#It was supposed to be longer but i didn’t have enough memory or time

[moonstruckme]

Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)

Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words

“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you’d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper. 

You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile. 

“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?” 

You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.” 

The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable. 

You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker. 

You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms. 

You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone. 

“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently. 

You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?” 

��I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.” 

“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory. 

“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.” 

You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.” 

“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”

“She’s her friend.” 

“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.” 

A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”

You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.” 

“That doesn’t mean you want it.” 

“But I—”

“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?” 

Your voice smalls. “No.” 

“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.” 

You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion. 

“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?” 

“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly. 

“I guess so,” you admit. 

“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.” 

You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted. 

“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.” 

You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?” 

“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?” 

“Nope.” 

“Mm. Well, try.” 

[violetflowers55]

I’m begging for a hot and cold chapter where they “make up” in some place in the castle that they really aren’t supposed and get caught by flag or the team.

i didn’t forget abt this! i’m assuming u meant make up after the events of ch.3 so i wrote this as an alternative chapter 4 post the battle with the sons and circe. lowkey kinda hate this trope but i did my best so i hope u enjoy!

Hot & Cold - Alternative Chapter 4

After taking a nice hot shower, you walked the hallways of the castle, waiting until the banquet started. Your mind wandered, thinking over last night.

Suddenly, a warm hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a supply closet. A green glow illuminated the darkness, and you quickly realized who had dragged you in there.

“Phosphorous, what the hell!?”

“I can’t forget,” he barked, still holding your wrist. Your face twisted in confusion.

“What?”

“You want me to just act like it never happened, but I can’t. I can’t get you off of my mind.” he said in a strained voice. He stepped closer, forcing you against the wall. Your heart thumped in your throat, and you tried to swallow the feeling.

“Phosphorous, we just can’t-“

“Why? Why the hell not!? We’ve been stuck in prison for years, I haven’t felt someone else’s touch in years. I don’t want to deprive myself any longer, and I know you don’t either.”

You stood there stammering, unable to find the words to reply. He leaned in, pausing when your lips were just barely touching. The feeling of breathing in each other's air was intoxicating. Before you could say anything, he closed the gap, pushing your head against the wall with his lips. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, open mouthed and sloppy. When he broke away, it felt like you were suddenly missing a piece of yourself.

“Can you tell me you didn’t enjoy that?” he asked breathily.

“N-no, but-“

“Then give me one good reason why we shouldn’t keep doing it.”

Every good reason you had dissipated from your mind. All you could think about was his lips on yours. You ransacked your mind, trying to think of why you to end things in the first place, but the memories of the two of you together outweighed every reason you thought of.

“I can’t.”

His hands moved to your waist, squeezing lightly. He pressed his body against yours, grinding your hips together.

“Then kiss me.”

You obeyed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. Your lips collided, hot and passionate. He sucked at your bottom lip as he hands exploded your body. You lifted up one leg to feel him better and he placed one arm under you, lifting you off the ground. Both your legs wrapped around his waist, letting you fully feel his growing erection. His lips traveled down your neck, nipping at your skin.

“Ohh, Alex,” you moaned as he began rocking against you.

“Yeah? You like that?” he teased, slipping his free hand up your shirt to grope your breast. You responded with a gasp as he ran circles over your nipple. He chuckled into your neck.

It wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted all of him. You dug your fingers into his back and tightened your legs around him, trying to get more friction.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with a bright light.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” When your eyes adjusted, you saw Flag standing in the doorway, a mix of shock and disgust on his face. With a shriek you dropped your legs and tried to separate from Phosphorus, but he made no effort to move.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Phosphorous snarked.

“Ever heard of a bedroom??” Flag snapped back before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… the banquets ready. Get down there.”

He left, leaving the door open. You and Phosphorus looked at each other.

“Well. We’ll just have to pick this up another time,” he said, his voice letting you know he was grinning. The two of you headed down to the dinning room, hand in hand.

[cosmoshard]

for you :]

MUST WORK ON PROJECTS!!!

[willowfey]

woke up after a dream of having an older sister that was beautiful and soft and that i looked up to so much feeling so sad and nostalgic for my bedroom at my grandma’s old house in winter when i would come home from school and sit on the bottom bunk in front of the heater and write and write and indulge so heavily in my fantasy worlds that i forgot about everything else until she was done making soup and bread and cobbler which i would then eat from a clay bowl with my favourite red spoon i’d loved since i was a small child that i haven’t used in years and watch the snow fall on the trees and the deer out the window while smelling the soup and the heater and the incense and the browning sugar in the oven and my favourite face lotion i haven’t been able to find in years and daydreaming about having an old sister that was beautiful and soft and would teach me how to be as well

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[milesmoralesluvs]

Cry Baby (I've got this anxious feeling but it goes away for a minute when I'm with you breathing) - Ekko x reader

wc: 1k

warnings: mention of blood

ekko x medic!reader

Ekko doesn't remember the exact moment when everything changed between you two. One minute, you were just kids running through the streets of Zaun, stealing glances at each other and dreaming of something better. The next, you were both standing midst of a revolution, both bearing the weight of your choices and responsibilities.

It had always been that way, hadn't it? Both of you carried the pain of Zaun’s broken streets in different ways, and that pain had shaped who you were—who you were meant to be.

“(Y/N),” Ekko whispered, his voice strained from the blood loss. “How did we get here?”

You didn’t answer right away. You finished wrapping his side with gauze and then gently cupped his chin, tilting his face up toward yours. There was no judgment in your eyes, only the kind of quiet understanding that Ekko had never found anywhere else.

“We were always going to end up here,” you said softly. “Those were the shitty cards we were dealt with.”

You were no longer the girl that played in the streets with him. You were the Firelight medic now. Your eyes were laser focused as you worked, hands steady and efficient. Back when you were children, you had patched him up after every scrape, every reckless stunt. Nothing had changed, you were still the one taking care of himself when he couldn't.

“Still think you’re invincible?” you asked, glancing up at him as you cleaned the wound.

“I’m still breathing,” Ekko shot back, but the words felt hollow, more tired than defiant.

You didn’t respond, just continuing to work on him. It was always this way. You’d never say what you really wanted to say, but Ekko knew you too well. There were things between you—things left unsaid—but both of you had been too afraid to voice them. Back then, it was the simple question of whether you’d be able to survive together. Now, it was bigger than that. Now, it was about whether if you guys could still see each other as more than the people you had been, more than the roles you both were now trapped in.

Ekko met your eyes, his chest tight. “I don’t know if I can fix this. Everything’s falling apart, (Y/N), I keep trying, but it’s never enough.”

You finished cleaning the wound, your hands pausing as you looked up at him. The same intensity you had always carried was still there, but now it was mixed with something else—something softer, something more fragile.

“You’re not supposed to fix everything,” you said quietly. “You’re just supposed to keep going. We all are.”

There was a pause, and for a fleeting moment, Ekko saw the girl he had known all his life. The girl who had bandaged his scraped knees, who had silently supported him with his creations. The girl who had always believed in something better for them, for Zaun.

“And what if I don’t know how?” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice something he hadn’t allowed anyone to hear in years.

You set down your medical tools and stepped closer to him. You took his hand, your fingers warm against his cold skin. For a moment, he felt a wave of emotions crash over him—memories of their childhood, of simpler times, of a connection that had always been there but was buried beneath the chaos of their lives.

“You don’t have to know how, Ekko,” you said softly, your voice just for him. “You just have to keep trying.”

You took a seat beside him on the tiny bed, bodies squished together, shoulders pressing. You hesitated for a moment before leaning your head against his.

“You’re not the Boy Savior or the leader of the firelights when you're with me. You’re just Ekko, the boy who always offered me the last bite of his food, the tastiest part. The boy who indulged in my every stupid theory about aliens. The boy who always managed to pull a reckless stunt and inevitably end up injured and me having to patch you up.”

You fiddled with the ends of your skirt. “You still do. All of that.”

He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Your aliens theories are very interesting.”

You smiled at him softly. He mirrored a similar one of his own.

Ekko looked at you then, really looked at you. And in that moment, something shifted—something he hadn’t expected but had always hoped for. He wasn’t sure where this path would lead them, but he knew one thing for certain: you was still here, still standing by his side.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this without you,” he said, his voice low, vulnerable.

You smiled, gently flicking his forehead before cupping his face to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. ‘You dont have to, silly. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you ever.”

For a long moment, you simply stayed there, the weight of everything you both had endured settling between, unspoken. You didn’t need to say more. Not yet. There was time.

[jjenthusee]

Woven Hands

jason todd x reader

A/N: thank u to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes for their post linked here for their jason headcanons, they got me dancing and swinging my feet while I wait for my classes. 🤭 ENJOY my small drabble, tell me ur thoughts in the comments :D

also small rant but tell me why i never undated my tumblr app and i was struggling for so long and everything didn’t look like how it was supposed to? 😀 please don’t be like me and update yo shiz like responsible human beings

“Don’t make me do this.” You muttered, standing on top of the couch cushions, water gun hoisted in your pocket, filled completely with sink water.

You felt the weight of the water droop in your pants, you squinted, trying to frighten your opponent. You didn’t have a holster, so your sweatpants pocket was the next best thing.

The couch increased your height, made you stand tall, allowed your voice to be more direct. You wanted to overpower Jason, part-time Red Hood, full time smack talker.

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t listen?” Jason’s eyes lowered, voice deepening to a menacing tone. Invisible cowboy hat tilted on his head.

He stood tall, spreading his legs shoulder width apart, letting muscle memory place him in an opposing stance that’s proven effective each time someone has tried to stupidly test the Red Hood.

He lowered his hands, fingers dancing in the air as he waited to reach for his water gun in his holster.

Lucky fucker was wearing a holster because he’s the Red Hood. Not only does he get a cheat, but he has two water guns?

Completely absurd.

“You might not live long enough to find out.” You tilted your chin up, trying to attempt to be arrogant, but the smirk on Jason’s face was telling you it wasn’t as effective as you hoped.

Maybe if you could actually be taller than him, it would make you sound tough, but looking from just above his eye-level was the best you were going to get.

Jason’s shook his head, slowly, calculating your moves as he never took his eyes off of you.

You met his stare, never blinking as you watched.

You could feel your eyes wavering, shaking the longer you looked.

Jason was calm, his stare locked onto you. Countless interrogations under his belt, aiding him the experience you didn’t have.

“You know we both can’t walk away from this. We have too much history.” He spoke, letting the words settle between your showdown.

You firmly frowned.

“I stand by what I said and if you can’t live with that…I guess you leave me with no other choice.” You quickly grabbed your water gun, angling it to your partner.

By the time you could pull the trigger, water was hitting your shirt. Soaking into your skin as you looked down, watching the fabric darken.

Like in slow motion, you fell to your knees, watching Jason also get his shirt soaked, but not nearly enough as yours.

“No, no, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.” You dropped your plastic water gun, reaching up with your free hands to grab your shirt.

You plopped down onto the couch, letting your body go limp as you laid there.

“I told you, only one of us would walk away from this.” Jason walked over, kneeling next to the couch, where your body lay.

You reach up, feigning shaking hands as you reached for the muscular man with his imaginary cowboy hat.

You gestured for Jason to lean closer, following along with your antics.

You carefully lowered your voice to a whisper, a final wish.

“Delete my search history.”

You closed your eyes, arms going limp as you stuck your tongue out in a bad rendition of fake dying.

Jason laughed, reaching out to grab your hands in between his warm ones.

You never moved, zeroing in on the feeling of your fingers.

Soft caresses. A small peck before Jason littered your knuckles in kisses. Kissing down to your finger tips, then repeating down to your wrists.

“I should’ve chosen a sword fight, how could I choose water guns of all things?” You opened your eyes, shaking your head as Jason continued to worship your skin.

“You’re just pouting.” He said in between kisses, nose pressed into your palm.

“Come on, you always get to kiss my hands, when can I hold yours?” You watched carefully, thoughts slowly lost to the repeated warmth from Jason’s lips.

“Wanna sword fight to find out?” Jason smiled into your hands.

end a/n: serial hand kisser jason changed my life, thank u pooks for ur headcanons and restructuring my brain. and thank u 🫵 for reading my drabble, i just thought this was a silly idea :D

[maddilynmuse]

Memory Of Helplessness

CW: Gore, Crushing, Temporary Character Death, Guilt, Vomit.

Hurt, no comfort. Isabeau POV. Technically everyone is there but only Isabeau and Siffrin are mentioned in much depth.

I saw this post for @mari-lair ‘s “Siffrin, more like Sif’s Out” AU and immediately got possessed by angst demons. Please note this post might have spoilers for upcoming comics in that AU, though also, this story isn’t going to make much sense without it.

Also, spoilers for the base game of In Stars and Time too. You’ve been warned!

The King’s Speech washed over Isabeau for the whatever-eth time only to be cut off by Mirabelle for the whatever-eth time. As much as Isa was actually good with numbers, he’d long ago given up on counting these loops, all of them had. It’d just make you go insane. There were enough things driving them insane, including the pit in their guts—snack time had stopped filling it a long time ago, this loop they didn’t even bother.

“Flower for you,” Siffrin said, giving it to their greatest enemy like it was nothing.

It meant nothing. It was just random (at least so Isa liked to tell himself).

Mirabelle put up their Adorable Moving Shield as the King charged his attack. However many loops ago, Isabeau would’ve started buffing defenses, but they were well past the need for that… mostly. Siffrin hadn’t even gotten to level 47 this loop, and maybe they could’ve done a better job of letting him feel useful, but that was fine. It’d reset and he wouldn’t remember a thing. As much as it’d hurt the first few times they did this, it was easier on everyone just to let Siffrin stay down.

Anyways, Isabeau punched at the king with his Paper Mache gloves. There was no triumph to it anymore even as hit points got shaved off like they were fighting a Tristess. Odile followed up with Paper Alpha V. Already down a third. It wasn’t always so easy to beat him. The King’s attack washed over all of them, the majority of it bouncing harmlessly off the shield. Siffrin was almost down. It stung Isabeau’s heart to see the way Sif’s one eye looked to Bonnie, to Mirabelle, then to the rest of them, just like it had the last few times they came here, so he didn’t look. He didn’t look their way at all. No one did.

Maybe they could’ve stopped him if they had.

Isabeau instead braced himself for a blow from the King, eyes screwing shut by instinct….

“I CAN HELP!”

c r A C K

The smell of copper. A horrible drip of blood on stone as the King raised an oversized fist. The feeling of something warm and sticky sprayed on Isabeau’s legs, his torso, maybe just a bit on his face. His eyes opened before his mind could tell them it was a bad idea.

“… Sif?”

Was that Sif? It was hard to tell. There was almost no darkless left. Or any face. Or distinctly human features at all. Mostly just fabric and pulp. The hat, also no longer darkless, floated down from the King’s fist, landing in the puddle of blood and bone dust.

This…

Hah. This was probably what he looked like under the rock. The King is a rock type, after all.

A hysteric laugh at the not-funny not-a-joke escaped Isabeau’s laugh as he tried to take in what he was seeing. His hand went down to tug at the suddenly-stained fabric as though he could still pick them up. “Siffrin?”

How? How did this happen? This wasn’t supposed to happen! It never happened before! Siffrin was supposed to be knocked out! To end up hitting the floor, maybe busted up, maybe bleeding a little, but only normal battle wounds! The King couldn’t kill them until the end, right?

Right?

And, well, sure! Siffrin got the Memory of Useless Idiot. It lowered their stats, but that was fine! With Mirabelle’s Memory of Sadness, they barely needed to fight. And, yeah, they’d been trying to read those Headache Books any time the rest of them looked away for even a second, but it’d come back at snack time, right? Which they… skipped…

“ooooooh….. you must’ve known this would happen. though that look on your face…… perhaps I was mistaken…… either way, Vaugaurde will be preserved.”

They drove him to this. They all drove him to his death. They were supposed to protect him, supposed to make sure he at least lived, and now he was a splatter on the floor again-

“Siffarooni?”

Isabeau reached out once more to the pile of meat and cloth and-

START AGAIN START AGAIN PLEASE START AGAIN-

He awoke to see his hands, free of blood, hovering above grass.

[Isabeau got Memory of Helplessness! When equipped, it makes Siffrin more likely to take damage for him in battle!]

Isabeau threw up.

[7ouls]

daisuke x fem reader where they’re both super awkward and swansea is tired of them being oblivious to the way they feel for eachother that he makes both of his interns work on a project together

omg i totally loved writing this even tho i hcent written in a while so it might look weird? im really sorry its been a long time… (and its pretty short sorry abt that) also swansea is probably a bit ooc (i think u say it like that? idk) cause i have really bad memory so sorry abt that too…

this is set before the crash

No matter how many times the two interns tried to communicate it would always end up being awkward since everyone but them knew about their obvious crush on each other.

Nobody cares enough to help them realise that, except their boss Swansea.

