#admission agents

[careeducation20]

Best Education Consultants In Delhi | Phd Admission Consultants In Delhi | Medical College Admission Agents | Care Education

[mynamesdrstuff]

.

[atlabeth]

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it. 

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.  

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments. 

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.” 

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?” 

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.” 

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.” 

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. 

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.” 

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him. 

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?” 

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.” 

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.” 

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says. 

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?” 

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.” 

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something. 

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.” 

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep. 

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks. 

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.” 

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity. 

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses. 

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.” 

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him. 

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly. 

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.” 

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?” 

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus. 

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel. 

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent. 

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses. 

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.  

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?” 

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?” 

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.” 

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.” 

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this. 

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.” 

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.” 

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks. 

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?” 

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.” 

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.” 

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.” 

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.” 

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.” 

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.” 

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.” 

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.” 

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?” 

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.” 

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today. 

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?” 

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.” 

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.” 

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?” 

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.” 

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here. 

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.” 

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here. 

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to pay me back.” 

“Really?” 

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.” 

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning. 

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says. 

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!” 

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.” 

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.” 

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.” 

[babyjakes]

help me hold onto you.

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | sex pollen

pairing | steve rogers x avenger!reader

warnings | sex pollen (reader was exposed to some sort of chemical agent that induced a persistent state of hyperarousal.) medical elements (reader is staying in the medbay.) crying (not related to the sexual interactions.) stevie is soooo soft :')). dialogue is soft and sweet, gentle praise and encouragement included. fingering. tummy rubs bc they make me soft. she comes quick! intense, prolonged orgasm. the beginnings of aftercare.

word count | 1,356

"Hey, hey- okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here. Just tell me what you need."

Steve's brow was raised in gentle concern as he stood over your hospital bed. Dr. Banner had set you up in a secluded room at the end of the medbay, wanting to give you as much privacy as possible given the nature of your condition. It was still all a bit baffling to Steve; Bruce had shared any information he had available on the mysterious chemical you'd been exposed to out on your mission to a foreign bioweaponry facility, but most of it had gone in one of the supersoldier's ears and out the other. "Persistent heightened state of arousal" was the only phrase he was able to cling to, which still didn't feel like much to go off of.

As he stood there at your bedside, though, those words were all of a sudden making a lot more sense. You were a pitiful sight, really- curled up on your side with your knees hugged up to your chest. Your whole body was shaking, something that tore at your teammate's heart as he came to better terms with the severity of the state you were in. Overcome with obvious discomfort, all you could do was lie there and rub your sore knees together uselessly. Your hands reached out for him needily; in an instant, he was lowering himself down to sit beside you, leaning over you attentively as his face filled with concern.

"Oh doll," he hummed, reaching out to brush back your hair with a steady hand. Your forehead was drenched in sweat, your big eyes looking up at him pleadingly. As another wave of unbearable heat rolled over you, tears were building in your eyes. "How can I help, sweet girl?" Steve was pressing, "Is there anything I can do?"

In a moment of total weakness, you reached out for him again. This was completely abnormal behavior for you. Being the youngest and newest to the team, you were always intentional about maintaining an image of responsibility and restraint. But as Steve sat there at your side, his steel blue eyes looking over you so thoughtfully as he gently offered you his hands, your hijacked mind was fixating on him faster than you could realize what was happening.

"P-please," the weakness of your small voice broke Steve's heart. He nodded encouragingly, wanting to do anything he could to ease your suffering.

"What is it, honey? Hmm? What do you need?" he asked soothingly.

More tears built in your eyes as you failed to generate a verbal response. Instead, all you could do was continue to writhe pathetically. Steve's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of your movements. "Does something hurt?" You whimpered feebly at his question, shaking your head. "No, then what is it, sweetheart? Can you tell me, or- or show me?"

Desperation drove your every move as you shifted slightly onto your back, your knees falling apart as you brought a shaking hand down to motion over your hospital gown toward where the sensations were accumulating. If Steve was surprised or offended by your admission, he didn't let it show. Instead, he simply nodded, speaking with an understanding tone, "It's bothering you there, darlin'? Do you want me to take a look?"

Your wide, pleading eyes were enough to answer his question. Pausing, he took a moment to consider the best way to proceed. After a quick glance back at the door to the hallway, seeing that the coast was seemingly clear, he gently brought his hands over to lift up the thin fabric of the gown, pulling it back to expose the area you had pointed to. Steve couldn't help but gasp softly as he saw the ramifications for the first time; any doubts he could've had about the compound's strength or effects were immediately shot down as he faced the living, breathing evidence.

