving away from you. 

“You were dead, for 5 years, to me, to all of us, you were dead. I grieved you, I put flowers on your empty grave every week. Every week since your funeral. For a whole year, I couldn’t go on missions, I couldn’t work. I didn’t leave the tower until your funeral, and then after that, I didn’t leave my room for 3 months. I then didn't go on missions for 6 months either, because you were dead. And I, I hated you for that, I hated that you made me leave, I hated that you radioed Tony to come and get me and I hated that we were forced to leave without even looking for your body. I hated that when I finally found the strength to pack your stuff away, I found a ring in your shoes. And right now, god I am so fucking happy and relieved you're alive but…” She breathes, she wipes her eyes and she meets your eyes, and the look in them breaks you. 

“But, I have now lived 5 long years without you and I’m not the ‘me’ you remember or know, Y/n. I’m not.” 

“I remembered you, Natasha, I woke up in an alley not even knowing what year it was and all I could remember was you. I remember YOU. I can- let me get to know who you are now, let me, let me remember you for who you are now.” You beg her, you need her. Especially now.

“You remembered the old me, Y/n. I’m not someone who you can love anymore. I’m not, that’s gone, that person died the day that you died.”

“Natasha…”

“We need to go to the meeting room.” She tries to deflect.

“I want to talk to you more than talking to Fury.”

“I can’t do this right now, please. Just please, let me take this in, you're here and you're alive and I don’t, I can’t process this right now.” She opens the door and walks out, the conversation over with. 

She leads you down to the meeting room, walking in front of you the whole time, every time you try to match her pace she only walks faster to get further away from you. You hate the distance between you both but you do understand it, as much as it hurts. She needs to process this, you’ve been gone, a lot has happened in those years and you can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to. So you’re not shocked when she walks you into the meeting room and leaves immediately after. 

---------------------------

You tell Fury everything. How you somehow survived the explosion, and how you remember your body being pulled from the rubble, thinking it was SHEILD but it wasn't. You tell him about the months of tests completed on you, the super soldier serum that now floods through your veins. You tell him every mission you remember, the dates, the countries, the kills. He takes you to the med bay next, and more blood is taken from you as you show them your new leg and arm, they pay close attention to the scars covering your body and you try not to cower away at that. After he is done with that he takes you to the gym, making you run the fastest you can, lifting the heaviest weights you can. You ignore the looks of shock on his and Marias faces as they write everything down. 

When you finally land back in the meeting room, you all sit in silence. Fury and Maria, continuously look at each other and then back to you. You sit back twirling your thumbs as you wait for them to say anything. And Maria is the first one to choke. 

“How do you feel? You couldn't remember anything but Natasha 5 hours ago.” I shrug my shoulders trying to find the right words to say. 

“Honestly, I feel okay. At first, it was overwhelming not remembering anything, but then when everything hit me, I was just relieved, relieved that I could actually remember. Yeah, my time at Hydra was shit, but it happened, and I’m here now. And there is only one Hydra base left which I just gave you the location too and within days that will be gone too. So I feel relieved because I won’t go back there. Because I am here, with people I know and remember. I may be different now, I know I’m different and in a week I could be feeling completely different, so if and when I do feel different, I will come straight to Maria. I promise, I am here and I am present.” I lay my hands on the table as I finish talking, Fury and Maria nodding their heads at my words. 

“I’ll sort out your death certificate. I’ll sort out your bank account and ID, all of that stuff. You’ll have it within a day. Oh, and all of your pension that we owed you for being dead I guess.” Fury tells you, standing up and leaving, but not without placing his hand on your shoulder and saying, “I’m glad you're back Y/n.”

Maria stays sitting for longer, her hands fiddling with paperwork as she gets it all together. You know she wants to say something, but you know she won’t. “So, Natasha kind of hates me, I guess.” You try to break the silence, but Maria's sighing makes her stop her movements. 

“It was rough. She wasn’t Natasha anymore, any trace of her was gone and it took a while to try and bring her back but she didn't, not really anyway. I’ve seen Natasha be so many different people, around different people but around you, that was Natasha. How she was with the guys, it wasn't how she was when you were here. But no one could do or say anything because we all knew it wouldn’t matter. Because you were gone and because of that, she wasn't ever going to come back. Especially after she found the ring. She used to wear it you know. All the time, no one said anything, worried about how she would react and then one day she stopped, and we all just thought, she had accepted it. That you were gone and wasn't coming back. She doesn’t hate you, I know she doesn’t, but right now, those 5 years of grief and loss, she is hating herself for giving up when you were out there all along, alive.” Maria, sits herself down next to you, leaning against the table as you furrow your brows, trying to process her words. You get it, like you already said, you understand. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if the roles were the other way. Honestly, you would probably react the same way she is. 

“It wasn’t her fault.” You whisper, tears building in your eyes.

“To her, it is, was her fault. So what are you going to do about it, super soldier?”

------------------------------

You had been at the compound for a week now. It had been good, fun even. You knew most people, that is the original 6 of the Avengers. It was nice to be with them again, joking and laughing like you did all those years ago. It also helped that some new additions to the team were also nice.

It would have only been perfect if Natasha was there too but she wasn't. She had disappeared when you finally came out of your meeting with Fury and Maria, and it didn't surprise you when Clint was also gone. You knew where they were, at Clint’s farm. She needed space, you understood that but you wished she at least told you she had left, but you had to realize she didn't owe you that at all. 

It was by the second week at the compound that it then started to feel like you were now intruding into Natasha's life without you. She still hadn't come home. The constant thoughts of just leaving so she could come back were always floating around your head but another part also kept telling you that she just needs to process this and then she will be home, she will be back and it will all be okay. 

It was so conflicting, the constant back and forth. You wanted, no needed to call her but knew you shouldn’t. It kept you up most nights, resulting in you ending up falling asleep on the couch instead of in your cozy new bedroom, courtesy of Tony, it felt weird sleeping in a bed without her. It might have been 5 years, but in those 5 years, you hadn't even slept in a bed. It just never felt right, you didn't know what to do with your arms, and you didn't know how to lay. It was as if you could only exist with your arms surrounding her and it was tearing you apart.

By the third week, you were begging Maria for permission to use a jet. Natasha hadn’t answered any of your calls, texts, or even emails. Neither had Clint. Everyone could see it was affecting you, they all kept trying to tell you she would be back when she was ready but at this point, it didn't feel like she was coming back. Clint showed up in the middle of the third week, you tried speaking to him about Natasha but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t answer any of your questions, but he could hear and see the distress. You felt erratic, you didn’t feel like yourself and it was making it all worse. He wouldn’t let you see her or speak to her, he wouldn’t even say her name. He wouldn’t even tell you if she was safe, and that’s when you lost it. 

You had him pinned against a way, Bucky and Steve on either side of you trying to pry you off of him but even with their strength, you didn't move a muscle. And finally, when Clint realized you weren’t going to let go that’s when he muttered that Natasha was safe, something he could have done 30 minutes ago when you had asked in the first place. But you continued to hold him. Maria walked into the room then, coming up by your side and telling you to let him go. You could hear it in her voice that she wasn't going to ask again and you dropped him, walking away and out of the door without turning round. 

It got to the point where the weeks turned into months. Still no sign of her, still no word from her. It was breaking you apart. You completely distanced yourself from everyone, only coming out of your room in the middle of the night to go to the gym and then taking as much food and drink as you could back up to your room. You hadn't slept, and the bed still didn’t feel right. It was exhausting. 

And that’s when it suddenly felt like you were being punished. 

That this was only a fraction of what Natasha felt. And that she was doing this on purpose.

It all turned to anger. 