That shortly explains how the three of them are now repeating the bases of engineering.

“So is that clear?” The older man looked at the young adults as they nodded.

“Great, i don’t have to repeat myself for once. Now to see how much you’ve understood try to fix this.”

He said taking an old radio that sat behind him and handed them the needed tools. He then proceeded to leave but not before giving a smirk to his interns that blushed as a reaction.

Daisuke was the first to speak up. “I didn’t actually understand all of it.”

Y/n giggled at the boy and he soon joined too. “Don’t worry… I barely managed to take some notes. Swansea isn’t really the best teacher…”

“But we don’t really have much of a choice”

“Right, so here. You can read some of my notes and umm… i guess start working.” She said handing him her notebook. He started quietly reading all of it as the girl got slowly closer and closer to read with him.

After a while Daisuke stopped and thanked her, then realised how close she’s gotten to him. Y/n panicking apologised as she didn’t notice the close distance between them.

He quickly straightened himself. “No need to apologise! We’re supposed to work together so that eventually would’ve happened, not that i mind anyways…” He muttered the last part.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t question it. “We should get the work started now.” She said as he nodded happily.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It has been around two hours when the two finally ended their work and were now chatting.

“Sooo… would you be free after dinner tonight?” Daisuke asked nervously, Y/n blushed at the question then smiled. “I mean… there’s not much else to do so yes. Why do you ask?”

The boy grinned and answered. “Well, i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now. Would you like to play on my gameboy with me? We can take turns! And then we can eat all the sweets that i have and stay up all night!” He exclaimed out of breath.

Y/n was surprised to hear the boy so excited and soon replied. “Sure, we can do that. We’ll just have to make sure to be quiet or else we’ll wake the captain up.” Daisuke happily nodded as he watched the girl get up and wave at him.

When she left he let put a puff of air he didn’t know he was holding. “Holy moly. She’s like super cool!”

i took the gameboy idea from a daisuke fanfic on here but i dont remember the tag. sorry this is kinda short as i said i have to get used to weiting it’s been like 2 years since i last did it. maybe i’ll write about that sleepover soemtime!! (i swear this looked longer whem i wrote it on my diary)

[lolitastories]

Mine

Thomas Shelby x Y/n

“I can’t let you see him,” I took a step back as Polly walked closer until I was at the rock entrance. Chatter around us made our conversation barely audible. The sounds of people preparing for the race were excited, the opposite of what I was feeling right now.

“Polly,” My heart ached. I needed to see Thomas, he was the reason I couldn’t breathe, the reason I was here.

“No,” She spoke louder. “He doesn’t need to see or hear from you right now,” She looked around making sure no one was paying attention. “He has something more important to deal with.” I knew if I told her the reason I was here and wanted to speak to him, she would eat her words up.

“I understand.” Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Why couldn’t I understand that already? Thomas had left me without a word, not even a letter. It's been a month since I last heard his voice, the last time I saw him walk away in the middle of the night.  With a sigh of defeat and a little bit of exhaustion I looked up at her, “Goodbye Polly,” She gave me a sympathetic smile before I turned around and walked off. She was always nice to me, but I knew better than to argue with her thinking I have a chance to win. “We are better off,” I whisper. “I didn’t need my father, and you won’t either” I held my head up as my hand roamed over my growing belly. “We will have each other.”

I can’t say it was easy. I spent most nights crying in bed but when I felt the little movements in my stomach I forgot how sad I was. But of course some things aren’t meant to leave your memory no matter how hard you try. Thomas Shelby will forever be part of me and part of the little person growing inside of me. I avoided his part of town, I avoided his people as well. I can’t help but think if Polly told him I was at the racetrack that day, if she did then that meant he truly didn’t care. That's how I spent my time until the birth, thinking of him. Maybe if I thought about him enough he would one day show up at my door. If I thought about him enough he would feel me and our child and want to come home. But the day I thought of him the most I wanted to scream his name and hold his hand. I was walking down the street at night from my job when I felt a pain in my lower stomach. I leaned against the wall for a period of time before a stranger took interest. When they saw liquid on the floor they knew I was in labor and took me straight to the hospital. I clenched my eyes and fisted my hands but kept my mouth closed. The pain was horrific but who was I supposed to call out for? I shook my head and hit my chest trying to keep me from thinking, one thing was when this baby was still safe in my womb, but soon they would be out and they would only have me. How can I do that?

“Honey, one more push” That's when I opened my eyes. All that pain was gone, I couldn’t bring my true love into this world while in pain. They would know that pain only stills time, love is what matters and with me, they will never run out of it. I gathered my strength and with one last push my ears heard the most beautiful song. “It's a baby girl” My tears were no longer my own, they were for her. “Congratulations” I watched as the nurse wrapped her up and moved closer to place her on my chest. “She’s beautiful” I smile brightly, wrapping my arms to hold my baby.

“Yes she is,” And she was all mine. The nurse finished cleaning me up and I thanked her before they all left the room. “You are all mine, and you are all I will ever need” I soothe her until her cries turn into a peaceful sigh. “Until the end of time,” I trace her small nose and watch every detail, her lips, her eyes, the way her small brows flicker when my finger traces down her face.

“Have you decided on a name?” I look up watching a different nurse walk in, placing on her gloves. I shake my head. “Well, you still have time,” She stands beside my bed with a smile. ‘It this your first?”

“Yes.” I smile as I fidget with her small blanket. “I have a name in mind but I am getting a feel of her first to see if it agrees” The nurse chuckles quietly. “Do you need her?” The nurse nods.

“I promise I will bring her right back. We will periodically take her some test and this one will only be a couple of minutes” My bones start to aches as I reach under my baby and lift her up for the nurse to grab, “5 minutes” She whispered kindly, “If I am not back by then you can hold me accountable” I laugh at her humorous tone. I nod watching as she carries my baby away.

“1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8-” I closed my eyes and leaned back finally feeling the exhaustion of just giving birth. I continue to count on my head and even if I count faster, it doesn’t mean time will hurry just for me.

“Y/N?!” My eyes tear open hearing the worry in a man's voice. The figure was too fast as it rushed into the room and grabbed my face.“What happened? Did someone-” I rip his hands from my face and sit up with enough strength to look at him.

“What the hell are you doing Thomas?” It wasn’t anger that was spitting with the words, but they were somewhere along the lines of disappointment. 

“Tommy,” My head moved to look behind him and rushing behind Thomas was Polly and Arthur. “Oh god,” Polly’s face hit with realization. She looks around the room and steps back covering her mouth in shock.

“Are you okay?” I turn my head when I hear Thomas move closer.

“Yes, I'm okay. You should go Thomas” I crossed my arms as my eyes flicker to the clock, I had 2 minutes. “You shouldn’t be here”

“Why?” He said coldly. “When I heard you were in the hospital I came as soon as I could,” My eyes moved up to meet him. “I had to see you and know you were okay” I scoff, shaking my head.

“Now that you saw me you can leave.” I look back at Polly and Arthur who stand by the door. “Get him away from me” My eyes almost pleading towards them.

“Tommy it time to go” Arthur walks around Polly and places his hand on Thomas’s shoulder for it to be nudged away harshly.

“No.” He spoke with a stern voice to Arthur before turning over to me. “I can’t do it any longer,” My body flinches hearing his sudden change. I watch as his figure moves lower until he is kneeling in front of me. “I am not leaving you again.” It was a sting to my heart hearing words I longed for months ago. “I was stupid to leave, stupid to listen to the advice of the heart when I should have fought to keep you by my side.”

“What are you talking about Thomas?” I unconsciously moved a bit forward. His eyes flicker to Polly and Arthur who understood and began walking out of the room. When his bright blue eyes looked back at me it was like I was given my ability to breathe again. The blue eyes I yearn for so long to look at me again were, and they were just as beautiful as I remembered.

“Changretta.” Luca, a man in charge of another crime family. Thomas told me about him, how he came into town seeking revenge for his father and brothers death. “He got close to killing Arthur,” I could see in his eyes how it pained him, he must have gotten close. “But John didn’t have such luck, but the final straw was when I was going home to you,” His hands unraveled my arms and held my hands close to his. “He sent out a hit on me a few blocks from you.” Suddenly I forgot how to breathe again. “I knew I had to get rid of him before he tried to do anything else.” My hands move up to touch his cheek. “I couldn’t let him harm anyone else.”

“John is gone?” It wasn’t a question, it was a realization. I haven't known John well but he was a nice boy, what hurt me the most was that he left kids behind.

“How could I protect the woman I love if I couldn’t protect my own brother? Someone I vowed since the day he was born to protect?” I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Polly told me it was for the best to keep my distance,” He spoke quietly into my hair. “But when I heard you were in the hospital I just had to make sure you were okay.” His hands gripped onto skin, not harshly.  His breath steady and his heart beating along mine.

“I know I said 5 minutes but-” Tomas and I pulled apart hearing the nurse's voice walk into the room. “She was a crier.” She stops at the door looking questionably at Thomas and I. She clears her throat and walks closer handing the baby to me. “I will be back for her an hour”

“Thank you,” I give the nurse a smile and she nods before turning around and closing the door behind her. I looked up to Thomas who was shocked at the sight.

“You had a child?” I didn’t know where it came from but I smiled, I smiled at how shocked and confused he looked but what shocked me was that he didn’t back away. Instead he leaned closer and started admiring her. “Is she?” I look up seeing his eyes holding on to some hope. “It doesn’t matter if she is,” He spoke before I could even nod my head. “I love you and if you will still have me she will be mine too.” I know I promised my tears would be hers now but as tears escape my eyes I know that that would never be possible.

“She’s ours” I smile and watch as his smile grows bigger and bigger with realization. “I wanted to tell you-” I see him shaking his head. His hands grab my face and pull me closer into a kiss. I closed my eyes and held on tighter to my baby. He still felt the same, sweet and gentle. As he pulled away we both had a smile on our faces.

“The past is the past,” He sighs, looking down at our baby again. “I have more making up for than you need to explain why you did what you did.” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Sounds like we are almost even,” I tease. He shakes his head.

“Not even close, What you did was for her and what I did was selfish, I could have-” He stops talking when I move away and gently pushes our baby towards him.

“You did for your family,” His hands grab her with such carefulness, and pulls her close. “And without knowing, for our family” I know he mind moves hundreds of miles per hour thinking of total nonsense and he would never let it go but I couldn’t help but try to ease it, at least a little. She starts cooing as I lean against Thomas’s side who sits down beside me. “Can you help me out with the name?” His eyes flicker back and forth before settling on me.

“I like the name you choose,” My brow lifts in surprise. “ I saw how your eyes sparkled” I laughed looking back down.

“Okay.” How could I feel more happiness right now?. “Maeve Jane Shelby” Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Means, God is gracious”

“Jane, like John.” He smiles, placing a single kiss on my forehead. “It's perfect, she is perfect”

“She is all ours” He laughs looking over to us.

“And you two are mine” I roll my eyes before moving closer to him again.

[leahwllmsn]

loss of my life II

alexia putellas x reader

Bumping into you isn’t on Alexia's plan.

part of the loml series

Alexia barely manages to read her sister’s text when she bumps into someone, and she doesn’t need to look up to know who that person is—a year isn’t enough to erase the memory of you.

“Ale?” 

You‘re holding onto Alexia’s forearms to keep her from falling over. And Alexia... as much as her heart says otherwise, she doesn’t appreciate the contact. She’s overwhelmed, thinking about how she’s going to Mapi and Ingrid’s house-warming party with you and your new Leah there.

Alexia is dreading the day and now she has to see you when she isn’t prepared. At all.

“Uh—sorry.” you seem to notice the blonde’s discomfort and let go of her arms.

Alexia steps back and clears her throat. “No, no. I’m the one who should be sorry, I didn’t see where I was going.”

You give her a small smile and stay quiet—neither of you know what to say to each other anymore. This is the first time after the break-up that you’re both alone with each other. No one else is around, just the two of you. 

Alexia can feel her heart beating faster with every glance towards you and she really needs to get out of there.

Before she has the chance to give a reason to excuse herself, you speak up, “So... how was your summer?”

Alexia just stares at you, great, you want to have small talk. Alexia knows she can’t talk about you for more than five minutes without wanting to break out into a sob, how is she supposed to actually talk to you?

When Alexia doesn’t answer, you furrow your eyebrows and fiddle with your fingers—a sign that means you’re nervous, Alexia still remembers. “Uh, it’s okay if you don’t want to answer. This is probably so weird.” 

Alexia shakes her head and tries her best to flash you a genuine smile, “It was... okay, I guess. Nothing interesting. How about you?”

You smile back, and Alexia really hates how your smile still has an effect on her. “It was okay, too. I went to London and it was nice, but I miss Barcelona every second I was away.”

Alexia nods in reply. A silence then falls over you. Alexia knows you don’t feel the same way she does, but the longer Alexia spends within your presence, the better she feels. Alexia figures you’re the antidote to her pain—her heart cherishes every second of this brief encounter with you, her soul finally content that it’s finally within arm’s reach with the person it has been yearning for so much.

Thinking back to what Mapi said… How is Alexia supposed to find someone else? Because after you said that you need to go and she has to watch you leave, there is nothing more Alexia wants to do than to scream your name and beg you to stay.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

[ssa-dado]

8.01 - Anaisthēsía

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, with a touch of whump and teasing Summary: Hotch stays by your side after a near-death experience, grappling with guilt and relief as you recover. When you wake, disoriented from anesthesia, you hilariously flirt and praise him, including a playful obsession with his hands and teasing remarks about his voice. As the fog lifts, you groggily bicker with Hotch about philosophy and paperwork, ultimately losing a playful debate as he deftly out-argues you. Warnings: medical trauma, guilt, anesthesia-induced vulnerability, mentions of death, P***r gets mentioned once. GISSI GISSI GISSI Word Count: 13.5k Dado's Corner: This little flashback was inspired by the wonderful and ever-inspiring @cuddleprofiler. What was originally meant to be a short piece quickly spiraled into something far longer because, honestly, I missed their old dynamics way too much to stop myself. As always, I probably went overboard, so - just a heads-up: the sweetness in this one is seriously tooth-rotting. Writing this version of Y/N was so fun, it felt different, but I hope it still makes sense and resonates with you. KG, I hope it brings you as much joy to read as it did for me to write. And yes, I used yet again some pics from Dharma and Greg for young Hotch, sue me.

masterlist

Are you alright? 

Were there any complications? 

Is something wrong?

He watched as your eyes fluttered open, the focus still absent.

His stomach dropped. 

Every part of him screamed in panic, his mind racing through the events that led them here. 

It happened so fast, too fast. 

He had barely arrived in time, his steps too slow, his fingers fumbling with the phone to call for help. 

He was useless. 

If he had gotten there a second earlier, maybe it would have been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have been lying there, so fragile, so vulnerable. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the things he didn’t do, all the moments where he had failed to act. 

"Hey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, careful as if the slightest sound might shatter your bones. "How are you feeling?" His chest was tight, his heart racing. 

That was his fault. 

He shifted nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Was he standing too close? 

Was he in your space? 

Was his presence somehow making things worse? 

Every little movement you made sent a jolt through him, was this normal? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think.

He should have gone to med school. Maybe then he would know how to help you instead of just sitting there in his uselessness. 

Did you need water? 

No, you were too frail to drink because of him. 

You blinked again, slow and unsure, your gaze still too distant, lost in a fog he couldn’t reach. He could feel the panic rising in his chest again, breathing felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford just yet. Not until you were like that.

The memory of those moments before you woke up was still too fresh - the image of you, lying still on the operating table - probably the only time in your life you ever actually stopped - your body cold and unresponsive.

For a few seconds, he’d lost you.

No pulse, no breath.

Just the cruel, deafening silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in those brief seconds, he'd experienced something he hadn’t thought possible: the overwhelming, suffocating emptiness of nothing.

He was supposed to keep you safe. 

He was supposed to be enough. 

What kind of partner leaves their partner dying? 

If only he’d been faster, more decisive. 

If only he’d been able to do something, anything, to make sure you were okay. 

What if you had been a second too far gone? 

What if he had been a second too slow? 

You wouldn’t be lying there, resting on a cold metal table just a few floors-

"Who… are you?"  you asked with the quitest of voices.

What? 

He swore his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Was it because of the shock, the trauma, the anesthesia? 

Or had his existance really been so useless that you didn’t even recognize him? 

He had to say something, at least so he wouldn’t have failed you in yet another thing. 

Hotch. 

Just five letters, simple.

Easier than saying his name - or whatever you used to call him when you still had a reason to care about him – Lawyer - or back when he was still decent enough to be considered your partner. 

Hotch.

Just Hotch.

"It’s me, Aaron," he replied, forcing his voice to stay light, though it trembled under the weight of the tightness in his chest. His words came out strained, heavy with guilt, as if he had failed you even in something as simple as the tone of his voice.