"Oh honey," he crooned worriedly, leaning his head down a bit to get a better look. Your pussy was so puffy it almost looked painful. Your clit was swollen to about three times its normal size, pulsating visibly in unison with your heavy heartbeat. Bruce had placed a wide gauze pad beneath you, and it wasn't hard to see why; with the constant state of arousal your body was trapped in, you were amassing an impressive amount of self-lubricant. Face drawn in disbelief and honest fascination, Steve struggled to find words to console you. "Sweetie, what can I do? Let me help you," his voice was swelling with concern. Swallowing hard, his gaze returned up to your face. "Can I-... would it help if I-... you know...?" The sweetest hint of pink rose up in his cheeks.

You were unsure of what would happen if he tried, but with the way your stomach was lurching and spasming in excitement at the mere thought, both you and Steve knew it would be senseless to not at least give it a try. Sensing your mild confliction, the supersoldier took a moment to brush back your hair again as his soothing voice filled the air, "It's alright, doll. Let me take care of you. S'just me, just Stevie. I'll be gentle, I promise."

As he spoke, he gently drew his hand down to begin rubbing at your inner thigh. Letting out a squeak of surprise, your heart jumped at the way his touch immediately sent sparks shooting up through your tangled nerves. "Easy," he hummed lowly, pushing on you carefully to encourage you to open up your legs a little further. Once you were nice and spread out for him, he took another deep breath. "Okay darlin'. Just keep breathing for me," he seemed to be trying to calm his own nerves as much as he was yours.

With the lightest amount of pressure he could manage, Steve carefully brought his pointer and middle middle fingers to sink slightly into your pool of arousal. They didn't linger long, as they then slowly dragged up your wetness to smear over your enlarged clit. The moment he came in contact with your poor button, your world was set ablaze. You had never felt such unbearable heat in your life; it was as if every atom within your core was being blasted into smithereens, an incredible amount of energy and pressure building up inside of you as a result.

"Easy, easy- shhhh," Steve was doing his best to talk you through it, watching as your hands scrambled to grip the sheets below you, your hips rocking in shameless desperation.

"Mm.... mmhh... hhh..." you struggled through incoherent whines. The man brought his free hand over to rub your tummy gently, trying to give you any sense of comfort and safety he could as he continued working the pads of his fingers in careful, steady circles.

It only took a few more moments of the simple stimulation to send an orgasm ripping through you with unimaginable force; as Steve saw your climax hit, his eyes widened, but he was intent on carrying you through it. Needy cunt spasming around nothing, your clit jerked and jolted beneath his tender traces. Your eyes were rolling back in your head, your whole body at the mercy of the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

And you kept coming, and coming, and coming- trapped in the grips of your orgasm for what must have been minutes compared to the fleeting moments you were usually granted. "Good, let it out," Steve was murmuring softly, watching as all your pent-up frustration was slowly pulled from your seizing body.

When you were finally winding down, breathless and slumped against the flimsy mattress beneath you, he was careful to pull his hands away with the utmost care to avoid causing you any further discomfort or unwanted stimulation. As he stood momentarily to find something to wipe his hands with, you let out a shaky whimper. "No, no, I'm here," he quickly returned to your side, retaking his place next to you on the cot. "I'm right here, doll. You're okay. Here, let me clean you up a bit, honey."

[reidmarieprentiss]

Illicit Affairs

Summary: You married Aaron at a young age, well, you were young. It was a marriage born of fear of being alone. Nothing had yet to shake this bond, until you meet Spencer Reid. Now you see what could have been if you had waited.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: Hotch is kind of an asshole for most of the story, not cheating but kinda? (flirting with other people), suggestive content (16+), Spencer gets shot in the leg, case stuff, marriage concerns, insecurities, fighting, lying

Word count: 15.4k

a/n: this has taken me sooo long to finish because i could not decide where to go with it i hope this is good lololol

main masterlist

At 40, Aaron Hotchner faces his deepest fear: ending up alone. When Haley leaves him after his admission of not wanting children due to the demands of his job, Aaron spirals into panic. In his vulnerable state, he quickly becomes involved with you—a 22-year-old graduate student and aspiring registered nurse—who tended to him while he recovered from an injury sustained on a local case. 