You didn’t expect to get taken. You thought you were going to die. It wasn’t your fault you lived, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look for her. You didn't remember anything until waking up all over again in an alley 5 years later. 

She was punishing you, even if she didn't realize it. 

You called her again. Her answerphone breaks you. You cried down the phone, begging for her to come home, to talk to you. To stop acting like you had died. That you have both already lost 5 years, you don’t need to lose more. 

---------------

Tony was having a party, you don't know what for. Something about it had ‘been a while’. You wanted nothing more than to stay in your bedroom, but Bucky and Steve wouldn’t let you. They forced you up, made you shower and get dressed. 

The party was boring, Thor had gone back to Asgard so in turn had taken his mead, which was the only thing that could even get you the slightest bit drunk. It felt pointless drinking when it didn’t do anything. 

The night seemed to go too slow, people coming and going as they pleased. People greet you for one minute and then say goodbye. It felt pointless. It felt like maybe 5 years ago you should have died instead. It felt like life didn’t have a meaning anymore. 

Everyone tried to get you to stay, the party still in full swing but you felt so dejected and so far from everyone it just seemed so pointless. All of it seemed pointless. They could see it too, the light in your eyes was gone, the lingering thoughts of Natasha affecting how you carried yourself every day. They saw the similarities from when Natasha lost you. It started to feel like Natasha definitely wasn’t coming back and everyone else finally started to agree. 

The party had been over for a few hours now, the clock reading 3:23 am. The room was still a mess but it felt fitting that it was the only place that would stop your thoughts from flying all over the place. You were no longer in the clothes you wore to the party but were now sporting an oversized hoodie and sweats. You got yourself comfortable on the couch. Throwing the rubbish on top of it onto the floor, someone else will deal with it tomorrow. 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You needed to sleep. It had been days since you last slept, you were well and truly exhausted. You just needed to sleep to get your head straight again. 

----------------

You felt a weight on your chest, your body going tense instantly, wanting to sit up. But a hand on your cheeks stops you. You keep your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them it won’t be real. That the familiar touch and smell isn’t Natasha, that she is a fragment of your exhausted and emotional mind. Her whole body lay on top of your own. Her head is tucked into your neck. Her hand tangled in the hair on the side of your head. 

“I know you're awake.” She whispers, her breath tickling your neck. 

“You’re real.” You sigh out, opening your eyes and wrapping your arms around her back. Holding her tightly against you. Her body fits perfectly with your own.

“So are you.” She whispers again, not wanting to ruin the quietness that surrounds you both. 

“I’m sorry, I left, I just…”

“I know, I’m sorry too.” You move your body to lay on its side, Natasha's body falling beside you, trapping her between yourself and the back of the couch. You move your hand slowly to run through her hair, her breathing slow and gentle. She stares at you so intensely, and you can’t help but stare back. 

“You remembered me.” She whispers, moving closer despite the very little space between you both anyway, resting her forehead on yours. 

“I think I will always remember you, Natasha.” You breathe out, a small smile gracing her lips as she opens her eyes after taking a deep breath. 

You feel her head moving again, so slowly and subtly but you know her, even if it has been so many years, you know her. Her lips meet yours slowly, and your body starts to shiver from the action. 

The kiss is slow, but hard, every unspoken word flowing between you. 

“I will always love you, whether I am dead or missing, or simply just alive, I will always love and remember you, Natasha Romanoff, that will never change, I promise you that.” You whisper against her lips as you both pull away, a smirk now lying on her lips. She presses her lips against yours again, short and sweet just like her. 

“I will always love you too.”

You remembered her, and you always will. 

[ssa-danhotchner]

The thread that binds us | Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: after years of friendship, missed chances, and unspoken feelings, Aaron Hotchner and the reader drift apart. Life takes them in different directions—promises left unfulfilled, words left unsaid.

cw: fem reader, non BAU reader, mention of Haley's death, emotional angst, missed chances, grief

wc: 9.6k

note: the years are not exact

english isn't my first language so please be kind! i recently watched Love, Rosie so I have to write this

You met Aaron Hotchner in high school—though “met” wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like fate threw you together in the most chaotic way possible.

The first day of junior year, you showed up late to homeroom, and the only seat left was next to him. He had his arms crossed, his black hoodie pulled over his head, and a bored expression on his face. He looked like the kind of guy who never broke rules and always finished his homework on time.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath as you slid into the chair.

He glanced sideways at you, arching an eyebrow. “Something wrong with sitting here?”

“Not yet,” you said with a smirk, pulling out your notebook.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t until later that day in chemistry class that you found out how insufferable—and surprisingly fun—Aaron Hotchner could be.

“Do you even know how to hold a pipette?” you asked as you watched him fumble with the equipment.

“Do you?” he shot back, his dark eyes narrowing playfully.

“Yes, actually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m brilliant.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re so brilliant you couldn’t even find your way to homeroom on time.”

“Touché,” you muttered, grabbing the pipette from him. “Move over. Let me save you from yourself.”

He grinned then, wide and genuine, and it was the first time you realized Aaron Hotchner wasn’t as stoic as he seemed. In fact, he could be downright charming when he let his guard down.

𐙚

1984

You became friends after that, though it wasn’t immediate. Aaron wasn’t the type to let people in easily, but once he did, he was loyal to a fault.

By senior year, you were inseparable. People joked that you were attached at the hip, though neither of you ever corrected them. You weren’t dating—everyone assumed you were, but it wasn’t like that. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“What are you doing after graduation?” Aaron asked one day as you sat in your usual spot on the bleachers, watching the soccer team practice.

“I don’t know,” you said, kicking at a loose piece of gravel. “College, I guess. You?”

“Probably the same,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “My dad wants me to go to law school eventually.”

“Of course he does. You’ve got ‘future lawyer’ written all over you.”

“And what do you have written all over you?” he asked, glancing at you with a smirk.

“Trouble,” you said, grinning.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, laughing softly.

𐙚

Aaron had been thinking about asking you to prom for weeks.

It wasn’t that he assumed you’d say yes, but the idea of going with anyone else just didn’t make sense. You were his best friend. His person. The one who understood him better than anyone.

But there was this nagging doubt in the back of his mind—this quiet voice that whispered, Why would she want to go with you?

You were effortlessly charming, the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking into it. Meanwhile, Aaron was… well, Aaron. Reserved. Cautious. Always too serious for his own good.

So he hesitated.

And then, one afternoon, he found himself in the hallway with Haley Brooks—the golden girl of your high school, the one everyone adored. She was kind, beautiful, and, most importantly, she was interested in him.

He should’ve walked away. He should’ve told her he already had someone in mind.

But when she smiled at him and casually mentioned how she still didn’t have a date for prom, something inside him wavered.

He thought about how easy it would be.

How no one would question why Aaron Hotchner, the quiet, studious overachiever, was taking Haley Brooks to prom.

How maybe, just maybe, if he asked you and you said no, it wouldn’t hurt as much if he had never asked at all.

So instead of finding you after school like he had planned, he looked at Haley and said, “Do you want to go with me?”

𐙚

You smiled when Aaron and Haley arrived at prom together.

At least, you hoped it looked like a smile.

You had spent weeks waiting for him to ask you, certain that he would. Certain that, after all these years, it just made sense.

But he never did.

And when you saw him standing beside Haley in his perfectly pressed suit, his hand resting carefully at her waist, you understood why.

So you smiled. You laughed. You pretended it didn’t sting.

But when a slow song came on, and he met your eyes across the dance floor, something inside you twisted painfully.

Because for a brief moment, you saw it—hesitation. Regret.

And then, before either of you could move, Haley took his hand, pulling him toward the dance floor.

So you turned away, forcing yourself to do the same.

Later that night, when the party had begun to slow and most of the crowd had thinned, you felt a familiar presence behind you.