You repeated his name slowly, the sound of it rolling off your tongue like it was a foreign word in probably the only language you hadn’t mastered yet. Who could blame you, after all? He wouldn’t recognize his own name either, if only he could. If only there were a way to erase his memory. "Aaron. That’s a nice name."

Nice? Him – nice?!

The words felt strange in his ears, as if they didn’t belong to him, as if you were talking about someone else entirely.

Nice wasn’t how he would have described himself, not when you were looking at him like that - distant, almost as though he were a stranger.

And just like that, the realization hit him, crashing through the fog of his thoughts.

Oh, you don’t remember.

The tight knot in his chest loosened, but only slightly.

You weren’t mad at him.

At least not in the way he’d thought.

It wasn’t his fault, not really.

It was the anesthesia, the drug that had clouded your mind, made everything feel far away, unreachable.

Now it made sense.

He could finally breathe.

That’s when he found out he had no idea how long he had been standing there, just staring at you, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed how tightly he’d been gripping the edge of the chair until he released his hold, his fingers sore, and then slowly pulled it closer to your bed.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty fond of it,” he said, forcing a soft smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Your gaze, still unfocused, drifted to his face. Now he could see you trying to make sense of him, but the haze of anesthesia made everything about him blurry and strange in your eyes.

Yet he could feel that, despite the confusion, something shifted in the way you looked at him.

“You’re very… pretty,” you said suddenly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. 

What? 

Hotch blinked. If you ever did offer him such a compliment - though you never did… why would you, after all? - he had always imagined it would be something far more complex.

Something pulled from the depths of the philosophy texts you cherished so much, or even an adjective so obscure and unique that it had only ever appeared once, buried in the pages of some forgotten manuscript.

Maybe it would be a neologism you created, one only you knew the meaning of, a word with layers of secret nuances and significance. Never something so common, so... "shallow" as "pretty."

He blinked again, wondering if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, making him believe he was hearing something he’d always wanted to hear come from your lips.

Because seeing you – always so sharp, so composed, the kind of person who measured every word with precision - suddenly so soft, so shy, was surprising.

He couldn’t deny how it affected him, how hearing you speak so gently, in such a vulnerable tone, made his heart race in a way that almost felt like betrayal.

Was this what it was? Was this what he had been hoping for?

His mind scrambled, tricking him into thinking that maybe this was your way of showing him you felt the same. As if, for a fleeting moment, the barriers between you two had fallen, and everything he'd ever wanted from you could be real.

But rationally, he knew better - he knew it was just his own longing tricking him, his brain desperately filling in the gaps he couldn’t bear to face.

It wasn’t you, it was the anesthesia.

This softness wasn’t true to you.

Still, the pull in his chest, the warmth he felt when you looked at him with those eyes, told him a different story.

“Pretty, really?!” he said, trying to inject some humor into the situation, he probably got that from you. “I thought you were more into philosophy than, you know, looks.” He leaned in just a little, unable to resist.

You blinked at him, your brow furrowing slightly, and he could almost see the fog lifting in your mind as you tried to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. “Philosophy?” you mumbled, sounding almost genuinely curious. “What’s that?”

Hotch stifled a laugh, the sound escaping through his nose despite himself. “Oh, God. This is… this is going to be good,” he muttered under his breath.

And still, despite the absurdity of the moment, the karmic lesson finally coming full circle after all those hours you had him tangled in your philosophical musings, Hotch couldn’t help but find it amusing.

It was almost poetic, the way he had struggled to keep up with you, only for the roles to reverse now. Even though he’d never admit it to you, he could have listened to you talk about philosophy for hours, not just because of your passion, but because you had this way of making even the most abstract concepts feel so objectively interesting...

…And, of course, because he loved to hear your voice in any shape or form, whether you were unraveling complex ideas or simply informing him that the office coffee machine had broken down yet again and needed his help to fix it - as if he were some kind of coffee machine whisperer.

But still, as much as he found it hilarious, he couldn’t deny how profound it all felt. The fact that you, his Philosopher, were struggling to acknowledge philosophy itself felt like the most philosophical thing he’d ever heard you say.

It was as if the question itself was the answer, a perfect paradox wrapped in innocence.

“You really don’t know what philosophy is?” he asked, his voice dry, a little incredulous. “You? The one who still managed to quote Hegel while bleeding to death?”

You blinked at him, clearly still processing what he had said. “Who?” you asked, your face a mix of confusion and the tiniest bit of intrigue. "Hegel?"

“Never mind,” Hotch replied, though he couldn’t help the teasing tone creeping into his voice. "I thought you’d be spouting some philosophy by now, but I guess we're starting with the basics." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watched you try to make sense of it all. “Okay, let’s see if you remember any of it,” he said, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Do you know who Plato is?”

You blinked slowly, your mind still a little foggy from the anesthesia. “No,” you said with such unshakable certainty that Hotch couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

 “Not even your favorite?! How about Schopenhauer?” Hotch asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to process his words, then shook your head. “No,” you said again, your voice so confident, with the perfect German accent. “And it’s pronounced ‘Shoh-pen-how-er’.”

Hotch stopped mid-laugh, blinking at you in mock surprise. “You don’t know who he is, but you’ve still got time to correct my pronunciation?” he asked, raising an eyebrow - thankfully, you couldn’t tell how your words made him feel like he was suddenly melted by your accent, something about the way you made German sound almost romantic. “How reassuring of you.”

You flashed him a grin, eyes sparkling just a little too brightly for someone still under the influence of anesthesia. “Sorry, you’re just so cute, especially when you butcher German like that”

Hotch shook his head, his lips curling into a smile despite himself. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he replied with a chuckle, though he knew the warmth in his gaze was unmistakable. “Alright then,” he said, still slightly flustered by your words, leaning in just a little closer. “Let’s see if you know Kierkegaard, maybe?”

You smiled sleepily, “No,” you mumbled, but then added, your tone suddenly more serious, “And it’s Kierkegaard... ‘Keer-geh-garh’. The ‘ie’ is pronounced like an ‘e,’ and the ‘aa’ is like the ‘a’ in ‘raw’.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his temples as if trying to alleviate the mounting amusement…and a bit of frustration. “This is exactly what happens when you mix a philosopher with anesthesia,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a bemused grin. “You forget everything you love, but somehow still manage to correct my pronunciation.” He shook his head, still smiling at the absurdity of it all.

 “I like how you say ‘Philosopher’. It’s... very nice.” you giggled softly before shifting in the bed, your eyes still locked on him as if he were the only thing in the room.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Hotch muttered to himself under his breath, though he was sure you couldn’t hear it.

Or maybe you could.

Either way, it didn’t stop the smile that kept tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Thankfully you two still were alone… in a hospital room.

His chest tightened just thinking about it.

He couldn’t still think about it.

He had to push it away. He had to.

You were here now.

You were awake.

You were alive.

But the fear - God, the fear - it still lingered, crawling in his throat, pressing down on his lungs. It was there every time he looked at you, still pale, still fragile in that bed. He needed to see that spark in your eyes again, needed to know you were really here, really with him.

The way you always looked at him, with that glint of intelligence and mischief that made everything feel alive. He needed to see that more than the oxygen in his lungs.

He leaned forward, pulling something from his bag, a small book he had picked up with the hope of cheering you up, and honestly, maybe even cheering himself up too. He’d been terrified, so now he just wanted to see you as you again. He needed to see the spark in your eyes, the one that always made him feel like he was seeing something brighter than the world around him.

“Alright, if you really don’t remember anything, maybe this will help.” He held up the book with a small shake, like it was some sort of weapon. “Nietzsche for Stressed People... I’m sure the title speaks for itself. No need for an explanation, right?” He gave you a wry smile, his eyes still holding a hint of worry behind the teasing.

He pointed to the picture of the man on the cover, raising an eyebrow, trying to focus on something light. "Do you recognize the guy with the mustache?" He wasn’t sure why his voice softened so much, he was speaking to you like this - so gently, so carefully - as though you were a child he was trying to explain something simple to.

But in that moment, it felt right.

He just wanted to see you smile.

You blinked at the cover, your mind clearly still foggy from the medication. You scanned the picture and looked up at him. “No,” you mumbled, with a slight shrug.

Hotch’s smile faltered for a second. He was really hoping this would work. But he recovered quickly, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Well, I guess that’s okay. You don’t need to remember everything.”

You were already half asleep again, your eyelids drooping as you mumbled, "I think I liked him..."

Hotch paused for a moment, looking at you as you drifted off. "Oh no, you hate Nietzsche. That’s exactly why I bought this," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

“Aaron…” you said, your voice almost a whisper, soft and uncertain.

The sound of his name on your lips always made Hotch’s heart skip a beat.

Although this time it wasn’t the usual sharpness, the teasing sarcasm, or the biting wit that he was so used to. No, this was different.

It was tender, hesitant, he watched you, noticing the faint pink hue that spread across your cheeks as soon as you met his gaze, making them glow against the stark white of the hospital sheets. He could see how your fingers fidgeted nervously with the blanket.

What was happening?

"Yes?" he asked gently, leaning forward slightly, his voice a soft coaxing, encouraging you to say more. He didn’t want to rush you, but he could see you were trying to find the right words, something important you wanted to say but hadn’t quite managed yet.

Your eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on him, and he watched closely, noting the way your mouth opened as if searching for something to say but not quite finding it – definitely because of the anesthesia.

But then, almost hesitantly, the words slipped out, quieter than before, as though they were secret confessions. "I… think I like you.”

Oh, if only it wasn’t the meds confessing his attraction to him, but actually you...

“You like me?” Hotch repeated, his voice low and teasing, though there was something softer beneath it, something unspoken that made his words feel less playful and more genuine.

You nodded slowly, still not meeting his eyes fully, your gaze drifting down to the blanket in your lap. "I do," you murmured, the words shy as they left your mouth. Your eyes fluttered again, and as you smiled, the blush deepened, tinting your cheeks an even brighter shade of pink. “You’re so nice. So handsome. So… so lawyer-ish.”

Hotch couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, the way you looked at him with such genuine affection, it was so disarming. “Lawyer-ish?” he repeated, his grin widening. “What a wise choice of words, coming from someone with such a vast lexicon like you.”

You blinked at him, your wide eyes still locked onto his. "You’re so… elegant, so smart," you said suddenly, your voice earnest and serious, as if sharing a secret. "I love lawyers."

Hotch laughed, almost startled by your sudden change in tone. “Oh, you’re lying,” he said, his amusement clear. “You’ve been calling me ‘Lawyer’ just to mock me for months. Don’t think I’m buying your ‘I love lawyers’ routine just because you’re a little loopy on meds.”

Hotch couldn’t help but notice how your gaze shifted downward to his hand, the one resting casually close by your side, although he continued  “You despise lawyers - you’ve always said we bend the law, are enslaved by it, and have no personal ethics, unlike…”

He swore as he talked there was still something about the way you looked at his hand. Subtle at first, like a flicker of curiosity behind your eyes, but then your fingers twitched, almost on instinct. Before he could react, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, pulling it closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch froze, utterly bewildered. His usually steady pulse quickened as he watched you inspect his hand with an intensity he’d only seen you use on crime scene evidence. Your brows furrowed slightly, your lips quirking as if you were unraveling a mystery only you could understand.

He watched the way your fingers traced over the back of his knuckles, your touch so light and delicate yet managing to leave a trail of fire wherever your fingers traveled.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” His voice was a little shaky, the confusion clear in his tone. Then his eyes flicked back to your face, flushed a deep shade of red. He swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the situation.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away, at least.

Instead, You remained entirely focused on his hand, your fingers tracing the lines of his skin until his breath caught when you moved down to the curve of his wrist. Every nerve ending seemed to spark under your touch, and for the first time in years, Hotch felt completely, hopelessly out of control.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began again, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably when his voice wavered, “but there’s a whole person attached to that hand.”

Still nothing.

You stayed focused, your fingers mapping every detail as though you were committing it to memory. Hotch let out a shaky laugh, a blend of amusement and disbelief. “You do realize this is kind of weird, right?” he teased, though the corners of his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile.

Finally, you looked up, blinking slowly as though you’d momentarily forgotten he was even there. “Hmm?” you murmured, your voice soft and distracted.

“A person,” Hotch repeated, arching an eyebrow, his tone tinged with both amusement and exasperation. “Me. Aaron Hotchner. Your-”

You didn’t even let him finish. How rude.

Your lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous smile, and you tilted your head slightly. “I know who you are, Aaron,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

What?

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a split second, he wondered if the effects of the anesthesia that somehow turned you into a completely different person had started to wear off.

But then, as he studied your expression, he caught another clue - your eyes. Still soft and dreamy, unfocused in a way that practically screamed drugged, he could finally lethis heart rate return to normal. False alarm.

“Your hands,” you said finally, your tone almost reverent, as if those two words held the key to the universe – or maybe they did for your ephemeral little dizzy one right now. You glanced down at them again, your grip tightening slightly.

Like that was enough of an explanation.

What happened to the woman who loved words more than herself?

“My hands,” he echoed, his brow furrowing. “What about them?”

“They’re… interesting.” Your gaze dropped back to his hand, your fingertips now grazing his palm. He couldn’t tell if you were studying him or if this was just some elaborate way to drive him insane. “You can tell a lot about someone by their hands, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Hotch chuckled, leaning back slightly, though he made no effort to pull his hand away from your grasp. If logic and anesthesia were a match made in heaven, he’d eat his tie. Clearly, reasoning with you right now was a losing battle. If he wanted answers - or at least entertainment - he’d have to play by your rules.

“And what, exactly, do my hands say about me?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity.

You tilted your head, your expression turning uncomfortably serious, as if you were solving an ancient riddle. Hotch could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny as your eyes flicked from his fingers to his wrist and back again. “Strong. Dependable. But a little… rough around the edges.”

You paused, your lips twitching into a sly smile that made him raise an eyebrow. “And, you probably don’t moisturize, do you?”

What kind of drug did they give you for God’s sake?!

Hotch blinked, caught completely off guard by the comment. “I - what?” he stammered, a startled laugh bubbling out of him. “Moisturize?”

You nodded, your expression so matter-of-fact it made him wonder if this was something you genuinely cared about. “It’s okay,” you said breezily, patting his hand in a gesture that felt oddly consoling. “You’re a busy lawyer who works way more than anyone should. Classic workaholic move. It’s completely understandable.”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad my hands pass your inspection, even if they don’t meet your hydration standards.”

And then, with a boldness that surprised him even more than your initial touch, your fingers slid between his, intertwining in a gesture so casual yet so intimate that it made his chest tighten. He stared down at your joined hands, his mind racing.

You had never been this touchy before. The woman he knew - strong, composed, relentless - had always kept a deliberate distance, a boundary he’d always appreciated because, truth be told, he was even worse when it came to physical contact. For him, touch had always felt too intimate, too exposing, like a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

But here you were now, completely unguarded and soft, your fingers tracing his hand with a tenderness that caught him off guard. And despite everything he thought he knew about himself - about his discomfort with touch, about his constant need for control - he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar warmth that spread through him.

It wasn’t just surprising, it was disarming.

For the first time in years, something about this moment felt… right. Like he didn’t need to pull away, didn’t need to overthink it. It just was, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it end.

“Well, this is certainly… new,” Hotch said with a laugh, his voice almost incredulous as he shook his head in disbelief.

You smiled up at him, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him. Then, in a whisper so soft it barely reached his ears, you added, “You’re very handsome when you laugh.”

Oh, you sly Hegelian charmer.

He blinked, momentarily stunned, before a dry chuckle escaped him. He had never been courted like this in his entire life. Which, honestly, made everything feel… hilarious. Or at least that’s what he told himself - it was the only way he could deflect the heat rising to his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing even harder. “Oh, you’re going to pay for this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m definitely going to remind you that you said you think you like Nietzsche when you finally make up your mind.”

At the mention of Nietzsche, your eyes lit up, darting to the book he had set down on the side table earlier. Without hesitation, you leaned forward, grasping his arm lightly. “Could you read me some?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent.

Hotch raised a brow, half-amused, half-skeptical. “You want me to read you Nietzsche?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your gaze earnest. Then, as if explaining an obvious truth, you added, “I like how your voice sounds. It’s so low and… buttery. But not too smooth, it’s got this rough edge, especially with your consonants. Like the way your /t/ and /d/ sounds have a little friction, and your /r/ is so restrained it’s almost elegant. And when you say certain words, there’s this… resonance. Like when you said Nietzsche. It’s perfect.”

Hotch blinked, completely floored by your unexpected - and highly technical - analysis. “I didn’t realize I had a special way of saying Nietzsche,” he said dryly, though his lips quirked in amusement.

“You do,” you replied confidently, tilting your head slightly. “Because it’s completely the wrong pronunciation. It’s adorable.”

Hotch laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called adorable before,” he mused, his tone dry. “But I’m not about to start taking pronunciation lessons from someone who just complimented my consonants.”

“Please say it again,” you prompted, leaning toward him, your eyes gleaming with curiosity.

How could he say no to you?

“Nee-chee,” he said, drawing out the word with deliberate slowness, his voice dripping with mock emphasis.

You giggled, a light, airy sound so unlike your usual self that Hotch had to glance away briefly, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his composure. “See? So wrong,” you said, shaking your head with exaggerated dismay. “You completely butchered the ‘tz’ sound! Where’s the sharp little ‘tss’? It’s supposed to bite, Aaron. You made it sound like a sneeze!”

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned by your critique, before letting out a low chuckle. “A sneeze?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him as if you’d uncovered a grand conspiracy. “It’s not ‘Nee-chee,’ it’s ‘Neet-ss-chuh.’ Say it with me - ‘tss.’ Like you’re flicking your tongue against your teeth. Not-” you waved dramatically, “-like a tired cowboy trying to name his horse.”

Hotch laughed harder, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize I was being graded on my pronunciation of 19th-century philosophers.”

He was so proud of himself for remembering the time period.

“You’re not being graded,” you replied, smirking. “But if you were, it’d be a D-minus for effort. Although,” you added with a dramatic pause, “you get bonus points for making it sound adorable. Like you’re trying your best but still somehow failing spectacularly.”

“Adorable,” he repeated dryly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Alright, now I’m definitely reading this to you. But don’t expect miracles, I’m not correcting my pronunciation just to impress you.”

He stood from his chair, lifting it carefully and bringing it over to the right side of your bed. He placed it close enough that you wouldn’t have to strain to see him, then sat down, adjusting the book in his hands. He even tilted it slightly away from himself so you could read along if you wanted.

Hotch froze, his breath hitching as the warmth of your touch spread from his arm like a slow-burning fire. His mind raced for a way to keep himself grounded, to push aside the thought that your touch felt far too perfect, far too right.

It was the drug, not you.

You weren’t really fond of him.

Control, Aaron, control.

But still, it was impossible to ignore the way you fit so effortlessly against him, like two puzzle pieces quietly finding their place.

His lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, a small betrayal of the control he prided himself on, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, angling his body just enough to make it easier for you to stay where you were. If he noticed how his heart thudded against his ribcage, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur, the words far more tender than he intended. His gaze flicked toward you, and he found himself silently praying this wasn’t something he could get used to - that the sight of you leaning into him, fitting against him like you were made to be there, wouldn’t embed itself too deeply into his mind.

Because it would be impossible to let it go.

You hummed softly, your head resting against him as you snuggled closer, as if you belonged there. “Very,” you replied, your tone dreamy, filled with a sincerity that struck something deep inside him.

He gave a small shake of his head, and turning to the first passage, he scanned it briefly before speaking, his deep voice carrying a soothing cadence. “‘We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.’”

You opened one eye, staring up at him with a playful glint. “Are you secretly a dancer, Aaron?”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, his voice low and teasing. “I might know a step or two, but I sincerely hope you’ll never find out.”

“Oh,why not?” you teased, grinning up at him. “I bet you’d be great at ballroom dancing. Strong frame, steady hold… unless your footwork’s as rough as your hands.”

He swore he was going to buy some moisturizer the second he would leave that hospital room.

“My footwork is impeccable, thank you very much,” he shot back dryly. “And for the record, I’m reading Nietzsche, not auditioning for a dance competition.”

You giggled softly, the sound warm and light, as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Sure, Mr. Hotchner. But if the FBI ever has a formal gala, I’m claiming the first dance.”

What?!

Hotch stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. How… how did you know that? He didn’t recall mentioning that he worked for the FBI. His gaze flicked to your face, searching for any sign that the fog of anesthesia might be starting to lift. But your expression was still soft, dreamy, your words carrying that loose, unfiltered edge that came with the lingering effects of the drugs.

Swallowing his unease, Hotch flipped to another page of the book, trying to redirect his thoughts. “‘Without music,’” he read aloud, his voice calm despite the sudden racing of his heart, “‘life would be a mistake.’”

“That’s true,” you said, your voice steady but still faintly slurred. Then, without missing a beat, you added, “But I think it’s the same with voices like yours. Life would be a mistake without those.”

Hotch froze, your words landing like a sucker punch.

His mind reeled.

Was your memory beginning to return?

Were pieces of you slipping back into place?

Or was this just another effect of the drugs, pulling fragmented thoughts from the recesses of your mind?

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the uncertainty gnawed at him in a way he hadn’t expected. You seemed so open, so unguarded in a way he’d never seen before, and it tugged at something deep within him.

And then, as if sensing his shift in thought, you interrupted him again, your tone light and teasing. “Your hair.”

Hotch blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What about my hair?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s falling on your forehead when you read,” you said with a soft smile, your eyes focused on him as if this observation was the most important thing in the world. “You have really nice hair, you know.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, caught completely off guard. “Thank you…” he replied, his voice unsure, his heart beating a little faster. “I’m not sure where this is going.”

You sat up straighter, your eyes bright and full of mischief. “I really want to run my fingers through it,” you announced, utterly serious, as if it was a completely reasonable request.

Hotch froze, the statement catching him entirely off guard. “You want to… what?”

“I want to touch it,” you said again, as if that would clarify everything. Your gaze didn’t waver, wide and pleading, your lips curving into the smallest, most endearing pout.

Hotch let out a startled chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve definitely lost your mind,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. He should say no. This was ridiculous. Still, when you looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to deny you. “Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Your expression lit up like you’d just won the lottery, and the sight made something in his chest squeeze. You hesitated for a moment, as if savoring the permission, before gently reaching up. Your fingers threaded through his hair, moving carefully, almost reverently, as though you were afraid to hurt him.

Hotch closed his eyes, caught off guard by how… nice it felt.

Your touch was soft and warm, sending little waves of comfort through him. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d care about, but now, with you, it felt impossibly good.

For a man so used to control, the way you handled him with such tenderness made him feel vulnerable in a way he didn’t entirely mind.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with wide eyes, a hint of worry crossing your face. “It’s… coarse,” you murmured, as though you’d uncovered some devastating secret.

Hotch couldn’t help it - he laughed, the sound rich and warm as it spilled out of him. “Well, I’m sorry my hair isn’t up to your standards,” he teased, his tone light. “But I wasn’t exactly aiming for shampoo-commercial perfection.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful, and Hotch swore he could see the wheels turning in your mind. After a moment, a soft smile curved your lips, and with a gentle shrug, you murmured, “It’s fine.” Your voice was calm but sure as you shifted closer, your right hand delicately intertwining with his left. The book in his lap sat forgotten, replaced by the warm weight of your touch.

Hotch couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him, though it was more fond than anything. He shook his head, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good to know my flaws aren’t total deal-breakers,” he quipped lightly, his tone teasing, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand, the touch so light it sent a wave of warmth straight to his chest. “Not even close,” you said softly, almost as if you were reassuring him.

As your fingers lingered against his, the air between you seemed to shift. It wasn’t just about the touch anymore, it was the way you were looking at him. There was something new in your eyes, a quiet realization, like you’d found something you hadn’t been expecting.

“Aaron?” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips so softly it felt like a secret. There was a vulnerability in your voice that caught him off guard, gentle but unshakable. “What are we?”

Hotch blinked, unsure how to respond.

Colleagues?

Friends?

Much more than that, he realized, but how could he put it into words?

This was something so new. Something he wasn’t ready to label just yet.

“Partners,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the word settle between them. It was simple, but it felt right.

Partners, in every unspoken sense of the word.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and impossibly soft, brimming with something he couldn’t quite define. It made his chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. “You’re my boyfriend?” you asked, your voice tender, as if the idea was the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch felt the air leave his lungs. He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly as he tried to find the right words. He knew what he wanted, what he felt, but he was certain you didn’t feel the same way, at least not when everything was clear and steady in the light of day.

“I hope you forget what I’m about to tell you,” he said, his voice low and trembling despite his best effort to keep it steady. “But… sometimes, I wish I was.”

Your gaze softened at his confession, your lips parting slightly as if the words had unlocked something inside you. For a moment, he thought you might drift off again, the haze of sleep pulling you back under. But then you blinked, slow and deliberate, your hand still lightly resting in his. Your thumb moved, tracing a faint circle on the back of his hand.

“Then why aren’t you yet?” you asked, your voice carrying the soft lilt of sleepiness but with an edge of curiosity that struck him to the core.

Hotch froze. The question hung in the air between you, impossibly fragile and yet so heavy it pressed against his chest. His heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly felt raw, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. He met your gaze, his dark eyes softening, his defenses crumbling down without even emitting a single sound.

“I’m not sure the ‘sober’ version of you would agree with that,” he said, his tone laced with equal parts vulnerability and longing. His lips quirked into a faint, rueful smile. “And even if you did… it’s complicated.”

You didn’t look away, your sleepy smile only deepening as if his words had unlocked some hidden courage in you. Your gaze dropped briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, your voice dropping to a whisper so soft it felt like a secret shared in the stillness of the moment.

“But I really want to kiss you right now,” you confessed, your voice laced with raw honesty, the kind that sent a shiver down Hotch’s spine.

His breath caught, his heart thundering in his chest as he fought tooth and nails to keep his composure. He should have pulled back, created some distance, but he couldn’t move. Not when you were looking at him with that soft, dreamy sincerity that left him utterly defenseless.

“You really are bold, aren’t you?” he muttered, shaking his head, though there was no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

But even as he spoke, something in him shifted.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Hotch brought your hand - the one still intertwined with his - up to his lips.

When his lips brushed against your knuckles, it was featherlight, barely a kiss, but the tenderness of it made your breath hitch.

It was an old-fashioned, almost chivalrous gesture, but somehow it felt perfect, like the most natural way to convey everything he couldn’t yet say aloud. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, and even in your hazy state, he knew you felt something as well.

As he pulled back, his hand lingered, still cradling yours, his dark eyes met yours, holding them for a moment longer than usual, as if he were silently asking if this was okay.

If this was enough.

Or if it was too much.

You sighed softly, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment before you whispered, “I really like you, Aaron.”

“I like you too,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, though his heart was anything but. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But let’s make sure you still like me when you’re not under anesthesia, alright? And even if you don’t…” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll always be here. You have my word.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand still resting gently in his. Hotch couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips as he returned to the book, his voice low as he began to read once more.

As he read on, he noticed your breathing grow slower, and before long, you were asleep, your head tilting against his shoulder.

Hotch stopped reading and let out a soft, relieved breath.

There was something about the way you’d fallen asleep on him that felt right, like the world had momentarily shifted.

He could still feel the heat of your hand in his, your fingers intertwined with his in a way that seemed so natural, so unforced.

He glanced down at you, his heart skipping another beat as he watched you sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this connected to someone.

To be fair he did, but still - this felt different.

As you continued to sleep, your breath steady, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold, especially when you woke up and all the anesthesia-induced softness would fade, but for now, he would cherish this quiet moment with you.

It wasn’t long before the door clicked open, and the soft but familiar voices of Rossi and Gideon filled the room. Their footsteps were quiet, as if they were approaching a crime scene instead of the sight before them: you, still fast asleep, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder, your hand loosely clasped in his.

“Everything okay?” Gideon asked, his voice calm but carrying the undercurrent of concern he never had to spell out.

Hotch glanced up, his expression carefully neutral, though the rapid beating of his heart betrayed the calm facade. “Yeah,��� he said as he looked down at you, still peacefully asleep, your breathing soft and even. “She’s fine now.”

Rossi stepped closer, taking in the scene with an exaggerated grin. “Well, well,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes landed on you curled up against Hotch’s shoulder. “Look at this. Aaron Hotchner, human pillow extraordinaire. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Hotch shot him a look, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “She drifted off like that,” he replied, aiming for professionalism but falling short as he glanced back down at you. The way your hand was still loosely intertwined with his wasn’t exactly helping his case.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Drifted off? Sure. But you didn’t exactly move, did you? What’s next, Hotch? Tucking her in?”

“Rossi,” Hotch warned, his tone flat, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Oh, wait!” Rossi’s grin widened as he pointed to the book resting on Hotch’s lap. “You’re already reading her a bedtime story, aren’t you? Nietzsche, no less. Real romantic, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted slightly, careful not to disturb you. “Do you have a point, Dave?”

“My point,” Rossi said, smirking, “is that you’re not fooling anyone. Honestly, it’s kind of adorable.”

Hotch found he much preferred that adjective when it came from your lips - even if it was accompanied by you absolutely roasting him for his pronunciation.

If he had to be humiliated, at least it sounded charming when you did it.

Before Hotch could retort, Gideon cleared his throat, cutting through the humor with a look that immediately sobered the room. “Aaron,” he said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “You’ve been sitting there for hours. Are you alright?”

Hotch stiffened slightly, his composure faltering just enough for the other two men to notice. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the way your head rested on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said, but the faint waver in his voice betrayed him.

Gideon’s gaze didn’t falter, he stepped closer, his tone quiet but resolute. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering down to your sleeping form. “It feels like it was.”

Rossi sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. “Hotch, you didn’t cause this. You got her here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” Hotch murmured, his voice strained. The image of you lying so still, so fragile, flashed through his mind again. He tightened his grip on your hand, as if anchoring himself to the present moment. “If I’d been faster-”

“If you’d been faster, what?” Gideon interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind, cutting through the cloud of guilt that hung over Hotch like a weight. “Do you think you could’ve single-handedly stopped what happened? That you could control the universe?”

Hotch didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as the familiar ache of self-recrimination clawed at him. The words he wanted to say lodged painfully in his throat, and for a moment, the room seemed unbearably heavy.

Gideon sighed, the sharpness in his tone softening into something gentler, more understanding. “Aaron, I need you to hear me. The world is chaos. We do the best we can, but we can’t stop it all. What matters is what you do afterward. And you?” He gestured lightly toward you, still curled against Hotch’s side. “You didn’t give up on her. That’s what counts.”

Rossi chimed in, his voice lighter but no less firm. “And judging by the way she’s practically glued to you right now, I’d say she agrees. So when she wakes up, just let us know. We’ll be out here waiting for updates.”

Hotch managed a faint smile at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rossi noticed, of course, and leaned in slightly, his grin turning into something more genuine. “You know, Aaron, if anyone deserves to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, it’s you. But maybe let her carry a little bit of it for you next time, yeah? I think she’d be more than willing.”

Hotch’s gaze flicked downward to you, still asleep, your hand resting lightly in his. He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

Gideon, sensing the moment, clapped a hand on Rossi’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said with a hint of amusement. “We’re hovering. He doesn’t need two old men breathing down his neck.”

Rossi gave a theatrical sigh, standing up straight and shooting Hotch one last pointed look. “Fine, fine. But for the record, you owe us details later. Especially if this turns into something interesting.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though the faintest twitch of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t you two have better things to do?”

“Paperwork,” Rossi replied with a wink, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Speaking of which…” He stepped closer, holding up two thick stacks of case files. “Yours and hers.”

Hotch blinked, looking at the towering pile in Rossi’s hands. “You brought paperwork now?”

“Of course,” Rossi said, his grin widening. “Why waste time? And before you even think about it, don’t go filling out her share too. I’ll know. Your handwriting’s painfully neat. Dead giveaway.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi raised a hand to cut him off. “Listen, Aaron, I get it. You’re a perfectionist, and you care. But trust me, if you do double the job, she’s going to know you didn’t let her handle her own part. And that? Not a great move. She’d probably chew you out once she’s back on her feet.”

Gideon, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in agreement. “Dave’s right,” he said, his tone calm but pointed. “The last thing she’d want is to be treated like she’s fragile. Like a victim. You know as well as I do, she values her independence. Let her keep that.”

Hotch frowned slightly, glancing down at the files in Rossi’s hands. “I wasn’t planning on treating her like a victim.” he said quietly, though his voice carried the faintest thread of defensiveness.

“I know,” Rossi said, his tone softening just a fraction. “But you’ve got a tendency to overcompensate when you’re worried. It’s not a bad thing, Aaron, it just means you care. A lot. But let her be the one to decide how much help she needs. Alright?”

Hotch glanced between the two men, his expression softening slightly. He knew they were right, but it didn’t make it any easier to sit back and do nothing while you recovered. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low. “But it’s hard not to want to help.”

“And you are helping,” Gideon said, his tone measured. “Just by being here, Aaron. She’ll appreciate that more than you realize.”

Rossi, never one to let a moment stay too heavy, clapped a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “And if you’re feeling too helpful, you can always do my paperwork instead. That’ll keep your hands busy.”

Hotch let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nice try, Rossi.”

Rossi grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, then. Just remember: no doubling up. You’ve got your own pile to deal with.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on the files tightening slightly as he glanced back at you, still peacefully asleep against his shoulder. The softness in your features, the even rhythm of your breathing - it was still a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing you.

The two men turned to leave, but Hotch’s voice stopped them just as they reached the door. “Jason?” he called, his tone quieter now.