You turned, and there he was.

Aaron.

He looked unsure, like he was still trying to convince himself to be here.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You hesitated. “What about Haley?”

“She won’t mind,” he said quickly. “It’s just one dance.”

Just one dance.

So you let him take your hand, let him pull you onto the dance floor as another slow song started. His hands found your waist, your arms looped around his shoulders, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed.

Like it was still just the two of you, the way it had always been.

You swayed in silence, and then—so softly it almost didn’t feel real—Aaron leaned in.

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was hesitant, searching—like he was afraid of what it meant but couldn’t stop himself, either.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, your heart hammering against your ribs. You had imagined this moment so many times, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away.

His eyes were wide, his breathing unsteady, and for a moment, you thought he was about to say something that would change everything.

But then his face shuttered.

“I—” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “That was a mistake.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Aaron must have seen something in your face because he immediately backpedaled. “I mean—I just—” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach twisted, and you forced yourself to nod. “Right. Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The song was still playing, but neither of you were dancing anymore.

You should’ve said something. Told him he was wrong. That it wasn’t a mistake, that it meant something.

But instead, you nodded again and forced a smile. “It’s fine, Aaron.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else—like he was desperate to—but instead, he just exhaled and gave you the smallest, saddest smile.

And that was that.

Neither of you brought it up again.

𐙚

You and Aaron didn’t fall apart after that night.

You still spent the summer together before college, still stayed up late talking, still laughed until your stomachs hurt.

And if sometimes his eyes lingered on you a little too long, or if you caught yourself remembering the feeling of his lips on yours—you both pretended it never happened.

Because that’s what Aaron wanted.

And if he could pretend, then so could you.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

It hadn’t been a mistake.

It had been a choice.

And maybe, one day, he would finally be brave enough to make a different one.

𐙚

The summer after graduation felt like borrowed time.

You and Aaron knew things were changing—college, distance, new experiences—but neither of you talked about it. Instead, you spent every moment together, stretching out the days like they could last forever.

Late-night drives with the windows down, the radio playing softly in the background. Sneaking into your old high school football field, lying on the grass, talking about nothing and everything. Silent moments where you’d catch him looking at you, like he was memorizing your face, just in case.

But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, August crept closer.

“I don’t get why you’re going all the way to New York,” Aaron said one evening, his voice unusually tense. You were sitting on the swings at the park, your feet dragging in the dirt.

“Because I need to,” you said simply, staring up at the sky. “And you’re staying here because you need to.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “We’ll still talk all the time.”

You nodded, but a part of you didn’t believe it.

It wasn’t like you wanted to drift apart, but life had a way of pulling people in different directions.

𐙚

At first, you kept your promise.

You called constantly—late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours, emails filled with inside jokes and stories about your new lives. You told Aaron about your classes, your new favorite coffee shop, the people you met. He told you about his professors, how law school wasn’t as bad as he expected, how his dad was already making plans for his future.

But as the months passed, the calls grew less frequent.

“I miss you,” you admitted one night, your voice quieter than usual.

“I miss you too,” he said, but he sounded tired, distracted.

And then, one day, he didn’t pick up.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He got busy. You got busy. Weeks turned into months. You’d pick up your phone to text him, only to hesitate, wondering if he’d even have time to respond.

Slowly, the spaces between your conversations stretched wider, until one day, you realized you hadn’t spoken in over a year.

𐙚

1995

You weren’t expecting an invitation to Aaron’s wedding.

By that point, it had been years since you’d last spoken. Life had pulled you in opposite directions—him with law school and the FBI, you with your career and a life far from Virginia. But one day, an envelope appeared in your mailbox, his name scrawled neatly across the back.

Opening it, you found an invitation to his wedding with Haley.

It felt like someone had punched the air out of your lungs.

The last time you’d seen Aaron, there had been something unspoken lingering between you, something you had buried deep because you didn’t know what to do with it. But now, seeing his name next to hers, reality hit you like a freight train.

He had moved on. He was happy.

And you? You weren’t sure what you felt.

A week later, your phone rang.

“Y/N,” Aaron’s familiar voice came through the line.

“Aaron,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hey.”

“Did you get the invitation?” he asked.

“I did,” you said softly. “I was… surprised.”

“I know,” he admitted, his tone hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come. But it wouldn’t feel right without you there.”

Your chest tightened.

“Of course I’ll come,” you said, even though part of you wanted to say no.

There was a pause, and then he cleared his throat. “There’s, uh, something else. Haley and I were talking… and I was wondering if you’d say a few words at the reception. You’ve known me the longest out of anyone, and—”

“Aaron,” you interrupted gently, your heart aching. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said firmly. “It would mean a lot to me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

𐙚

The day of the wedding came faster than you expected.

You arrived at the church early, trying to keep your emotions in check as you took your seat near the front. The ceremony was beautiful—Haley looked radiant, Aaron impossibly handsome in his tux. Watching them exchange vows was bittersweet; you were happy for him, truly, but it was impossible to ignore the pang of longing deep in your chest.

At the reception, you did your best to blend into the background, sipping champagne and avoiding the dance floor. But when Aaron called your name, motioning for you to come up and speak, there was no hiding.

You took a deep breath, standing up and walking to the microphone. The room was quiet, all eyes on you, but your focus was solely on him.

“Hi, everyone,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Y/n. Aaron and I have been friends since high school, and I’m honored to be here today to celebrate this incredible milestone in his life.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the small, encouraging smile he gave you.

“I could stand here and talk for hours about the kind of person Aaron is. How he’s always been the smartest guy in the room, how he has this way of making everyone feel safe, of making them laugh even when he pretends he’s the serious one. He’s someone who gives all of himself to the people he loves.”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of the microphone stand.

“But what I really want to say is this: Aaron, no matter where life takes you, no matter where you are or who you’re with, you’ll always have a piece of my heart. I’ll always love you.”

The room was quiet for a beat before polite applause broke out. Everyone took your words as the sentiment of a lifelong friend, but when your eyes met Aaron’s, you knew he didn’t.

His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, maybe even regret.

He didn’t say anything, though.

Later, as the night wound down, you found yourself alone on the balcony, staring out at the stars. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Aaron standing there, his jacket off, his tie loosened.

He stepped beside you, resting his hands on the railing. The soft hum of music and laughter filtered through the open door, but out here, it was quiet—just the two of you and the weight of everything unspoken.

“You always did sneak away at parties,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the kind that felt more like a conversation than anything you could put into words. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the slight slouch of his shoulders, the loosened tie, the way his fingers curled against the railing like he was anchoring himself.

“I meant what I said in there,” you said softly, breaking the stillness.

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might say something. But instead, he exhaled slowly, looking down at his hands.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “Aaron…”

He turned to you then, his dark eyes meeting yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw it—something raw and vulnerable, something that felt like an echo of the feelings you had buried long ago.

And just like that, it was gone.

Because Aaron already knew what you were about to say.

And he wanted—God, he wanted—to tell you he felt the same way. That there had been nights when he couldn’t sleep, thinking about the way you’d looked at him during your prom dance. That there had been moments when he’d almost picked up the phone, only to stop himself because he was afraid of what it would mean. That even now, standing beside you on his wedding night, part of him wished things had been different.

But he couldn’t.

Not now. Not tonight.

So instead, he reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should have.

“You always know what to say,” he said quietly, his lips twitching into a small, bittersweet smile.

You searched his face, hoping—praying—for something more. But he stepped back, the space between you suddenly feeling too wide and too small all at once.

“Come back inside,” he said, his voice soft. “They’ll miss you.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

But as he walked back inside, you stayed behind, gripping the railing as your breath hitched in your throat.