Both men paused, glancing back at him. “Yes?” Gideon replied.

“Thank you,” Hotch said simply, his voice carrying a sincerity that didn’t need elaboration. He looked between them, his composure briefly slipping to reveal the depth of his gratitude. “To both of you.”

Gideon gave a small nod, his expression softening. “Anytime, Aaron.”

Rossi smiled, his hand already resting on the doorframe. “Well, come on, Jason,” he said, his tone light as he gestured for Gideon to follow. “Looks like it’s just the two of us now… and all that paperwork.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, their unintended double meaning sinking in. Gideon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Dave,” he said slowly, “you might want to reconsider your phrasing.”

“What?” Rossi asked, genuinely confused for half a second before the implication hit him. A sly grin crept across his face. “Oh, don’t tell me. You think I’m sweet on-”

Gideon held up a hand, cutting him off with a knowing look. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Rossi, undeterred, chuckled as he threw an arm around Gideon’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “Come on, partner,” he said with exaggerated warmth. “Let’s tackle this paperwork together. You know, make it a night to remember.”

Gideon sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep the faintest smirk from tugging at his lips. “Always a charmer, Dave, I’m telling your wife.”

If only you had been awake as well…

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell quiet again. Hotch glanced down at the files in his lap, then at you, still curled against him. He sighed softly, shifting just enough to make sure you were comfortable without waking you.

“Not fragile,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if reminding himself.

His hand brushed lightly against yours, and for a moment, he let himself relax. When you woke, there would so much to talk about, but for now, he was happy to simply be here, knowing you were safe.

--

The soft rhythm of your breathing shifted, and Hotch noticed instantly. His attention snapped to you as your head stirred slightly against his shoulder. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first, but the fog of anesthesia burned away with startling speed.

And then came the realization.

Your head was on his shoulder. 

Your hand was intertwined with his.

The shock hit your face like a lightning bolt, and within seconds, you shot upright, yanking your hand away so fast it was a miracle you didn’t sprain something. You moved like his touch had electrocuted you, a mix of horror and mortification flashing across your features.

“Oh my God.” You sat up even straighter, as though sitting at attention would somehow erase the fact that your entire body had just been resting against his.

Your face flushed a brilliant, almost comical shade of red as you babbled, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, I swear.” You flailed for the blanket, your hands tugging at it as though it were your last line of defense against the crushing humiliation.

Welcome back, Philosopher.

Hotch leaned back slightly, his lips twitching at the sheer drama unfolding in front of him. He hadn’t expected this level of theatrical self-reproach, but honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice far calmer than yours and laced with just the faintest hint of amusement. “You looked comfortable. How are you feeling?”

Comfortable?

You practically gawked at him, your expression hovering somewhere between mortified disbelief and outright horror.

Comfortable?

As if you hadn’t just violated every boundary you thought existed in your professional relationship. The nerve of him, to sit there, completely unfazed, while you were spiraling headfirst into the depths of social hell.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you let out a flustered groan and buried your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms. “This is hell. Feels like I’m stuck in my own infernal loop.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes slightly in a half-hearted attempt at wit. “Waking up on your shoulder, really? I don’t think I was ready to see your face that close first thing when I woke up.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he fought back a grin. “I believe it’s my duty to be the first face you ever see, given that I’m your emergency contact,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “Though, let’s be honest - I’m the one who should be shocked here. Why me and not Peter?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and attempting to brush off his question. “It’s easier for the bureaucracy,” you said breezily, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you. “Definitely nothing sentimental, partner.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, the teasing gleam in his eyes sharpening. “Oh, you were definitely sentimental before, though,” he said, leaning back slightly. “I’ve got the receipts to prove it.”

You groaned, clearly trying to brush past his comment. “Please don’t tell me I started speaking in Slovenian under anesthesia again,” you said, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Hotch’s smirk grew, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh no, even better,” he said smoothly. He tapped the book resting on his lap - Nietzsche for Stressed People - and your eyes immediately widened, horror mixing with bewilderment as you registered the title.

Exactly what he hoped for.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “And that wasn’t even the best part. You told me to read this to you. Begged me, actually.”

Your jaw dropped.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond, your mind grappling with the sheer absurdity of his claim.

Where was all your philosophy now?

Where was your quick wit to rescue you from this intellectual assault?

Finally, you pointed an accusatory finger at the offending book. “This?” you said incredulously, your voice rising in disbelief. “This… oversimplified travesty? I’d sooner join a Nietzschean death cult than beg anyone - especially you - to read that garbage to me!”

Hotch chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction. “Well, you did,” he said smoothly. “And not just once, you were very persistent.”

“Impossible!” you shot back, throwing your hands in the air as if appealing to some invisible jury. “Nietzsche already sounds like a cheap philosopher trying to sell used-car slogans. Why in the world would I beg for an even more watered-down version of his nonsense? And for stress relief?” You pointed at the title again, your disdain palpable.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed, his grin widening with every word. “Your words, not mine,” he said with a shrug. “Though I’ll admit, that’s exactly the reaction I expected from you.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, clearly enjoying himself. “But you did say - and I quote - that my voice was perfect for reading Nietzsche. Something about my consonants having a perfect ‘roughness’”

Your face burned with indignation. “I did not!” you snapped, though the way your voice wavered slightly betrayed a seed of doubt.

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he countered, raising the book in mock triumph. “You were very detailed, in fact. Said the way I said ‘Nietzsche’ - wrong, by the way - sounded so elegant it gave the whole thing a ‘melodic’ quality.”

Your head tilted back in exasperation, and you let out a groan loud enough to echo off the walls. “You’re messing with me. There’s no way I’d stoop so low as to say anything remotely positive about him. Nietzsche,” you added with a flourish of disgust, “is a blowhard hack who built his entire philosophy on misogyny, elitism, and insufferable word salads. He’s the philosophical equivalent of someone saying, ‘Actually,’ at the start of every sentence.”

Hotch burst out laughing, clearly unable to hold it back anymore. “Now that’s the reaction I expected,” he said, his tone smug. “You’re exactly as predictable as I thought.”

Your glare shot to him, sharp enough to cut glass. “Excuse me? Predictable?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a calmness that only further fanned the flames of your indignation. “That’s why I bought this in the first place. I knew it’d drive you up the wall.”

Your jaw fell open again, and for a moment, words failed you - again.

Recovering quickly, you crossed your arms over your chest, your glare sharpening as it zeroed in on him. “Let me get this straight,” you said, your tone deadly serious. “You bought an oversimplified Nietzsche book specifically to irritate me?”

Hotch tilted his head, an expression of exaggerated innocence plastered across his face. “Well,” he said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “I’d say it’s working perfectly.”

“You-” You jabbed a finger in his direction, your cheeks still pink with equal parts embarrassment and fury. “You are a menace, Aaron Hotchner. A calculated menace.”

Hotch smirked, clearly unfazed by the accusation. If anything, he seemed proud of it. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “But you begged me to read it to you,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Which makes you my accomplice.”

You scoffed, practically sputtering as you pointed a defiant finger at the offending book. “I was drugged,” you shot back, your voice dripping with indignation. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I’d been even remotely sober, I’d have burned that thing before letting you read a single word of it.”

Hotch laughed, a deep, warm sound that only served to stoke the fire of your irritation. “Duly noted,” he said, lifting the book slightly before setting it aside with deliberate care. “But it’s staying on my desk. You know, just in case you find yourself needing a little Nietzsche to calm you down.”

Your eyes narrowed further, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “If you think I’m letting this slide, you’ve got another thing coming. Prepare yourself for some German existentialism. I’ll quote Heidegger so much you’ll start questioning the meaning of every chair in your office.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hotch replied smoothly, his smirk widening. “In fact, I might even get the audiobook version next time. I hear it’s narrated by someone with a particularly ‘buttery’ voice.”

You let out an exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands as if that would shield you from the relentless teasing. “This is a nightmare. I knew it was hell the second I woke up on your shoulder.”

“And yet,” Hotch said, his voice light and thoroughly amused, “here you are, still stuck with me. It must be fate.”

You dropped your hands just enough to shoot him a glare, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed you. “Fate is a lousy matchmaker, you’re lucky I don’t have the strength to leave right now.” you muttered.

Hotch chuckled again, leaning back in his chair with the kind of smug satisfaction that could make you want to throw the nearest Nietzsche book at him. “Then maybe Nietzsche was right,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

You grimaced, practically recoiling at the words. “Don’t you dare quote him at me,” you snapped, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Your lips twitched, betraying the amusement you were desperately trying to suppress. “Nails on a chalkboard. Please, anything else.”

“Anything?” Hotch’s eyebrow arched, and the glint in his eyes made your stomach drop. He leaned forward slightly, his tone dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, Y/N, when will you learn technicalities are important? So, should I start with the part where you told me I was ‘handsome’, multiple times?!”

Your gasp was so dramatic it could’ve earned you a standing ovation.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you stared at him in mock horror. “I’d never,” you declared with as much conviction as you could muster. But the way your voice wavered, tinged with panic, made your denial sound a little less convincing.

“Oh, I wish I were making it up,” Hotch said, his grin widening like a cat toying with its prey. “But no, you were full of compliments. Called me handsome. Adorable. Pretty. Charming. And…” He paused for effect, his voice dropping lower. “Said you loved lawyers. It was probably the anesthesia,” he said, laughing openly now, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “But whatever the reason, it was very… entertaining.”

You let out a long, exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands like it could shield you from his teasing. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” you muttered, your voice muffled but still filled with resignation.

“Not a chance,” Hotch said, his tone entirely too cheerful for your liking. He leaned back in his chair, clearly reveling in your misery. “But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful, this time.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, your eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut steel. “Merciful?” you repeated skeptically. “Oh, forgive me, Your Honor, for I didn’t realize mocking me relentlessly counted as mercy.”

“It’s all about perspective,” Hotch replied smoothly, shrugging as if it were the most reasonable explanation in the world. “Besides, you’re a Nietzschean now. Surely you can handle the struggle.”

Your groan was so loud it could’ve registered on the Richter scale. “This,” you said, pointing at him with an overly dramatic flourish, “is exactly why nobody should ever trust a lawyer.”

“And yet,” he shot back without missing a beat, his grin unfaltering, “you declared your love for one. Repeatedly.”

You groaned again, dragging your hands down your face like they could somehow erase the memory of his words. The faintest twitch of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and of course, Hotch noticed. His smirk deepened, that maddening glint in his eyes growing sharper.

“Face it,” he said, leaning forward just enough for his voice to drop into that infuriatingly calm and self-assured tone. “You adore me, Nietzsche and all.”

“God help me,” you muttered, shaking your head in defeat. “This is actually worse than Nietzsche.”

“God is dead,” he replied smoothly, quoting Nietzsche again, his smirk growing impossibly smug.

Your eyes narrowed, and you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you mimicked his tone. “You know,” you began, your voice dripping with faux seriousness, “with all this quoting and smug superiority, maybe you should just replace me as the official philosopher of the BAU. Who needs my PhD when we’ve got you, Nietzsche Jr.?”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not a chance, Philosopher,” he replied, his voice steady and full of amusement. “You’re irreplaceable. But I do appreciate the suggestion, it’s nice to know you recognize my potential.”

“Oh, I recognize something, alright,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “And it’s not potential. It’s your very lawyerly ability to twist anything into a win for yourself.”

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned at you. “Call it a skill set,” he said smoothly. “You’re just mad because you’ve spent months trying to out-argue me, and here I am, quoting Nietzsche to your dismay.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, though a muffled laugh escaped you despite your best efforts. “Hell isn’t fire and brimstone. It’s you with Nietzsche.”

Hotch laughed softly, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softened, replaced with something warmer. “Not hell, Philosopher,” he said, his tone dipping into something quieter, gentler. “Just your partner keeping you grounded.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t stop the reluctant laugh that slipped out. It was infuriating, it was exasperating, and it was absolutely, unmistakably Hotch. “Grounded, huh? More like dragging me into an existential crisis.”

“Exactly,” he said, his smirk returning. “That’s what partners are for.” He saw your eyes drifted to the side table, landing on the rather ominous pile of paperwork stacked neatly to the side.

“What is that?” you asked, your tone a perfect blend of suspicion and exasperation, though you already knew the answer.

Hotch followed your gaze, his smirk returning like clockwork. “Ah, that,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the stack. “Your welcome-back gift from Rossi and Gideon. They wanted to make sure you didn’t feel left out.”

You let out an exaggerated groan and let your head fall back against the pillow. “Apparently, everyone just loves me,” you said, dripping with sarcasm. “What a touching display of affection. Truly heartwarming, nothing says ‘we’re glad you’re alive’ like a mountain of bureaucracy.”

Hotch chuckled, reaching for the stack and flipping open the top folder with mock seriousness. “Oh, look at this,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing edge. “An incident report… about you. How poetic. You should be flattered, not everyone gets their own paperwork pile.”

You glared at him, though it lacked any real venom. “Flattered? Please. If they loved me so much, they’d have done it for me.”

“Careful,” Hotch said, raising an eyebrow and holding the folder in front of him like a weapon. “Say another word, and I’ll fill out every single one of these on your behalf.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror. “Don’t you dare,” you shot back, pointing a warning finger at him. “I’d rather suffer through it myself than let you turn it into some twisted legal thesis.”

He shrugged, his smirk growing. “I don’t know… my reports do get glowing reviews from the higher-ups.”

You groaned again, dramatically draping your arm over your eyes. “Let me at least pretend to be a martyr for five minutes,” you said with a heavy sigh, your free hand resting over your heart. “Sacrificed at the altar of documentation.”

Hotch laughed, setting the folder back on the stack as he leaned back in his chair. “Noted. I’ll make sure to let everyone know how valiantly you suffered,” he teased. Then, softening slightly, he added, “But don’t be too proud to ask for help. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

The banter faded into a comfortable silence, the room settling into a peaceful lull. You glanced at him then, your eyes softening as you spoke. “Thanks for staying, Hotch,” you said quietly, the humor fading from your tone. “I mean it. I know you didn’t have to.”

His smirk softened, replaced by an expression of quiet sincerity. “It was the least I could do,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

You noticed the way his gaze dropped slightly, his dark eyes avoiding yours as he stared at his hands resting on his lap. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with raw emotion.

“You really scared me,” he admitted, the words landing heavier than you expected. “You… you were actually dead for a few moments.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he tried to steady himself. “I couldn’t bear the thought of all your endless research, all your questions, just… stopping. With all those answers left unspoken.”

Your chest tightened, your heart aching at the weight of his words. “Aaron…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head, the faintest trace of a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay now,” he said quietly, his voice steady but betraying a thickness that hinted at unshed tears. “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

Your throat tightened as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he interrupted gently, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. There was something raw and unguarded in his gaze, damp but steady, holding a depth of emotion that left you momentarily breathless.

The silence between you lingered for a moment, heavy but never uncomfortable. Then, Hotch tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied you. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate, “did you get any answers?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Slowly, you shook your head. “No,” you admitted, your tone calm despite the weight of the subject. “But that’s okay. It’s never about the answers.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his curiosity evident as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low, his focus entirely on you.

“It’s about the questions,” you explained, your voice slipping into that familiar, thoughtful tone he recognized so well, the one you used when you were diving headfirst into your work. “Philosophy doesn’t give you answers. In fact, it doesn’t even try.”

That sounded like hell to him, but maybe if you were there by his side he might even start to enjoy the process.

You paused, your gaze softening as you looked at him. “Philosophy makes you challenge the question itself, as if asking, ‘Why are you even asking this? Is this the right question to begin with?’ It’s not about solving the puzzle at all. It’s about the act of puzzling over it. That’s where the beauty is.”

Hotch sat back, his dark eyes searching yours, a quiet understanding dawning in his expression. He let out a soft breath, his lips curving into a small, reflective smile. “That sounds exhausting,” he said, though his tone was warm, almost teasing.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s not, really. It’s liberating. Answers are… final. But questions? They keep you moving forward. They keep you alive.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before lifting to meet yours again. “I think I get it,” he said quietly. “But I don’t know if I could handle that kind of uncertainty. I like knowing where things stand.”

“Which is why you’re a lawyer,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Everything has to fit into neat little boxes for you, doesn’t it?”

Hotch smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shook his head. “And you’re the philosopher, questioning if there’s even a box standing there in the first place.”

You both chuckled, the shared laughter easing some of the tension that had lingered between you. For a moment, it felt lighter, like the weight of the day was finally starting to lift.

But then Hotch’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. “You know,” he said slowly, “you’re my emergency contact too.”

You blinked, his words sinking in as you studied his face, the sincerity in his dark eyes leaving no room for doubt. “I am?” you asked softly, the playful edge in your voice replaced by something gentler.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. For a long time now.”

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling inside you - gratitude, surprise, and something warmer, something that made your heart skip a beat. Did he feel the same way you did? “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s faint smile widened, and a teasing glint sparked in his eyes. “I didn’t think I needed to,” he replied, leaning back slightly as if savoring the moment. “You know, it was easier for the bureaucracy.”

Your jaw dropped, and you immediately narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the echo of your own words thrown back at you. “Oh, very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did you seriously just use my own line against me?”

He tilted his head slightly, his grin growing. “It felt appropriate,” he said, his tone light but carrying a warmth that made it impossible to stay annoyed. “After all, I figured it wasn’t anything sentimental, partner.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fought to keep the smile from breaking through. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“Only when they’re warranted,” he replied smoothly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And in my defense, it was a good line.”

“You know, repurposing my own words isn’t clever, it’s derivative,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You might think it’s witty, but all you’ve done is recycle my brilliance.”

His smirk grew, and he tilted his head as if considering your argument. “Recycling brilliance is still brilliance,” he countered, his tone as smooth as ever. “And technically, isn’t philosophy itself just building on the ideas of others? Derivative by nature, wouldn’t you say?”

Your mouth opened, ready to retort, but you paused, narrowing your eyes. “That’s different,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Philosophy is about expanding thought, not reusing it to make bad jokes.”

“Bad jokes?” he repeated, feigning offense as his eyebrows lifted. “I thought it was an excellent joke. Besides, I was a prosecutor. I could hold you on this point for days.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him as determination flared in your chest. “Hold me for days, huh? Well, let’s see if you can hold up under the weight of your own flawed logic,” you challenged, sitting up straighter. “Philosophy is about questioning assumptions, not recycling them. Your little quip? It’s not expansion, it’s plagiarism.”

Hotch’s smirk deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I disagree,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “Philosophy thrives on reinterpretation. Every great thinker - Plato, Aristotle, Kant, even your best friend Hegel - they all built on the work of those who came before them. I’d say my adaptation of your words follows a long tradition of intellectual discourse.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he’d turned your own argument against you. “That’s a stretch,” you countered, though your voice lacked some of its earlier confidence. “Using my words to make fun of me isn’t ‘intellectual discourse.’ It’s… petty.”

“Petty?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Or pragmatic? You’re a formidable opponent, why wouldn’t I use the strongest tools at my disposal?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you scrambled for a counterpoint. “That’s - no. That’s not the same as reinterpreting philosophical ideas! You didn’t add anything meaningful to the conversation. You just-”

“Turned your own logic on itself?” he finished for you, his smirk widening. “Exactly. Which is precisely the point of Socratic questioning. To challenge and destabilize assumptions. Seems to me I’m following your philosophical playbook perfectly.”

Since when did he know about Socratic dialectics?

You let out a frustrated huff, leaning back against the bed as you glared at him. “You’re twisting the argument.”

“I’m clarifying it,” he corrected smoothly. “You said repurposing ideas isn’t clever. I countered by showing that reinterpretation is the foundation of philosophical thought. You might not like the application, but the principle holds.”

You groaned, throwing your hands up in frustration. “That is not the same thing! Philosophy expands understanding, it doesn’t... lower the bar for comedy.”

“Are you saying I lowered the bar?” he asked, feigning hurt. “Because I distinctly recall you smiling at my ‘derivative brilliance’ earlier.”

“That was pity,” you retorted quickly, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Pity or not, it counts,” he said smoothly, sitting back with a satisfied look. “And for the record, your counterargument so far has been entirely ad hominem. If we were in court, you’d be losing.”

“Court isn’t real life, Hotchner,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Out here, people care about substance, not legal technicalities.”

“Substance?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “You’re defending philosophy, an entire field built on debating the substance of things that may or may not exist. Meanwhile, I’ve just proven that my joke exists and has substance because it elicited a response from you. Case closed.”

Your mouth opened, a retort forming on your lips, but nothing came out. His argument was airtight, and you hated how much sense it made. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“And yet,” he replied, leaning back with a triumphant grin, “you keep debating me. What does that say?”

“That I’m persistent,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Not that you’re right.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head with that maddeningly self-assured smile. “Persistent, sure. But right? Absolutely. Even you can’t argue with the strength of my logic.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your hands in the air in mock surrender. “Fine, you win this round. But don’t get used to it.”

“I’m already used to it,” he replied with a smirk that practically radiated smugness. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep giving you chances to catch up. It’s the least I can do.”

You pointed at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much, Hotchner.”

“Of course I am,” he shot back, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not every day I get to witness you admitting defeat.”

“Admitting defeat?” you scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Please. This is just a tactical retreat. You know, like when a general steps back to regroup before utterly annihilating the competition.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like a full surrender.”

“You’re unbelievable, Aaron,” you muttered, shaking your head, though the laugh bubbling up from your chest betrayed your irritation. “Unbelievably infuriating.”

“And yet,” he countered, his tone smooth, “you keep coming back for more. What does that say?”

“That I have the patience of a saint,” you replied without missing a beat, grinning despite yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening just a fraction, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “Or that you secretly enjoy this just as much as I do,” he said, his voice dipping slightly. “Admit it, Y/N - it’s never dull with me around.”

You scoffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine, you’re entertaining in a ‘lawyerly’ kind of way. But don’t get a big head.”

“Oh, too late for that,” Hotch teased, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “But don’t worry, I’ll leave room for you to catch up in the next debate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to keep me on my toes.”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into a warm smile. “What can I say? You make it fun, partner.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

AAAAAAA FUN FACT - 'Nietzsche for Stressed People' is a foreshadowing for 'Hegel For Dummies' in the next chapter

[perfectlyoongi]

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who showed up at your door when he arrived from a new tour — what happiness could Yoongi have if you, the cause of all the light in the world, weren’t with him?

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who held the cup of coffee you offered him with trembling hands. Yoongi’s heart was racing; no matter how many shows or interviews he’s been through, Yoongi has never felt so nervous, so anxious as he did that night. thinking of so many words, creating different sentences, Yoongi’s mind worked incessantly, peppering each thought with the memory of comfortable silences with you. how was Yoongi supposed to ask you for forgiveness when your breakup was mutual? how was Yoongi supposed to say he missed you when he promised he would forget you, for both of your sake? how was Yoongi supposed t—

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who drinks the coffee with hope in his hands. you opened the door. you invited Yoongi in. you were sitting by Yoongi’s side. you were silent, in a silence that was shared for eternities. you were here. and here was Yoongi too. was it out of pity? no. Yoongi knew you would never give him hope if you didn’t feel it. hope. the coffee was hot, but what comforted Yoongi was this feeling, this thought. a thought that maybe, in a very slim chance, you opened the door to invite Yoongi back into your life. yes. Yoongi needed to have hope. and now, looking at you, as nervous as him, as tired as him, as broken as him, Yoongi knew. Yoongi turned that hope into certainty, because he knew you and knew what your action really meant.

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who simply says “i love you”.

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who felt the world move again when you smiled and repeated the same words. you cast a spell on Yoongi the day you left, a spell that stopped everything in Yoongi’s life except his longing for you. and now, you cast a new spell, a spell that made the world spin, the flowers bloom, the birds sing. you yourself were magic. as if sent by the stars, your words danced a long-rehearsed waltz in Yoongi’s heart. you opened the door. you said it. you still loved Yoongi. and it was with the heat of passion that Yoongi took your hand in his and brought your foreheads together. noses gently brushing against each other, eliciting small, shy smiles from you and Yoongi. and, when he placed his other hand on your cheek, caressing your face, Yoongi swore he came back to life at that exact moment. “i knew it. i knew perfectly well that our story couldn’t end like that. you and i, my love, we were made to love each other.”

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who spends the night at your house without being able to sleep. Yoongi was no longer used to his heart beating. Yoongi was no longer used to breathing without any difficulty. Yoongi was no longer used to feeling alive. how could Yoongi sleep if you were next to him, leaning against him, with your head on his chest? how could Yoongi sleep if reality finally made him happier than his dreams? finally you. three mere words from you were enough to paint Yoongi with hopeful and tender colors. how incredible it was to live in that world now that the word ‘love’ was no longer the stone that Yoongi carried in his heart — light and graceful, the word ‘love’ now floated in Yoongi with the certainty that it would forever dance inside him. “since we broke up, i’ve never been able to get a night’s sleep. i’m exhausted. completely defeated by sleepless nights. but with you here, with you by my side, any fatigue in me is transformed. any feeling i may feel now is transformed. in love. in pure love.”

SECOND-CHANCE!YOONGI who promises you an eternity of love, in this life and in any others to come. now that he had you back, now that he saw, and felt, what it was like to live a life without you. no. Yoongi didn’t live during the time you two were apart. Yoongi just existed. day after day, Yoongi existed, always forcing himself to finish the day, always hoping that you would come back. and you came back. here and now. and Yoongi promised, Yoongi swore, that he would do everything in his power to never lose you again. you were the life that existed inside Yoongi and he will never let you go again. you will forever be his. he will forever be yours. your souls will forever unite in a bond of destiny that was unbreakable no matter how many eternities pass. “you are the breath of life that i need to stay here. losing you means dying. and, love, the devil itself would have to imprison me in hell, for i would come back from the flames of hell to consume you once again with the flame of our love.”

[scribblesofagoonerr]

first christmas | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: the first part of the flash back to buddy & monkey's first christmas.

double the trouble masterlist

“Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful,” Jordan sang the song lyrics aloud as you were forced into a shopping trip with Leah and Jordan, and a 7 month old Buddy, who seemed most fascinated in the lights and decorations draped around the shop, “Since we’ve no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

“I’m bored,” You felt like you’d already voiced your opinion a few times, but both the older girls seemed too distracted by the Christmas decorations to notice your disinterest in the shopping experience, “How much longer do we gotta be here for?”

Christmas was known to be a festive time, it was supposed to be filled with magical memories and joyous fun, however for you, the past had always been the complete opposite.

Growing up, all you’ve ever known is a bleak Christmas day in a cold and mould infested house, with numerous beer cans strewn around while the stale smell of cigarettes lingered in the air.

So your version of Christmas? It was nothing but plain hell.

You knew this year would be different though, of course, in your new home. It’s the only topic Leah’s been talking about since the beginning of November, so you’re confident to think that the blonde is definitely planning to go all out this Christmas.

Which led you to where you are currently standing in the Christmas aisle in a busy shop, and you were growing bored, increasingly fast.

“Why are you all mopey, little one?” Jordan was the first to notice your complete disinterest in the Christmas decorations.

What was so special about these decorations, anyways?

“I’m bored. When can we go home?” You complained one more time, darting your interest to something completely different - Lego, bingo. Now that was fun!

“Got something better to do, huh?” Leah teased as she turned to look at you.

You shrugged your shoulders in response, “I got homework to finish, and a game of Fifa I wanna play as well.”

“Since when do you willingly do homework?” Jordan joked, nudging you playfully with a grin.

“Since, uh, now… I’m bored here, can we please go home?” You all but attempted to plead, you were bored out of your brains right now at that very moment.

Jordan chuckled in amusement and gently patted your shoulder, “Just a bit longer, little one.”

You resisted the urge to throw your head back and groan aloud. Why do people actually like to shop? It’s so… dull.

“I think we might need to get a new tree this year, you know? We’re due a new one, and maybe some decorations to go on it–” Leah rambled on, her excitement for the new tradition this year. “Oh, and the baubles! We need to get new ones’ for both the girls this year,” 

“Whatever you want to do love,  it’s fine with me,” Jordan agreed with the blonde before she turned back around to look at you, “Have you decided what type of advent calendar you want this year, little one?”

You arched your brow in confusion, “What’s an advent calendar?”

“Well, it’s a chocolate in a calendar, pretty much… And look, they even have ones’ that are Shrek themed as well! How cools’ that?”

“I… I don’t get it,” You murmured, still confused about the idea of it.

“During the 24 day run up to Christmas from the 1st of the month, you get to open a window each morning with something behind it, normally chocolate,” Leah took over explaining to you,  “If you don’t want chocolate then there’s other options of what you could get?” She suggested.

“Um, I… I do like chocolate,” You were apprehensive to agree, you did kind of want one but you didn’t want Leah and Jordan to go out of their way and buy you one, “But it’s okay, I don’t need one of them. I’ve never had one before, I don’t need one now.” You told them.

You’ve never needed one before, so why do you need one now?

You never understood the tradition of advent calendars. You were never lucky enough– no scratch that, you never even attempted to ask your dad for one, despite how much the other kids at your school would boast about them.

What was so good about one of them anyways?

Jordan, however, seemed very insistent for you to pick one up though, even with your reluctance to disagree, “Little one, you need to have one. It’s a tradition.”

“No, no, I don’t. I’m fine,” You repeated, shaking your head, “I don’t need one of them.”

“But you have to have one, little one. Oh, what about a sweet one instead? You like them, don’t you?” Jordan’s eyes widened in excitement, pointing her index finger in the direction of one designed with sweets, “I’m pretty sure there’s even a crisp one as well!”

“No, it’s okay. I really don’t want one,” You continued to insist on not wanting a calendar, much to Jordan’s continuous insistence that you needed one.

Jordan shook her head at your response, “Nonsense, I’m not having it– I’m getting you one of them,” Without further words, she proceeded to grab the one with the Shrek design on it and tossed it in the shopping trolley in front of her, “You can’t go without one, not on my watch, little one.” She joked, although you couldn’t help but feel bad about you having it though.

It’s something you weren’t entirely used to, you didn’t know how to react when people brought you stuff.

“Le,” You whined, looking at Leah with a somewhat pleading look with a bit of hope that she would jump in and help you out, “Tell her. Please.”

“Jord, calm down a bit love,” Leah told her girlfriend with a soft tone of voice, sharing a knowing look with her, before she turned back to you, “I think Jords’ just excited for you to have one and share this experience, my girl.” She explained gently.

You shook your head in protest against the idea, “I don’t want one, I don’t need one. Save the money, save it for something else!”

“Little one, it’s not going to break the bank,” Jordan snorted in amusement, failing to see that you were beginning to get worked up over it, “It’s just an advent calendar.”

“I don’t deserve one,” Your bottom lip trembled, your hands began to become shaky and you could feel your breath getting rigid.

Jordan furrowed her eyebrow in confusion, “What’re you talking about? Everyone deserves an advent calendar, little one.”

“I don’t. I’m nothing but a menace, I’ve not been doing well at school… I got into a fight with a kid,” You began to stutter your words, feeling yourself getting upset by such a silly little thing.

“Menace or not, you still deserve an advent calendar, and you’re not going to change my mind on the matter, little one,” Jordan continued to insist, not realising how you’d become a lot more stiff about things.

“I don’t… I don’t want one!” You exclaimed, feeling all the emotions inside you get too much, as Leah and Jordan both pause and look at you in concern, “I… I don’t want one!” You repeated, barely louder than a whisper.

Leah seemed to understand straight away as she gestured for Jordan to watch Buddy before she moved to stand in front of you, “Hey, breathe,” She told you in a calm and gentle tone of voice, “It’s okay, you’re okay. How about me and you go stand outside, and get a bit of air, yeah?”

You nodded hesitantly in agreement, “O… Okay.”

“Alright, come on then, my girl,” Leah murmured, gently wrapping her arm around your waist as she guided you out of the busy shop to stand outside, “Just copy me okay? In and out, in and out…”

You followed her instructions and began to slowly feel the overwhelm start to drift.

“Is that better now?” Leah questioned, genuinely concerned as she rested her hand on your shoulder.

“A bit,” You told her quietly in agreement, “I… I’m sorry for having a meltdown in the shop, I didn’t mean to do that. I… I’m sorry for my outburst.”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologise, alright? It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” Leah reassured you, pulling you in towards her as she enveloped her arms around you, “If you really don’t want to have an advent calendar either then that’s okay, I think Jord was just getting a bit excited and she wants you to experience the things that you haven’t before…” She held you close, her hands gently rubbing your back as she whispered soothing reassurances.

“I just… I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” You murmured, your voice muffled against Leah’s coat, “It’s just chocolate.”

“I know, my girl,” Leah replied softly, using her own nickname for you that comforted you the most, “But well, it’s not really about the chocolate, though. It’s more about the memories that we’re going to make instead. It’s about creating new traditions for you, me, Buddy, and Jords as well.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, processing her words that Leah always had a way of making things sound less daunting, like they weren’t as overwhelming as they felt.

“I don’t wanna waste money though,” You mumbled, still hesitant, “You already plan to spend so much on me, and Buddy as well as Christmas decorations…”

Leah pulled back slightly to look at you with her eyes full of understanding, “Listen to me, my girl,” She said with a gentle firmness, “This isn’t about money, alright? It’s about showing you how much you’re loved, and that you are a part of this family. You deserve nice things, just like Buddy does, and you deserve to feel the magic of Christmas, even if it’s new to you.”

“I… I don’t know what to think,” You admitted, as your bottom lip wobbled again, and you ducked your head, hiding your face. 