Aaron had stopped at the doorway, his hand on the frame. For one fleeting second, he turned back to look at you, something heavy and unspoken in his eyes.

But he didn’t say it.

Because he knew that if he did, it would change everything.

And he couldn’t let himself do that.

So, with one final glance, he disappeared back into the glow of the reception, back to Haley, back to the life he had chosen.

You stayed on the balcony a little while longer, staring up at the stars, letting the weight of the moment settle over you.

Aaron loved you. You knew that now.

But sometimes, love wasn’t enough to rewrite the story.

And so, you turned and walked back inside, letting the door close behind you.

𐙚

2008

The coffee shop hadn’t changed.

It still smelled of roasted beans and cinnamon, the same tiny bell chimed above the door when someone walked in, and the old barista at the counter still greeted customers with a warm, knowing smile. It was one of those places that seemed untouched by time, as if the world could shift and change outside, but inside, everything remained the same.

You hadn’t been here in years. Not since before Aaron’s wedding.

And yet, as you stepped inside, the familiarity wrapped around you like an old memory.

You had been back in D.C. for a few days, just for work. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a quick trip—a conference, a few meetings, and then back home. But something about the city had drawn you in, pulling at the threads of a past you thought you had let go of.

And apparently, fate wasn’t done with you yet.

Because there, sitting in the farthest corner of the café, was him.

Aaron Hotchner.

He looked different. Older, in a way that had nothing to do with age. His hair was shorter than you remembered, the sharp angles of his face even more defined. He looked good—too good—but there was something behind his eyes, a tiredness that hadn’t been there before.

You hesitated, debating whether or not to turn around and leave before he could see you. But it was too late.

Aaron looked up just as you took a step back, and the second his gaze locked onto yours, time seemed to slow.

His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, something almost unreadable. And then, before you could make a decision, he smiled—just a little, just enough to make your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You took a breath and walked toward him.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt.

Aaron’s lips twitched, like he was suppressing a real smile. “I was starting to think you disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

You chuckled as you slid into the chair across from him. “I could say the same about you.”

There was a beat of silence. Not an awkward one, just a quiet moment of taking each other in.

“How long has it been?” he asked finally.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Since your wedding.”

His expression flickered for a moment, but he covered it quickly, nodding. “Yeah. A long time.”

Another pause.

You weren’t sure how to bring it up—how to ask him how he was doing without bringing up her. The last time you had seen him, he had been standing at the altar, his hands in Haley’s as he vowed forever. And you had smiled, clapped along with everyone else, and then walked away, knowing deep down that something between you and Aaron had closed that day.

But now? Now, he was sitting here, alone.

“You look good,” you said instead. “Tired, but good.”

Aaron huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a nice way of saying I look like hell.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He took a sip of his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup before setting it down. And then, just like that, his expression shifted again—more serious, more raw.

“I’m divorced.”

The words came so suddenly that it took you a moment to register them.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Aaron let out a breath, as if finally saying it aloud was both a relief and a weight at the same time. “It’s been over a half year now.”

Half year. And you had no idea.

You swallowed, trying to push past the sudden rush of emotions you couldn’t quite name. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It was… inevitable.” He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “We tried. For a long time. But in the end, it just wasn’t working anymore.”

You wanted to ask what had happened. If it had been something specific, or if it had just been one of those things that slowly fell apart over time. But the way he was looking at you—calm, but tired—told you that he had already accepted it.

And maybe that was the hardest part.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, playing with the edge of your sleeve. “I mean… I know it’s not easy.”

Aaron nodded, his gaze dropping to his coffee. “No, it’s not. But it was the right thing.” He exhaled softly, then looked up at you again. “Enough about me. What about you? How’s life?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you weren’t sure what to say. Your life had been full—work, travel, relationships that never seemed to stick—but sitting here with him, all of that seemed distant. Like another version of yourself had lived it.

“I’m good,” you said finally. “Busy, mostly. Traveling a lot for work.”

Aaron smirked. “Still running away from D.C.?”

You rolled your eyes. “I prefer the term ‘exploring my options.’”

That made him chuckle, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like you were still the same two people who had spent their high school years hiding out on rooftops and sneaking off to coffee shops to escape reality.

But things had changed.

He wasn’t the same boy you had fallen for all those years ago. And you weren’t the same girl who had spent too many nights wondering if he ever saw you the way you saw him.

Yet, somehow, the thread between you had never truly broken.

Aaron’s expression softened again, and before you could say anything else, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he turned it toward you, showing you a picture.

A little boy with light hair and bright, curious eyes stared back at you, his smile so familiar it made your chest tighten.

“Is this…?”

“Jack,” Aaron said, and there was something different in his voice now. Something lighter. “He’s four now.”

You felt a smile pull at your lips as you studied the picture. “He’s adorable.”

Aaron chuckled, putting his phone away. “He’s amazing. Smart, stubborn, way too independent for his own good.” He shook his head fondly. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You watched him for a moment, the way his entire demeanor had changed. Even after everything—the divorce, the exhaustion written in the lines of his face—there was no mistaking the love he had for his son. It was in every word, in every expression.

And something about that made your heart ache even more.

“You’d love him,” Aaron added after a pause, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

You met his gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m sure I would.”

Neither of you said anything after that. You just sat there, in a coffee shop that had stayed the same, even when everything else had changed.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end of the story after all.

𐙚

The few days in D.C. passed too quickly.

You and Aaron spent what little time you could together—coffee in the mornings, long conversations that stretched into the evening. It was strange how easily you fell back into each other’s rhythm, like time had never separated you at all.

But reality had a way of creeping back in.

The night before you left, you sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the city lights glowing softly in the distance. Aaron had insisted on walking with you one last time, hands shoved in his pockets, his face unreadable.

“So,” he said after a long silence. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, staring out at the reflecting pool.

Neither of you said what you were really thinking. That it wasn’t fair. That fate had brought you back together only to pull you apart again.

Aaron shifted beside you. “I should’ve called you years ago.”

You turned to him, surprised. His gaze was distant, his jaw tight.

“I thought about it,” he admitted, finally looking at you. “So many times. But I kept telling myself it had been too long. That maybe you’d moved on.”

Your heart ached at the confession.

“I would’ve answered,” you said softly.

His lips pressed together, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to.

Instead, he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

Maybe, in another lifetime, this moment would’ve been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to say goodbye again.

𐙚

The night air was crisp as you stood outside your hotel, your bag resting at your feet. Aaron stood beside you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the city lights casting a soft glow on his face.

“I feel like I should say something profound,” you said, offering a small, wry smile.

Aaron huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to.”

But there was something in his expression—something unreadable, something hesitant.

You exhaled, rubbing your hands together for warmth. “This was nice. Seeing you again.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

A beat of silence.

The car that would take you to the airport pulled up to the curb, but neither of you moved.

You looked up at him, and suddenly, the weight of it all settled in your chest. The fact that, after years apart, you had found each other again—only for you to leave. Again.

His gaze softened, and you could feel it—that pull, the invisible string that had always been there between you, stretching taut.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, he was closer. The warmth of his body cut through the cold night air, and your breath hitched as his hand barely, barely brushed against yours.

It would be so easy.

So easy to close the space, to lean in, to finally let go of all the years of missed chances and unspoken words.

Your heart pounded as you tilted your chin up ever so slightly, eyes flickering to his lips.

And for a moment, you thought—

But then, just as quickly as the moment came, Aaron took a step back.

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I should let you go,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

The door to the car opened, and you forced yourself to move, to pick up your bag and step away from him.

As you slid into the seat, you risked one last glance at him.

He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you go.

And then the door closed, and you were gone.

𐙚

2009

It was late. Too late for a casual call.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up in the darkness of your hotel room. You were half-asleep, groggy as you reached for it, your brain sluggishly registering the name on the screen.