Leah cupped your cheeks gently, coaxing you to look at her, “I know it’s hard to accept sometimes,” She said, her voice a whisper, “But Jords and I love you so much, and we want to do this for you. Can you let us? Just this once?”

You hesitated, then gave her a small nod in agreement, “Okay, but only if it’s not too expensive,”

“Atta girl,” Leah smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It won’t be. I think that Jords’ might be more excited about the fact there’s a Shrek one for you.” She teased, her tone light and affectionate.

You pouted, “Can we go home now?”

Leah laughed, draping an arm around your shoulder as she steered you back inside, “Patience my girl, patience.”

“Yeah, Le’s still got the rest of the aisle to ogle over,” Jordan joked, catching the tail end of the conversation, and exchanged a quick glance with Leah, checking if you were feeling better.

“Urgh, but it’s so boring! They’re all the same, aren’t they? I’m flippin’ bored!” You groaned dramatically, bouncing back to your chaotic self like you hadn’t just had an outburst ten minutes prior to being back in the shop.

Leah chuckled and took over pushing Buddy in her pushchair again, “We won’t be much longer.”

“Ugh,” You huffed, wandering over to a shelf of toys where your curiosity piqued, “What does this do?”

Jordan turned around to see what you were talking about and smiled in amusement, “Press it and find out.”

“Okay then…” You furrowed her eyebrow in confusion, reaching forward and pressing the button as the music blared aloud, and in the process making you jump half a mile, “Jesus– Oh my God. That was scary!” You exclaimed, holding your hand over your heart.

Jordan burst out laughing at your reaction, while Buddy seemed to find great amusement in the music at least, “Made you jump, huh?” She teased.

“Shut up,” You grumbled, though your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, “Do people actually like these things?”

“So, I take it you don’t want one, then?” Leah teased.

“No!” You were quick to exclaim, “Absolutely not. Not a single chance!” You were dead set against the idea of one, even if Buddy seemed to really like the music.

“Are you sure?” Jordan joked.

“I’m positive. Nope, I definitely don’t want one of them!” You insisted, firm on your decision as you were just relieved it stopped playing the music, much to Buddy’s disappointment instead.

Leah pointed to a display of stockings nearby, her eyes lighting up, “Oh, look at these! How adorable are they?” She was in awe over them as she turned to look in Jordan’s direction, “We have to get them. All four of us can match!”

“They’re cute,” Jordan agreed.

“That’s settled then. We’re getting them,” Leah didn’t hesitate to quickly rummage through and find the correct initials for all of you before placing them in the ever-growing shopping trolley, “What do you want for Christmas this year, my girl? You need to start and think, so you can make your list out for Santa.”

You tilted your head, “Santa?”

“Yeah, you know– the man in red and white who brings you presents,” Jordan explained, throwing her arm around your shoulder and steering you in the direction of more Christmas decorations.

You frowned, “Well the kids’ at school talked about him, but he never visited my house– Does he only visit special houses?”

Leah’s smile faltered briefly, “Uh, I think he might’ve been stuck getting in the house.”

“Oh,” You murmured in realisation, “Well, me and this ‘Santa’ have personal beef then.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leah’s eyes widened and she tried to lean in to Jordan and whisper, “Remind me to hold her back when we take them to visit the grotto,” She was almost certain that you might attempt to try and fight the man.

Jordan snorted, “Noted.”

“I don’t like this Santa fella,” You declared.

“Right then,” Leah began to speak as her gaze softened, “How about you have a think what you would like for Christmas, write it down and then you can give it to one of us instead. How does that sound?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “But I won’t want anything though.”

Jordan frowned, “You have to have presents to open on Christmas day, little one. You can’t not have anything to open.”

“Why? I don’t get it,” Your voice softened, the usual spark dimming as confusion flickered over your face, “It’s never happened before.”

Jordan hesitated, her eyes darting to Leah for help, “Well…because it’s Christmas, and everyone deserves them on this very special day.”

“I… I still don't understand,” You murmured, your voice quieter now, “I’ve never received them before. Why hasn’t he come before? Was I really that bad?”

Leah crouched down in front of you, her gaze steady and full of warmth, “No, Monkey, you weren’t bad. Not even a little bit.”

You frowned, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively, “Then why now? Did I do something to deserve them this year?”

“You don’t need to do something to deserve them, my girl,” Leah reached out, gently taking your hands in hers, “I think Jords’ might’ve worded that a bit wrong.”

“Yeah,” Jordan admitted, stretching the back of her neck awkwardly and unsure what exactly to say next in case she messed up again, “Sorry, little one.”

You looked between them, still uncertain about a lot of things, “Oh.. Okay then.”

Leah’s lips quirked into a playful smile, “It’s just nice to receive them from Santa, you know? This year we’ll leave out milk and cookies for him, maybe even a carrot for Rudolph, and then when you’re asleep, he’ll come and pay a visit. So when we wake up on Christmas morning there’ll be presents waiting under the tree, just for you.”

“Wait… Whos’ Rudolph, and why is he getting a carrot? That’s lame!” You exclaimed, trying to keep up with the different names’ that you’re very unfamiliar with, “Why isn’t he getting cookies? That’s not really fair, is it?”

“Rudolph is one of Santa’s reindeers that helps him fly his sleigh,” Leah chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, “He’ll need a healthy snack as well, he can’t eat cookies like Santa.”

Your brow furrowed as the skepticism creeped in, “This Santa fella sounds like a creep still…”

Jordan laughed and shook her head, “He’s not, little one. He’s just… magical. It's part of the fun.”

You kept your arms crossed, not entirely convinced about things, “Yeah, I’m not convinced much there but whatever you say,” You told them both, “I’m still mad at him for not showing up until now though.”

“This tree is perfect,” Leah beamed a wide smile as she stood there with her hands on her hips as she admired the brand new tree standing in the corner of the living room, “I can’t wait to decorate it!”

“Are you sure that you want to put it up already?” Jordan questioned, raising an eyebrow, “It’s only the middle of November.”

“It’s never too early for Christmas, Jord,” Leah replied confidently.

“Are you sure about that?” Jordan teased, admiring the way that her girlfriend stood there beaming with pride.

“I’m sure! The house is going to look so magical when it’s all done, and it’s going to be great for both of our girls,” Leah turned towards you, her smile softening, “Do you want to help me decorate the tree, my girl?”

You hesitated, shifting awkwardly, “Do I have to?”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but it might be fun,” Leah suggested in a gentle tone of voice, “We can even put your special bauble on there that we brought, can’t we?”

Jordan snorted in amusement from across the room, “Remember how much fun this is when our 7 month old is trying to pull all the lights and baubles off the tree, eh?” She teased.

“Don’t be a Grinch, Jord,” Leah shot back, playfully as she stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend.

You tilted your head curiously, “What’s a Grinch?”

There was a short collective gasp from both Leah and Jord, “He’s only the best character in one of the greatest Christmas films!” Jordan exclaimed, “We can watch it if you want?”

Leah laughed at Jordan’s reaction, “It’s a bit too early for Christmas films, don’t you think?” She teased in response to earlier.

Jordan scoffed, “Oh, really? Says’ the one who wants to put the tree up already!” She pointed a finger at you and Leah dramatically, “We’re watching The Grinch. No arguments. It’s for educational purposes.”

“Whatever you say. Just as long as you don’t complain about me putting the tree up then,” Leah responded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“You can go ahead and put the tree up, me and our girls are going to watch the movie,” Jordan instructed, wasting no time to turn the TV on and sought out the film to watch.

“I think Buddy’s more interested in the lights,” Leah retorted, watching Buddy, who was currently mesmerized by the dangling, twinkling lights draped across the tree as her tiny hands tried to reach out for them, determined to grab them, “No, no. Those aren’t for you to pull on, bubba.” She said, scooping Buddy into her arms before she could cause too much mischief.

Jordan smirked in amusement, “Oh, I give it a week before she’s trying to pull the baubles off the tree.”

“No way,” Leah gently kissed Buddy’s forehead, “Those aren’t for you to pull on, bubba. Mummy’s trying to decorate the tree so it’ll be all pretty. You just like looking at them, don’t you, huh?”

Buddy babbled happily in response, making Leah and Jordan both laugh.

“Let me take her so you can finish the rest of the tree,” Jordan offered, scooping Buddy into her arms and pressing a gentle kiss on top of her forehead, “I don’t blame her for being so mesmerized, you’ve made it look wonderful already, love.”

“Thanks, babe,” Leah murmured, exchanging a gentle kiss on the lips with Jordan, “Monkey,” She called over to you gently as you sat curled up on the sofa with your head buried in your phone, “Are you sure you don’t want to come and help decorate the rest of the tree? There’s still a fair bit to go.”

“Oh, uh, no… no, I’m alright,” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting nervously, “I’d probably just end up messing it up or something.”

Leah moved closer to you, “You won’t mess it up, my girl. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ve never decorated a tree before though,” You admitted, looking down while your voice is barely audible, “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leah’s heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, she moved to sit beside you and pulled a box of baubles closer, “Everyone has to start somewhere, right? How about this? You take the special baubles we picked out for you and choose a place for them on the tree. You can make it your own.”

“Are you sure?” You continued to look at Leah hesitantly.

Leah smiled warmly, “I’m positive, my girl. Come on, let’s do it together.”

Tentatively, you picked up a shiny bauble with your name etched on it. With Leah by your side, you found a perfect spot on the tree and carefully hung it on the branch, “Is this okay?”

“There we go,” Leah said proudly, stepping back to admire your work, “Hey, that looks amazing. Nice one, my girl!” She said as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you lightly.

"How much longer do we have to wait in this line now?" You grumbled, your impatience getting the better of you as you fidgeted in your spot, "It feels like we've been here forever!"

Another tradition you couldn't fathom was the idea of going to pay a visit to Santa at his grotto, but you were, standing in a line with Leah, Jordan, Buddy and Amanda, who'd decided to join the trip to experience the magical moment of Buddy meeting Santa for the first time.

The line to Santa's grotto stretched endlessly, or at least so it felt like it to you, and you couldn't help but continue to fidget impatiently while standing beside Leah, "Patience, my girl." She reassured you, knowingly.

"This is our Monkey we're talking about. I don't think she has patience," Jordan joked, peering up from looking at her phone, amused by your grumbles.

Amanda gave you an amused smile, bouncing a bundled up Buddy in her arms, "We're almost at the front now, Monkey."

You huffed, glancing ahead at the entrance of the grotto, "Why're they so small?" You speak your mind without a second thought, gesturing to the small people, dressed in bright costumes, bustling around, "Those little people are kinda low-key terrifying." Their cheerful movement only made your expression sour further.

"They're called Elves, Monkey," Jordan said, stifling her laughter.

You squinted, still not entirely convinced, "I don't care what they are called, they're still freaky," You muttered, "Are people actually that small?"

"Monkey!" Leah hissed, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper, though her lip twitched in amusement, "You can't say things like that, don't be rude."

"But I'm not bein' rude, I'm just bein' honest," You argued, gesturing dramatically towards said elves, "They are tiny though, right? Like, freakishly small!"

"Stop it," Leah shot you a warning look.

Amanda cleared her throat, clearly fighting back her own laughter, "So, do you know what you're going to ask Santa for this year, Monkey?" She asked, steering the conversation in another direction, and trying to get some inkling of what you would like.

"Hell nah, there's no way I am tellin' that creep what I want," You told her firmly, crossing your arms your chest, "Amanda! Did you know that he actually sneaks into houses when you're asleep?"

"Yes, I've heard about that," Amanda agreed, her tone teasing as she rocked Buddy, who stared at you with wide eyes.

"It ain't right, is it? It's weird, like dude, I'm sleepin' so g'way!" You exclaimed, your hands flying around in exasperation, "He like sneaks into the house in the middle of the night, and that's just borderline creeper alert!"

Amanda chuckled in amusement, entertained by your antics that she's not seen entirely before considering you're usually more secluded and reluctant to speak around any of Leah's family, "Your big sister certainly is funny, isn't she?" She coos to Buddy, bouncing her lightly in her arms.

"Looks like it's nearly our turn to go in now," Jordan motioned, nodding towards the family ahead of you as they disappeared into the grotto.

"Great," You declared with a newfound determination, your face set in a scowl, "Me an' the fella in red need to have words." You told her, rolling up your sleeves, more than ready to scrap with him.

"Whoa, no, no, no!" Leah was quick to react, grabbing your arms and pulling you back, "I don't think so. Monkey you cannot fight Santa."

You scrunched your face up in confusion, "Why not? He's the one that's left me out every other year until now! Let me 'ave him. I can fight him!"

"No, absolutely not," Leah told you in a firm tone of voice, "I know you might be upset about the past but that still doesn't mean you can try and fight him, alright?  It's definitely not okay to do that."

"But, he forgot me..." You whine in protest.

Leah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose,"Monkey, I'm being serious now. No fighting Santa Clause, do you understand?"

"There's a sentence I bet you never thought you'd say, love," Jordan quipped, amusedly.

"Fine," You grumbled, crossing your arms, "I won't try to fight Santa."

When your turn finally came, Buddy's reaction was immediate and dramatic. As soon as her eyes locked on Santa's jolly face, within seconds she was letting out an ear-piercing wail, burying her face in Amanda's shoulder, clinging onto her like her life depended on it.

"Oh dear," Amanda said, patting Buddy's back, "I didn't expect that reaction."

"Oh bubba," Leah cooed in a gentle tone of voice, "He's not that scary, I promise."

"Here, let me take her," Jordan said, gently scooping Buddy into her arms, "Shh, it's okay, Buddy. It's okay."

"Is it? Cos' I think she might have the right idea," In your defence, you did try and keep your word, however your anger can't be helped, and seeing the man with a joyful expression just made you twitch with rage.

"Don't even think about it, Monkey," Leah warned, sensing your intentions.

Ignoring her, you stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Santa's direction, "Listen, 'ere, mate, yeah?" You began, your tone scolding, "You can't come into me' house while I'm asleep, you creep! But also, since you're taking notes... I like Shrek and LEGO, so, capiche?"

"Oh no," Amanda mumbled, trying to stifle her laughter.

Leah groaned, pulling you back, "That's enough, Menace. Reign it in."

"But I wasn't done yet!" You protested.

"Oh no, we're definitely done. Let's go, out there," Leah declared, steering you toward the exit, "Keep this up and you'll be getting coal in your stocking."

You scrunched your face up in confusion, "What's coal?"

"Never mind," Leah muttered.

"Well at least this trip has been somewhat memorable," Jordan quipped, exiting the grotto with a tearful Buddy in her arms.

Leah exhales a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, "And to think I just wanted a photo of the girls with Santa, is that too much to ask for?" She mumbled, glancing between you and Buddy.

"What's so fun about a walk in the woods? It's freezing outside!" You complained, leaning up against the doorframe of the living room with a scowl etched on your face.

"It'll be fun," Leah chuckled as she finished off wrapping a present, carefully placing it in a gift bag.

You scrunch your face up in disagreement, crossing your arms over your chest, "I'm not convinced."

It was now Christmas Eve, which meant there was yet another tradition - a walk with Leah's entire family. You weren't overly keen on the whole idea of that one though.

"Do I have to come?" You questioned, not thrilled about the idea.

"Yes you do. Stop being grumpy," Leah said, smirking.

"I'm not grumpy, but there's gotta be better things to do than go for a walk in bitter temperatures!" You dramatically huffed, throwing your arms up in the air in protest.

"Okay, now you're being dramatic," Leah teased, "It's not even that cold outside--  Buddy's excited, aren't you, bubba?" She cooed, crouching down to scoop Buddy off her playmat, where she lay there, admiring the twinkling lights.

You glanced at Buddy, who let out some babble you didn't really understand, "Yeah, she sounds like she's thrilled. Besides, she doesn't even have to walk!"

"What's going on?" Jordan asked as she walked in, eyebrows raised.

"Leah's forcing me outside when it's freezing Jord!" You whined in protest, dead set against the idea, "Why do I even have to come?"

Jordan chuckled, "Oh, I'll leave this one up to you to deal with." She joked, gently taking Buddy from Leah to get her ready to go out, "Come on little miss, let's go and get you ready to go out, shall we, hm?"

"Oh thanks babe, I really appreciate the help," Leah murmured sarcastically, shaking her head, "You're part of the family now, Monkey, and it's a tradition of ours."

"But I... I like being warm," You mumbled, keeping your arms crossed over your chest.

"It's not that cold outside, Monkey," Leah said, rolling her eyes as she walked through the hallway to grab her coat off the peg, "You'll like it, I promise."

"It's England, it's always cold, Leah," You complained, still not liking the idea one bit.

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head, "Here, coat and shoes on, please."

"Fine," You huffed, stomping your foot as you reluctantly took your coat from Leah, "But I'm still not happy about this!"

As it turned out, you did end up having some kind of fun at least, with Jacob, Leah's brother and Ben, Leah's cousin.

"Race you there!" Jacob shouted.