Aaron.

A strange feeling settled in your stomach as you sat up, clearing your throat before answering.

“Aaron?”

At first, there was nothing. Just silence and the sound of breathing—uneven, shaky.

You frowned, fully awake now. “Aaron? Are you okay?”

Then, finally, his voice. But it was different. Not the steady, composed Aaron Hotchner you had always known. This voice was hollow, cracked at the edges, barely above a whisper.

“She’s gone.”

Two words.

And yet, they carried a weight that nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

Your grip on the phone tightened. “What?”

Aaron inhaled sharply, but it sounded ragged. “Haley,” he murmured. “She’s… she’s gone.”

It hit you like a punch to the chest.

Haley.

You closed your eyes, your heart aching in a way you hadn’t expected. No matter what had happened between them—no matter the divorce, the years, the distance—she had been a part of his life, the mother of his child. And now, she was gone.

“Oh, Aaron…”

He didn’t say anything. And that silence—his silence—was almost worse than if he had broken down.

You could hear it in the way he was breathing, though. The way he was holding himself together by a thread.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice barely there.

Your heart clenched.

“Aaron,” you said softly, leaning forward, as if that would somehow bring you closer to him. “Where are you?”

“Home.” Another pause. Then, quieter, “Jack is asleep.”

You shut your eyes. The thought of Jack—so small, so young—losing his mother made your chest tighten painfully.

“I’m coming,” you said without hesitation, already pushing the blankets off, already reaching for your suitcase.

Aaron exhaled, and you swore you heard the slightest waver in it.

“Okay,” he murmured.

That was it.

No protest. No telling you that you didn’t have to.

Just okay.

Because right now, he didn’t need distance. He didn’t need space.

He needed you.

And you would be there. Always.

𐙚

The flight to D.C. felt like the longest of your life.

You barely remembered packing. Barely remembered booking the ticket, rushing through the airport, or the restless way your fingers twisted in your lap during the flight. All you could think about was him.

The man who had always been steady, composed, unshakable. The man who, even in his darkest moments, never allowed himself to break.

But tonight, he had called you.

And that told you everything you needed to know.

By the time you arrived at his apartment, it was past midnight. The cab ride had been quiet, the city lights casting long shadows over the streets. When you stepped out in front of the building, you hesitated for just a moment, your heart pounding.

Then you walked inside.

The hallway leading to his door felt endless, every step heavier than the last. When you finally reached it, you took a deep breath and knocked softly.

It only took a few seconds for the door to open.

And the second you saw him, everything inside you shattered.

Aaron looked wrecked.

His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened and off-center, like he had pulled at it absentmindedly. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them. He looked like a man who had lost something he couldn’t fathom living without.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Aaron didn’t move at first. He just stood there, stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Like he had forgotten what it meant to be held.

But then, slowly—so slowly—his arms came around you, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

And that’s when you felt it.

The way his body shook against yours. The way his fingers curled into your jacket like he needed something to hold onto. The way his breath came out in a harsh, uneven exhale against your shoulder.

It was the closest thing to breaking you had ever seen from him.

And it crushed you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your throat tight, your eyes burning.

Aaron didn’t answer. He just held you tighter.

You stayed like that for a long time, standing in the doorway, wrapped in grief and something else—something unspoken, something that had always been there between you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched yours, something vulnerable in them that you had never seen before.

Then, in a voice so raw it barely sounded like him, he said, “She told me to take care of him.”

You swallowed, your heart aching. “Jack?”

Aaron nodded, blinking rapidly, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “She made me promise.” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists like he was trying to pull himself back together. “But I don’t—”

He stopped, exhaling sharply. Then, softer, more broken, “I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not alone.”

Aaron’s gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable in his eyes.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise, Aaron. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

And then, finally—finally—he nodded.

And in that moment, something between you shifted.

Maybe it was the grief. Maybe it was the years of missed chances and unspoken words. Or maybe, it was just the simple fact that, no matter how much time passed, you would always find your way back to each other.

Even in the darkest of nights.

Even when the world felt unbearably heavy.

You would always be his person.

And deep down, you knew—he would always be yours.

𐙚

The first week after the funeral, you woke up to the sound of movement.

You rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the apartment. It took you a moment to register where you were—on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from last night.

Then you heard it again. The soft rustling of fabric, the quiet click of a belt buckle.

You sat up immediately, pushing the blanket off as you spotted Aaron standing near the kitchen, already dressed in his suit.

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re going in?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep but laced with disbelief.

Aaron barely glanced at you as he adjusted his tie. “There’s a case.”

You stared at him. “Aaron, no. You just—”

“I can’t sit here,” he interrupted, his voice steady but hollow. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together tightly before exhaling. “I need to work.”

Your heart clenched.

He was doing what he always did—burying himself in the job, using it as a shield, as something to focus on so he wouldn’t have to sit still and feel.

You stood, walking toward him. “You need more time,” you said softly.

Aaron finally looked at you then, and for the first time since the funeral, there was something sharp in his gaze. Not anger—just exhaustion, frustration.

“I don’t have time,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Jack needs stability. He needs normalcy. And if I don’t go back, if I don’t move, then—” He cut himself off again, clenching his jaw.

You swallowed hard, reaching out to touch his arm. “He needs you, Aaron. And you’re not ready—”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly.

The weight in his voice made your chest ache.

You wanted to fight him on this. Wanted to tell him that he was being reckless, that he wasn’t a machine, that he needed to grieve before he shattered under the weight of it all.

But you knew Aaron.

You knew that if you pushed too hard, he’d only dig his heels in deeper.

So instead, you took a breath and shifted the conversation. “What about Jack?”

Aaron hesitated. “Jessica can take him for the day,” he said, but it sounded like an afterthought.

You shook your head. “No. Let me stay with him.”

Aaron blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you said gently, giving him a look. “But I want to. He knows me. He’s comfortable with me. Let me be here for him while you—” You sighed, not wanting to finish that sentence.

While you run from your grief.

Aaron was quiet for a long time. His gaze flickered between you and Jack’s bedroom door, the weight of the decision settling over him.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“Okay.”

You let out a quiet breath, relieved that he wasn’t arguing. “Okay,” you echoed.

Aaron glanced at his watch, then back at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost hesitant.

Then, before you could say anything else, he reached out, squeezing your hand briefly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

𐙚

Jack woke up about an hour later, padding out of his room in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.

When he saw you in the kitchen, his tiny brows furrowed. “Where’s Daddy?”

You crouched down to his level, keeping your voice soft. “He had to go to work for a little bit.”

Jack’s lip wobbled slightly, but he didn’t cry. “He was sad yesterday.”

Your heart squeezed.

“I know, buddy,” you murmured, brushing some of his messy hair back. “But he loves you so much. And he’s going to be home soon.”

Jack hesitated, then looked up at you. “Will you stay?”

You smiled gently. “Of course. We’re gonna have a fun day together, okay?”

Jack seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding. Then, in a small voice, he said, “Can we have pancakes?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Absolutely.”

Jack’s face brightened, and for the first time since you arrived, you saw a glimpse of something lighter in his expression.

And in that moment, you knew—no matter what happened, no matter how much Aaron tried to push forward too soon—you’d be here.

For Jack.

For Aaron.

For both of them.

Always.

𐙚

A month passed in the blink of an eye

The apartment was quiet.

Jack had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up in bed after insisting you read him his favorite book one last time before you left.

Now, it was just you and Aaron, sitting on the couch in the dim glow of the living room lamp, nursing cups of tea that had long gone cold.

Neither of you had said much for a while, just sitting in comfortable silence, knowing this was the last night before things changed again.