"Nah, I'm gonna beat you first!" You yelled, sprinting ahead.

You and Jacob seemed to get on like a house on fire, he was only a couple of years older than you give or take, so it was fun and Ben was like a big kid anyways.

"I'm gonna beat you both, slow pokes!" Ben joined in, grinning as he bolted to catch up with you both.

From behind, Leah and Jordan watched with amused smiles as they walked with the rest of Leah's family, "So much for her not wanting to come then, huh?" Jordan quipped.

"Tell me about it," Leah chuckled, shaking her head as she watched you race ahead of Jacob and Ben, "Be careful, Monkey, or you'll slip--" She trailed off as you skidded slighty but caught yourself, "Yep, she definitely didn't listen to a single word I said then."

"Relax, love," Jordan reassured her girlfriend, clasping her own hand in Leah's, "She'll be fine, she's sensible."

Leah raised an eyebrow, "This is Monkey, we're talking about right? The one who personally tried to fight Santa at the grotto, remember?"

"Yeah... You're right there," Jordan laughed.

"Oh, I heard all about that!" Holly, Leah's cousin, chimed in, clearly amused, "Absolutely hilarious!"

"Oh, don't even remind me," Leah groaned, "It was so embarrassing, honestly."

"But she did seem determined about it, though," Jordan quipped.

Berny smiled warmly, "I have to say it's nice to see her coming out of her shell a bit more now."

"I'm used to her being quiet around here. She's a right little firecracker, isn't she?" Amanda chuckled, noting back to the trip at the grotto, and also hearing about other incidents.

"Oh, she definitely can be," Leah said softly, "It's taken her some time getting used to it, but she's slowly starting to get there."

"I have to admit when you first brought up the idea of bringing a teenager home when you were heavily pregnant, I did have some concerns," David, Leah's dad, who had been quiet until now, piped in.

Amanda hummed in agreement, "I think we all did."

"Same here," Jordan admitted, "But you try going against a hormonal heavily pregnant woman who was determined to do it. I know when to pick my battles." 

Leah shot her a playful glare, but her face softened at Jordan's next words, "I wouldn't have it any other way now with our little family." She said, leaning over and kissing her girlfriend on the cheek.

"Nice save," Leah retorted, smitten by her girlfriend's words.

"She's a great kid, Le. She does seem settled," Holly stated, watching with a fond smile as you ran around with Jacob and Ben, laughing and having fun.

Leah nodded in agreement, smiling, "She is great, and she absolutely adores Buddy as well."

"They are going to be double trouble together," David joked, patting Leah on the shoulder, "I'm telling you when Buddy's old enough to talk, they'll run rings around you both."

"I don't look forward to that," Leah grimaced, her head filled with images of all sorts of chaos you and Buddy would cause, "Thank God there's still time to prepare for that."

"Do you think she's excited for Christmas?" Berny wondered.

"I think so?" Jordan replied, making it sound more like a question than an answer.

"She's never really gotten to properly experience it before, until now," Leah explained to her family, "She was pretty reluctant to even let us buy her an advent calendar this year."

Jordan winced at the memory, "Yeah, that was an experience."

"It's a first Christmas for both of them, you'll just have to make it extra special," Jordan, Leah's cousin, chimed into the conversation.

"And just think this time next year, you'll have your little boy as well," Leah told her with a soft, genuine smile, "Buddy will have a friend then." She added, glancing down at the sleeping 8 month old in her pushchair.

"That's right," Jordan hummed, resting her hands on her own ever-growing baby bump, "I can't wait to meet him."

"It'll fly by before you know it," Amanda told her, "Leah said the same about Buddy, and before we all knew it, she was here." She cooed, crouching down to place a gentle kiss on the top of Buddy's forehead, who was still fast asleep.

"I just don't want Monkey to feel too overwhelmed by it all, and I know our family can be a lot sometimes," Leah admitted, feeling weary about tomorrow and how much it might be for you compared to usual.

"Don't worry, bubba, I'm sure she'll be fine," Amanda reassured Leah, "Don't overthink it so much, alright? Let's just take it one day at a time."

"Yeah, you're right," Leah nodded in agreement.

"Now, I've wrapped both of the girls' presents for you both to take back to your house when you go," Amanda explained to Leah and Jordan, "I thought it was best so you could open tem at home without everyone around."

Leah nodded along, listening to Amanda's explanation, "Thanks, Mum. I'm sure the girls will both love them,"

"I bet Buddy will love the wrapping paper more," David chuckled, peering down at his granddaughter, who's succumbed to sleep.

"I have kept the receipts anyways just in case the clothes aren't the right size, so we exchange them, of course," Amanda added in, weary about the fact that the clothes might not be the right size.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Jordan quipped, shrugging her shoulders, "Oo, speaking of trouble, here she comes!" She motioned to you, racing back towards them.

"I won!" You exclaimed, slightly out of breath as you leaned over, your cheeks were rosy red from the cold, "Did you see? Them two are slow!"

"Oh yeah, totally. You definitely out run them!" Jordan teased, ruffling your hair, "You look freezing, little one. Ready to go and grab a hot chocolate now in the cafe?"

Your eyes lit up at the question and without any hesitation you answered, "Yeah!"

"I've heard that you really like hot chocolate, Monkey?" Holly chimed in, curiously, having heard about your liking for the sweet drink as the whole family headed in the direction of a cosy cafe.

"I do, but it has to have whipped cream and marshmallows, otherwise it's lame," You rambled, your shyness completely going out of the window.

"I tend to make pretty good hot chocolate, if I do say so myself," David declared, keeping his hands stuffed in the pocket of his trousers.

"Oh yeah, Monkey. You'll have to try one of David's special ones that he makes," Amanda piped into the conversation with a knowing smile.

Leah chuckled, "I learnt it from the pro himself. Ain't that right, Dad?"

"Of course, sweetheart," David replied in agreement.

"Really? Can I try one?" You asked, curiously, wanting to try it for yourself to make sure it was really that good.

"Of course you can," David agreed, a fond smile on his lips, "Tell you what, I'll make you one tomorrow. How's that sound?"

"Deal!" You exclaimed.

You all reached the cafe and didn't waste time huddling inside of it, it was mostly quiet, with only a few other people sat down, and the smell of hot chocolate and fresh baked pastries filled the air, enough to make your mouth water.

"Right, you, come on let's go and find a table to sit down at," Jordan gestured you in the direction of a table in the far corner, big enough for the whole family.

"I'll go and order the drinks," Amanda made the decision, looking around everyone, "Hot chocolate, all round?"

"Yeah, please, Mum!" Leah agreed, steering the pushchair in a spot that wouldn't be in the way and Buddy could still sleep peacefully.

"Go on then!" Jacob didn't hesitate to agree, sliding into the empty seat on the other side of you, "Monkey, when you come round tomorrow, we have to play Fifa!"

"You're on!" You declared, nodding in agreement as the two of you just fell into conversation about the game.

A bit later on, you sat there with your warm hot chocolate in your hands while deep in thought. You weren't used to all these people around you and it feels somewhat strange, but also comforting as well.

"What're you thinking about, my girl?" Leah noticed your distant look, looping her free arm around your shoulder and pulling you in towards her.

"It's just, well it's weird, you know?" You mumbled, hesitant to speak your feelings into words.

Leah arched her eyebrow, "What is?"

"Havin' a family, like, a proper family," You admitted, your tone of voice quiet, afraid to say the wrong words to her, "I just... I just, I mean, I've never really had one before, it's always just been me and my dad, and now there's a lot of people around. They've welcomed me in, but they... they don't really know me, do they?"

Leah's expression softened, "They're getting to know you, Monkey, and they all love you," She explained in a gentle tone of voice, "And that's family, for you. You're one of us now, remember? You're a Williamson." She declared.

"Actually, love," Jordan interjected with a grin, "She's a Williamson-Nobbs, remember? Get it right."

leahwilliamsonn posted

liked by katie_mccabe11 and 1,229 others

leahwilliamsonn traditional christmas eve walk & back home ready for santa to pay a vist! 🎅🏼🍪🥛

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bethmead_ oh i bet they're both so excited! 🥹💗

view 13 replies liked by 73 others

liawalti oh i adore both of them so much! ❤️

view 9 replies liked by 28 others

viviannemiedema 🎅🏼❤️

view 17 replies liked by 43 others

jordannobbs can't wait to see both of their faces tomorrow! 🥹💗

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katie_mccabe11 remember to sleep with one eye open, menace! 😉

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© scribblesofagoonerr

[yellowjestertfs]

Just another ordinary day

Been busy working on a longer project (as in 40k+ words :0) but in the meantime decided to publish another older story of mine with revisions and images. AI was being especially tricky on me this time so the images are not quite what I pictured but good enough. If anyone has any tips for making better images or is interested in proofreading my longer story let me know!

I woke with a start, my mind still groggy from sleep my vision hazy. It was one of those sudden wake-ups that throws off your whole day, the kind usually prompted by some bad dream or loud noise. Only there had been no such occurrence; my sleep had been peaceful and from what I could remember dreamless, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling something had woken me. 

No matter the cause I was up, and judging by the daylight creeping through my shades there was no point falling back to sleep. With a groan, I lifted myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The alarm on my bedside table informed me I had thirty extra minutes this morning to get ready for work. Never one to waste time I decided to have a quick wank with my extra time to try to release some of the stress my sudden wakeup had caused.

Something felt off as I pulled down my pants to reveal my dick, rock hard as it was most mornings. The type of feeling you get when you say a word over and over and it loses all meaning. Everything else seemed normal, my body was still just as average as when I went to bed, nice strong legs from a childhood of playing soccer and a slight beer belly from my time playing beer pong in college. My face looked the same as well, a generally generic face, adorned by light stubble which had grown in while I slept, and bags under my eyes from my draining corporate job. It was my dick that felt off, foreign, only that was ridiculous. It looked the same as it had since I finished puberty. Just over a foot long and proportionally thick, it was just as average as the rest of my body. Something about thinking of my third leg as average felt wrong but I chalked it up to the dregs of sleep. That was simply how men were, nothing strange about it.

Shanking myself out of my contemplative state I hopped into the shower and went about the act of washing away the sheen of sweat I had gained while I slept. I also took this time to rub one out, using the standard two-hand technique practiced by most men. My dick quickly rose to its full size, and within minutes, my tennis ball-sized balls were churning out cum. I thought back to an article I had read in high school that claimed the average male ejaculated a third a gallon of cum per climax, and judging by my admissions that seemed plausible. I supposed the amount coupled with the force accounted for the high rate of condom breakage, not that any but the bravest of women ever allowed for penetrative sex.

After maneuvering the shower head to force all the cum down the drain I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, paying special care to ensure that my dick didn’t cause the cloth to come undone. Suddenly I felt a wave pass over me. I felt immediately nauseous and light-headed and a strange sensation of deja vu. I realized this was the feeling that had woken me up this morning, then just as suddenly as it had come over me the queasiness vanished as did my memory of the event. I was left only with a vague sense of unease. Powering through the strange sensation I wiped down the mirror and was confronted once again with a visage that felt somehow off. It wasn’t my average face nor the obscene bulge hidden behind my towel, both of those were normal. My body too looked just as average as ever, thick cut pecs, prominent square abs, and bulging 22’’ biceps were nothing to write home about, although I supposed my time playing soccer had given my legs an extra boost elevating them from the standard 30-inch thickness to a respectable 35. Luckily for me, men are incapable of storing fat otherwise I might have a belly from all those beers I drank in college I thought to myself absentmindedly patting my six-pack. Still, in a world where most men have 250 pounds of walking muscle, I have always felt sort of insecure about my scrawny 230-pound body. 

Quickly forgetting about the strange sensation I finished my morning routine, electing to keep my stubble in the hopes of cultivating a more rugged look on my average face. I exited the bathroom and opened my closet, greeted by the sight of several rows of various dress shirts, embarrassingly all labeled as men's adult small. Putting on underwear was easy enough as with all menswear my boxers had a special compartment for my hose-like junk. A dress shirt too buttoned easily over my cabbage-sized pecs as of course all men's shirts were created for just the task. I was just in the process of squeezing my legs into billowing trousers when I felt another wave pass over me. My already precarious balance caused me to fall, and I caught myself on the edge of my dresser, only it wasn’t a dresser. Why would I have a dresser, I wasn’t a woman what would I do with clothing? Righting myself against what I realized was a workout bench I glanced down just to reassure myself of my nakedness. I wondered absently where the thought of me owning clothing had come from, what a preposterous idea, that would be like a woman walking around naked. I would be fired on the spot if I showed up in such an offensive garment. Casting the ridiculous idea out of my mind I grabbed my bag and headed off to work. 

Saying hello to my hunky neighbor as I passed I finally emerged onto the street. Despite my strange morning, the world outside my apartment appeared the same as it always was, men on their way to work naked, of course, pecs and dick bouncing as they walked, bare feet smacking against the smooth temperature-controlled cement. I joined the throngs of men crowding the sidewalks and waited at a crosswalk as men showing flesh drove by, their cars of course made specifically large enough to hold their bulk. I became just another face in the crowd, just another man on his way to work, bodybuilder frame revealed to the wind. The eye easily passed over my foot-long dick, the instrument not nearly long enough to garner any attention. Be they young or old, rich or poor every man was at least 200 pounds of muscle with a shlong to match and of course, all of them were naked, it was simply how the world was, how it had always been. Depending on the subway station I swiped my metro card and made my way to the appropriate train. As the train pulled I was buffeted by yet another wave and was instantly wracked with an intense pulse of nausea which disappeared just as suddenly as it had arrived. 

Releasing I had fallen down, but not knowing why, I stood back up to my full 7’10” hight and saw all around me men doing the same. For a moment the doors to the subway car in front of me looked strange, almost too tall but that didn’t make any sense. They stood just as tall as ever, the standard 9 foot hight, enough to allow most men to enter without hitting their heads. I knew of course that there were rare men who would still have to duck to enter the train car but for the vast majority of men who averaged around 8’0’’, ten feet was more than sufficient. I entered the car and sat down, my bare butt brushing up against the perky ass of a blond man with a round face on one side and a woman in expertly pressed dress slacks and a matching navy blazer on the other. As the train took off another wave stuck. This one merely caused me to clutch my head as a splitting headache appeared and then vanished in a second. The woman next to me was hit harder by the instantly forgotten wave of reality-altering force. Thrown off balance she bounced into my left pec, her head cushioned by the squishy yet firm muscle. Recovering immediately and feeling somewhat confused as to how she ended up pressed against me she apologized and distracted herself by pulling out her phone and flipping to the camera app to ensure her makeup was not smudged. Though the camera was pointed at herself I could see my reflection, my head towering over hers even in my sitting position. 

I certainly wasn’t ugly by any standard but I also wasn’t some model. My chiseled wide jaw was just about as handsome as every other man on the train, although the perfect coating of square stubble that had grown in during the night did lend me a rugged edge. The rest of my features were pretty mundane, clear and pore-less skin, thick square eyebrows and a dimpled wide chin were the default for men, as evidenced by the golden-haired Adonis that sat next to me. Even so, I always liked my piercing bright eyes and high cheekbones even though they were hardly rare in the world.

The blond man sitting next to me with the perfect lantern jaw got up at the next stop. Mine was the one after that. 

I exited the car and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time to ensure I wasn’t late. My work building looked the same as it always did, with large doors to accommodate male employees and in the lobby a giant bronze statue of a man holding the earth, his body naked and extremely well muscled and hung of course for the sake of realism. Despite my relative scrawniness I still used a male-designated elevator, the female ones not made to handle my weight or height. The several other men in the elevator and I had only made it a few floors before we were subject to one final and seemingly extra powerful shockwave. The weight of the changes enacted easily caused all the men even with their rock-hard muscles to crumple and we collapsed onto each other. My hand somehow ended up gasping the long penis of a 40-year-old accountant with a perfectly maintained salt and pepper beard. For a moment I motioned to let go of his member before reality snapped back in and I remembered my manners. It would be incredibly rude for me to begin a morning grope and not bring him to completion. In fact,  I had already made a major faux pas by not kissing my coworker hello. This error in tact was quickly rectified as the rest of the elevator ride turned into a make-out session. By my floor the sexy accountant I was giving a handjob to reached completion and I took his load as my breakfast. As I left he spanked my ass and stuck his business card between my butt checks. Guess he liked my elevator pitch. 

I went straight to my boss's office as was customary and gave the 350-pound silver fox a quick blow job before he transferred his abnormally large penis into my ass and fucked me while we discussed business. Turns out the reality-warping machine he had invested in had been broken into this morning although as far as anyone could tell no damage had been done nor had the machine been used. 

“Makes sense I told him" In-between moans as he obliterated my prostate. “I imagine we would know if someone were to fuck with reality.” 

My boss clenched his superhumanly wide lantern jaw and straightened up to his full over eight-foot height, both football-sized biceps flexed behind his head. “You're right on that account kid, today is yet another ordinary day.