Aaron sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s going to be strange without you here.”

You smiled slightly. “You’ll manage.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Somehow.”

A beat of silence.

Then, without really thinking, you murmured, “I’m leaving my job.”

Aaron’s head turned sharply, his brows furrowing. “What?”

You let out a breath, staring down at your mug. “It’s… it became too much,” you admitted. “The hours, the pressure, the constant stress. I used to love it, but now it just feels like I’m running on empty all the time.”

Aaron was quiet, watching you carefully.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t want my entire life to be about work anymore. I want something simpler. Something where I don’t wake up every morning feeling like I can’t breathe.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I get that.”

You looked at him, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Because he did get it.

Maybe better than anyone.

You smiled weakly. “I think I’m going to find something small. Something normal. Maybe work in a bookstore or a little office job—something where I can actually live my life instead of just surviving it.”

Aaron nodded slowly, considering your words. “That sounds… nice.”

You huffed a laugh. “You sound surprised.”

His lips twitched. “No. Just… I don’t think I’ve ever thought about what a normal life would look like.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You ever think about leaving the BAU?”

Aaron hesitated, looking down at his hands. “Sometimes.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

He exhaled. “I love what I do. But… I don’t know. Lately, I’ve started wondering if it’s sustainable. If it’s fair to Jack.”

You nodded, understanding.

Maybe neither of you had ever really stopped long enough to think about what else life could be.

You bit your lip, then nudged his arm lightly. “Maybe we should both find some sleepy little town and open a coffee shop.”

Aaron chuckled. “I’d be terrible at that.”

You smirked. “You’d be the serious owner who glares at customers for taking too long to order, and I’d be the one making sure we don’t get bad Yelp reviews.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a solid business model.”

You grinned, but then, after a moment, the smile faded, replaced by something softer. “I mean it, though. You deserve something easier, Aaron.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

“You do too,” he murmured.

A beat of silence.

Then, before the moment could stretch too long, you sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Well, first things first—I need to figure out what I’m doing next.”

Aaron nodded, but his gaze lingered on you, like he was committing this moment to memory.

Like maybe, for the first time, he was realizing that you wouldn’t always be here.

That tomorrow, you were leaving.

And neither of you knew when you’d be back.

𐙚

The next morning came too quickly.

You woke up before your alarm, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest before you even opened your eyes.

By the time you stepped out of your room, your suitcase already packed and waiting by the door, Aaron was in the kitchen making coffee. Jack sat at the table in his pajamas, sleepily pushing around pieces of cereal in his bowl.

Aaron glanced up when he saw you, his expression unreadable. “Morning.”

You forced a smile. “Morning.”

Jack perked up at your voice, but as soon as he remembered what today was, his little face fell. “You’re leaving.”

Your heart clenched.

You walked over, crouching down beside his chair. “I am, buddy,” you said softly. “But I’m going to come visit. And you can call me whenever you want, okay?”

Jack hesitated, then wrapped his arms around your neck in a tight hug.

You held him close, closing your eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth of him. “I love you, kiddo,” you murmured.

“Love you too,” he whispered back.

When he finally pulled away, he wiped at his eyes but nodded, like he was trying to be brave. “Okay.”

You gave him one last squeeze before standing up, turning to Aaron.

He was watching you carefully, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug.

“Your flight’s soon,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Aaron cleared his throat. “I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron—”

“It’s not up for debate,” he said, giving you a look. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, but you didn’t argue.

Jack waved from the door as you left, and you swore you saw his lip wobble, but he stayed put—just like you’d promised, he was strong.

𐙚

The drive to the airport was quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say.

When Aaron finally pulled up to the drop-off curb, he put the car in park and exhaled slowly. “You’ll text me when you land?”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He nodded, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before finally turning to you. “You sure about leaving your job?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “I think so.”

Aaron studied you, then—before you could react—reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

The touch was so gentle, so unexpected, that you froze.

His hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away, clearing his throat.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured.

Your chest ached. “You will too.”

Aaron exhaled, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “Thank you. For everything.”

You swallowed hard. “You don’t have to thank me, Aaron.”

His jaw tightened, like there was something else he wanted to say.

Something he wouldn’t say.

Instead, he nodded once, his hand twitching slightly like he was debating whether to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

So you did.

You leaned in, wrapping your arms around him.

For a second, Aaron hesitated.

Then he let out a quiet breath and pulled you in, holding you tighter than he probably meant to.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

And for just a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But then—too soon—it had to.

You pulled back, forcing a small smile. “I’ll see you, okay?”

Aaron nodded, but there was something in his eyes that made it hard to walk away.

Still, you grabbed your suitcase and turned toward the airport entrance.

But just before you stepped inside, you glanced over your shoulder—

And there he was, still sitting in the car, watching you.

Like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Like maybe, deep down—

He never would be.

𐙚

2011

The bullpen was quiet. Most of the team had already gone home for the night, leaving only the faint hum of computers and the distant murmur of voices from other departments. The dim glow of Aaron Hotchner’s desk lamp illuminated the stacks of paperwork in front of him, but he wasn’t reading them.

His eyes were on the framed picture beside his computer.

It was a simple photo, but one that had somehow found a permanent place in his office. You and Jack, at the park. You were laughing, your head tilted back slightly as Jack clung to your side, his small arms wrapped around yours. It had been taken nearly two years ago, back when you had been staying in D.C. after Haley’s death—back when you had been his anchor without even realizing it.

His fingers traced the edge of the frame absentmindedly.

How had two years passed?

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about you. In fact, that was the problem. He had never stopped thinking about you. It was in the quiet moments, in the spaces between work and home, in the memories that resurfaced when he least expected them.

He thought about you when Jack asked about you.

He thought about you when he reached for his phone late at night, only to stop himself before dialing your number.

He thought about you when he walked past the coffee shop you had loved in D.C., the one where you had made him take a break from his endless case files just to sit with you and drink overpriced lattes.

He thought about you, and every time he convinced himself to push it aside, it always crept back in.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. He was being ridiculous. He had no right to feel this way after all this time.

And yet, the ache in his chest told him otherwise.

The knock on his office door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hotch?”

David Rossi.

Aaron straightened slightly, clearing his throat as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah?”

Rossi stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him. His eyes flickered to the framed picture on the desk before settling on Aaron.

“You’re thinking about her again,” Rossi stated, not even posing it as a question.

Aaron’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rossi scoffed, dropping into the chair across from him. “Please. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know when someone’s got something—or someone—on their mind.” He nodded toward the picture. “And you? You’ve been staring at that damn thing for the past twenty minutes.”

Aaron glanced at the photo again, feeling a tightness in his chest.

“I wasn’t—” He started to deny it, but Rossi’s knowing look stopped him.

“You miss her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Aaron inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together before finally exhaling. “…Yeah.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I do.”

Rossi leaned forward slightly. “Then what the hell are you still doing here?”

Aaron frowned. “What?”

Rossi sighed, shaking his head. “Hotch, you’re one of the smartest men I know, but when it comes to your own feelings, you are clueless.” He pointed at him. “She left, and you let her go. But if you think she’s just gone from your life, then you’re fooling yourself.”

Aaron looked away, running a hand through his hair. “She moved on. She’s in New York, she has her own life now. I can’t just show up and—”

Rossi interrupted. “Why not?”

Aaron looked back at him.

Rossi’s expression softened slightly. “Tell me something. If you called her right now—if you told her you wanted to see her—do you really think she’d say no?”

Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it.

Because the truth was—he didn’t know.

He had spent so long convincing himself that he had no right to ask for more, that he had never even considered the possibility that you might have been waiting for him to say something.

Rossi sighed again. “Look, kid. Life doesn’t wait for you to figure things out. It moves on, whether you’re ready or not. And if you sit here for another two years convincing yourself you missed your chance, you’re going to wake up one day and realize that she really is gone.”

Aaron swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the thought.

“She’s still out there, Hotch,” Rossi said, his voice quieter now. “And something tells me she hasn’t stopped thinking about you either.”

Aaron’s fingers tightened around the frame in his hands.

“Go to her,” Rossi said simply. “Before it’s too late.”

For a long moment, Aaron didn’t say anything.

Rossi didn’t push. He just stood up, clapped Aaron on the shoulder, and left the office.

Aaron remained still, staring down at the picture again.

Go to her.

Before it’s too late.

The words echoed in his mind long after Rossi was gone.

And for the first time in nearly two years, Aaron wondered if maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.

𐙚

The streets of New York were loud, alive with their usual rhythm—cars honking, people moving past each other in hurried steps, conversations blending into the background hum of the city. But Aaron barely noticed any of it.

His heart was pounding, his palms slightly clammy despite the cold air.

He had spent the entire flight convincing himself he was making a mistake. That he had no right to do this. That you had probably moved on, that maybe you had someone else now, that showing up like this was selfish.

But then, he had thought about what Rossi had said.

Before it’s too late.

And now he was standing in front of your coffee shop, staring through the large glass windows, his breath fogging slightly against the cold air.

There you were.

Moving behind the counter, your face lit up in a laugh as you spoke to a customer. You looked happy. Comfortable. Like you belonged here.

For a moment, he thought about walking away.

But then, as if sensing him, you turned toward the window.

And your eyes met his.

Your laughter faded, your lips parting slightly in surprise.

Aaron felt frozen in place, his breath caught in his chest as he saw the realization dawn in your expression.

Then, slowly, you stepped out from behind the counter and made your way toward the door.

The bell above the entrance chimed softly as you pushed it open, stepping outside onto the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.

“Aaron?” Your voice was breathless, as if you couldn’t quite believe he was standing in front of you.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, the city moving around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

Aaron took a shaky breath. “I needed to see you.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “After almost two years?”

“I know,” he admitted. “I know it’s been too long. And I should have come sooner. I should have said something sooner.” His throat tightened as he looked at you. “But I was afraid.”

You exhaled softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what?”

His lips pressed together for a moment before he met your gaze again. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that if I told you how I felt, I’d ruin everything.”

You stared at him, your breath catching. “Aaron…”

But he kept going, his voice raw, unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “Not after you left. Not after any of it. I tried. I told myself I had to let you go. That you had your own life now, and I had mine. But every time I thought I had moved on, I’d hear your voice in my head. I’d see something that reminded me of you, or Jack would ask about you, and it was like—” He let out a shaky breath. “It was like I was still reaching for something that was already gone.”

You swallowed, your eyes shining as you listened.

Aaron took a step closer, his voice lower now. “And then Rossi—he told me I needed to stop running from it. That I needed to come here before it was too late.” He exhaled, his eyes searching yours. “And he was right.”

You blinked up at him, your breath shallow.

Aaron hesitated for only a second before he took your hands in his, his grip warm, grounding.

“I love you,” he said, the words breaking free like a confession he had held back for too many years. “I’ve loved you for longer than I ever admitted to myself. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

For so long, you had wanted to hear those words. You had dreamed about this moment, imagined it in so many different ways. But now, standing here, with the weight of his confession settling between you, you realized something—

You had never imagined this.

The way his voice trembled with emotion. The way his eyes looked at you, full of something deep and unshakable. The way the city buzzed around you, but it felt like there was no one else in the world.

You felt tears welling in your eyes as you exhaled a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “You really came all this way… just to tell me that?”

Aaron smiled, just barely, but his voice was still raw with honesty. “Yeah. I did.”

Your lips parted slightly, your chest tightening with so much emotion you could barely breathe.

And then—

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You reached up, grabbing the collar of his coat, and pulled him down to you.

Aaron barely had time to react before your lips were on his, soft but urgent, years of unspoken words and unsaid feelings pouring into the kiss.

He inhaled sharply, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer, his body instinctively leaning into yours.

And then—

The memory hit.

The prom.

The slow song, the way your hands had rested on his shoulders, the warmth of his hands on your waist. The way the world had faded until it was just the two of you, swaying gently, the room spinning in a blur of lights.

And the kiss.

The way it had been tentative, hesitant, the taste of something new and terrifying. The way neither of you had spoken about it afterward, too afraid of what it might mean.

Now, years later, the kiss was no longer hesitant. It was deep, full, a promise of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, your forehead rested against his.

Aaron let out a soft, shaky laugh. “That was—”

“Long overdue?” you finished for him, smiling softly.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah.”

You exhaled, your voice quieter now. “I waited for you, you know.”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I know.” His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “And I’m so sorry I made you wait this long.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself feel the warmth of his touch, the way his breath mixed with yours in the cold air.

Then you looked at him again, your voice steady, certain.

“You’re here now.”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving into the softest smile. “I am.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

No hesitation.

No going back.

Just the two of you, standing in the middle of a busy New York street, finally getting it right.

Finally finding your way back to each other.

---

[ldrfanatic]

Hii! I don't know if you are still doing soulmate prompts but if you are I would love to see one with Theodore Nott (as a series or one-shot) Ofc u don't have to and if you aren't doing them anymore dww!! I love your writing it's so good!

love you for a lifetime

Hiiii!! definitely still doing soulmate prompts, i adore them. feel free to request more with theo or any of the boys. I'm sorry this one is so short and that it took so long to get out, I'm moving in a few weeks so I've been busyyyy. I will however most likely write a part two to this just bc i don't feel like soulmate theo and reader are quite through yet. enjoy! ;)

theodore nott x fem!soulmate!reader

soulmate prompt - you see the world in black and white until you meet your soulmate. when you meet them, everything explodes into color.

warnings - cursing i think??? more soft theo :)

theodore nott didn't need to see the world in color.

he didn't want to.

he didn't need a soulmate. his mother had found hers and look where that left her. dead.

no, theo was perfectly content seeing his world in different shades of gray. there was a quiet peace to a colorless world. and he'd never seen color, so there was nothing for him to miss really. but then he met you, and everything changed.

14 Year Old Theo

theo groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. the taste of dirt filled his mouth. quidditch practice was supposed to be harmless. somehow, he'd been knocked off his broom. while the fall to the ground was a short one, he still felt the painful crunch of his wrist breaking his fall. paired with the hard thunk of his head on the ground, theo knew that this would earn him a trip to madam pomfrey.

theo detested the hospital wing. madam pomfrey was bearable enough, but the white bedspreads and miserable patients made him want to walk all the way to the top of the astronomy tower just to throw himself off.

begrudgingly, he allowed his friends to drag him through the corridors. even through his insistence that he could take himself the hospital wing and didn't need an escort, they still seemed unconfident that he would actually keep his promise and go. maybe they had a point.

what he hadn't expected was to see the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on. he'd never seen you around school before which seemed odd since you were clearly around his age and probably within his year, give or take.

you were fussing around with a cabinet full of glittering potions and things. theo suspected it to be some kind of medicine cupboard. he cleared his throat in a manner that he hoped was nonchalant. finally, you glanced in his direction. your gaze didn't meet his though. and more than anything, theo found himself disappointed.

you offered him a distracted smile, still without really looking at him and calling absentmindedly for madam pomfrey. theo found himself oddly frustrated that you wouldn't look at him.

madam pomfrey floated into the room and started fussing over theo while you prepared a cot for him to sit on. once he was situated, madam pomfrey waltzed off towards the back broom closet, muttering about a number of items that theo had never heard of.

"oh! y/n, dear. he seems to have hit his head, can you please take his pulse for me."

theo wasn't sure what his pulse had to do with hitting his head, but the moment your delicate hands picked up his wrist, he couldn't bring himself to care. anything that got you touching him was justified enough in his book.

finally, as you were examining his face for signs of distress, your eyes met his.

the world stopped. theo's vision whitened, like the lights were suddenly too bright.

when the light faded, the world was filled with breathtaking shades of every color theo had never even known existed. more importantly, he could see all the hues of you. the glow of the sun against your skin, the sheen of your hair. you were beautiful. there wasn't a sight that compared to you in this moment.

naturally, theo had heard from mattheo about the stunning green grass at the quidditch field and the pretty deep blues and purples of the night sky. and yet, theo knew for certainty that nothing that he'd seen either in color or in black and white could hold a candle to you.

theo didn't need to see the world in color.

he didn't want to.

he didn't want a soulmate.

but the gods had given him one anyway without thought or care for what he wanted. and he would spend the rest of his mortal life cherishing every minute with you. every smile on your face, every giggle that burst from your chest like an eagle learning to fly.

"amour?"

love.

theo snapped back to the present. that's what you were to him. his love. your cheek was pressed against the interior of his shoulder and a concerned look was fixed on your face.

"where'd you go theo?"

"just reminiscing, sweetheart. remembering us."

a tender look from you had theo ready to melt into the couch. had you always been this beautiful? the answer was of course a resounding yes.

sure theo had only had the pleasure of being your boyfriend for the past two years or so, but he couldn't imagine that there was any part of your life where you hadn't been stunning.

theo’s breath caught in his chest as you shifted against him, adjusting to nestle a little closer. the warmth of your skin, the soft rise and fall of your breath, everything about this moment felt so perfectly right—as if the universe had aligned just for the two of you. he had never known peace until now. the kind of peace that made his heart settle in a way he never realized it could.

your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, the motion so soothing that it made him want to close his eyes and forget about the world outside. but the world, in all its new, brilliant color, was nothing compared to you.

"i still can't believe it," theo murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "how i never saw the world the way i do now... how i almost closed myself off to the possibility of a soulmate."

you pulled back slightly, lifting your head to look at him, your eyes still as bright as the first time he'd seen them, even if now they were surrounded by the hues of a million shades he couldn't describe. your gaze softened as you pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, your fingertips grazing his skin in a way that made his heart thump uncomfortably fast.

"i guess it’s a good thing you didn't, huh?" you teased, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but there was an undeniable softness in your eyes, an understanding that only you could give him.

theo shifted slightly, his chest tightening with a quiet emotion he didn’t fully understand but knew was rooted in the purest kind of affection.

"you’ve changed everything," he said, his voice thick with something tender—something almost too big for his chest to hold. "i never needed color. i never needed anyone." he took a slow breath, letting his eyes meet yours, locking onto the deep hues of your soul that were now more than just a feeling; they were as real to him as the air he breathed.

"and yet... there you were." he finished, the words leaving his lips with a quiet finality. "from the moment i saw you, you were everything to me."

you gave him a smile that lit up his entire world, even brighter than the colors he'd once thought he'd never need. your hand reached for his, your fingers intertwining with his with a natural ease that made everything feel like it was meant to be.

"and there i was," you said softly, your hand reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "you don’t have to carry it all alone, theo. i’m here, always. just… let me be the one you need."

theo felt the corners of his lips tug into a small, genuine smile, the weight of his worries dissipating in the air between you. you were everything. in your presence, there was no need for anything more. the colors, the love—it was all right here. in this moment. with you.

"always, sweetheart," theo whispered, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "forever."

and with that, the rest of the world— once dim and somber, now full of brilliant color and light—felt like it could wait. as long as he had you by his side, he was exactly where he needed to be.

[hellsslibrary]

I love love Ness sm mhmmdmsn could you write a fic ab him

I know he's a jealous person so I've been thinking, what if the story was like Ness being jealous and bratty because they might've seen dom!reader talking or being buddies with one person and then the reader saw him being like that and reassured them with praises and mentions of breeding ? He's just the cutest guy ever......

You are absolutely perfect in my eyes, you know? Beautiful smile, tiny waist, thighs like fucking space rockets, you can take my dick, you can laugh at my stupid jokes. And you still think I would go fuck some slut? Don't be ridiculous (my husband provides the quotes, yay)

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : absolutely right!! Ness deserves the best, so everything here is very tender, loving and affectionate.

!!Warnings: SOFTdom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Ness, lots of praise, unprotected sex, implied mpreg??? (sorry, I need this), Ness has fucking thick thighs, Ness cries harder than a newborn baby, kinda yandere vibes from Ness if you squint.

"[Your name], it's too much... Please..." Ness whispers, digging his nails into your back as his face buries itself in the crook of your shoulder.

His entire body is tense as a string. His thighs wrap around your waist, practically crushing it. Tears of pleasure are running down his cheeks as he nearly chokes on them. Spit drips from the corner of his mouth, looking like ice under the direct rays of light. Fuck, he's so beautiful.

"Honey, I just put my dick in... Don't worry so much, okay? You're doing great," you whisper and he nods, trying to relax, feeling your dick inside him not move, letting him get used to the sensation.

He lets go of you and lies back down on the pillows, looking at you through his tears. The German sobs when he sees how your eyes sparkle with admiration for him, how they run over his body, practically eating every inch of his physique, how your hands caress him as if he were the most expensive and fragile porcelain... Or maybe it's just the glare from his fucking tears, who knows.

"Can I move or wait?" you ask and Ness bites his lip thoughtfully, grabbing the sheets almost instinctively, fingering the white fabric with his fingers, and then nods.

"Yes, continue... Please, continue."

A loud moan escapes Alexis's lips, even too loud, considering that this is the first round and especially the first thrust, but oh well.

You continue your slow, shallow thrusts, watching his face pucker in pleasure at every movement inside him. You don't even have to hit his prostate and you swear he's going to come watching.

Your hand slides down to his thigh, squeezing the thick muscle, making him sigh and squeeze you tighter between his legs. It makes you push too hard, eliciting a whine from him.

"Shh, I didn't mean to. Relax, Ness. I'm here, it's okay," your fingers slide gently over his skin, your other hand sliding down his stomach and lower, wrapping around his cock.

The sensation is too much for him. He feels the familiar knot in his stomach, the feeling that makes him know he's going to come humiliatingly fast. That reflexive arch of his back that makes a smile bloom on your face that's too attractive to him. And he cums almost at the same second, which makes you just blink like an owl.

That's fast even for him...

"Do you want to continue? I haven't filled you up yet, you know? After all, whose hole can hold all of me, hm?"

Ness's eyes widen almost immediately, as if there was no orgasm and his fingers are clenching the sheets too tightly when he remembers that face. The fucking face of that guy who was clinging to you a couple of hours ago.

He was even ready to beat him up, if you hadn't very politely sent him to fuck off, saying that you have your own little meow meow, and you don't need another, especially such an ugly one. But Ness still doubted, so much doubted himself.

So he nodded immediately. His heels pressed into your lower back, forcing you to press into him as he wrapped his arms around your neck again and kissed your chin a few times, clumsily.

"Do it. Make me pregnant. Now."

Oh, that's hot.

You obey, drawing a satisfied groan from him, causing him to fall back onto the pillows, starting to cry from the sensations, which were now accompanied by an orgasm.

It's true, really. Who else but Ness could take that cock? Who could satisfy you like him? Who could evoke such positive emotions and reactions in you? Absolutely no one, simply no one would dare after you were done with him. Absolutely everyone would see that Ness was taken. Taken with you. And you weren't just taken, you were stuck with him. Forever.