Charmed by the attention and the allure of a mature, established man taking a genuine interest in you beyond physical attraction, the relationship escalated rapidly. Within a year, despite the judgments from his family and the concerned amusement from yours, you and Aaron are married. 

Now, with you as a registered nurse and Aaron as the unit chief at the BAU, it’s been a year of marriage filled with unspoken truths. Neither of you has acknowledged the haste of your union, nor the nuances of your feelings. Aaron cares deeply for you, yet he knows his love doesn’t mirror what he felt for Haley. As for you, while love may not be the right word yet, you care enough not to want to worsen his emotional struggles as you navigate what you truly want from this relationship.

—

When you arrived at the BAU to deliver Aaron's forgotten go-bag, you had hoped to make a quick entrance and exit, keen on avoiding too much attention, especially from his team. You hadn't met many of them, and the idea of them scrutinizing the age difference between you and Aaron made you uneasy.

As you walked hesitantly into the bullpen with the bag slung over your shoulder, the atmosphere was buzzing with agents moving briskly, their minds clearly set on the urgency of their next case. That's when Derek Morgan's voice cut through the hum of activity.

"Whoa, mama," Derek whistled, a playful smile on his face as he looked you over. "You lost, sweet thing?"

Startled, you turned towards the source of the voice—an undeniably attractive man with a confident air about him. "Uh, kind of," you laughed, trying to mask your nervousness with a bit of humor.

"Who are you looking for?" another voice piped up, this one belonging to a woman who stood just as strikingly, her presence just as commanding as Derek's.

"Aaron, Aaron Hotchner," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of timidity as you mentioned your husband's name.

"Hey, Reid!" Derek called over his shoulder, turning his attention to a younger man hunched over a cluttered desk, who seemed engrossed in his work until then. "You were just talking to Hotch, where'd he go?"

Spencer Reid looked up, his big eyes immediately magnifying through his glasses as they landed on you. There was a brief moment where he seemed to stumble over his words, a clear indication of his flustered state. "Um, uh, Hotch? Bathroom, I believe," he managed to say, sounding unsure.

"Thanks," you nodded, directing a grateful smile at Spencer.

"But!" Spencer suddenly stood up, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. "I can show you to his office," he offered earnestly.

Derek and Elle exchanged smirks, an unspoken understanding passing between them as they observed Spencer's demeanor change drastically. It was obvious, even to an outsider, that Spencer was momentarily disarmed by your presence.

"Sure, thanks," you said, feeling a mix of amusement and relief at not having to navigate the maze of desks and bustling agents alone. You walked over to where Spencer stood, slightly awkward in his hurried attempt to be helpful, and followed him as he led you to Aaron's office.

As you moved through the corridors, following Spencer's quick, slightly erratic pace, you couldn't help but feel the weight of many eyes on you, sparking curiosity and apprehension about how you were being perceived by Aaron's colleagues. It was your first visit here, and already it felt like stepping onto a stage. Yet, there was also a warmth in Spencer's clumsy kindness, and it eased some of your tension as you approached the sanctuary of Aaron's office.

"Here—here it is, um, his—Hotch's office," Spencer stammered, gesturing somewhat awkwardly toward the open door. The nervousness in his demeanor was palpable, yet there was an earnestness that made you smile despite your initial apprehension.

"Thank you again..." you started, stepping toward the threshold of the office.

"Spencer! Spencer Reid," he quickly filled in, as if realizing he hadn’t properly introduced himself yet.

"Thank you, Spencer," you said, making sure to use his name, appreciating the small comfort his guidance provided in the sprawling unfamiliarity of the BAU.

"What is—um, what's your name?" Spencer asked, his curiosity peeking through as he seemed to regain a bit of his composure.

"Hmm?" You were momentarily distracted by the various knickknacks and personal items that adorned Aaron's office, each piece echoing aspects of his personality and life outside of work. Realizing Spencer was waiting for an answer, you looked up, "Oh, I'm Y/N," you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. 

There was a momentary pause as you considered the implications, realizing subconsciously that you didn't want this young, attractive, and age-appropriate man to know you were taken, even though you were there precisely because you were Aaron's wife.

The omission wasn't missed by Spencer, his gaze briefly flickering with a mix of confusion and intrigue, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he simply nodded, a polite smile gracing his lips as he stood by the door, giving you space to move inside the office.

"Are you... bringing something for Hotch?" Spencer inquired after a moment, his eyes hinting at his natural inquisitiveness, the profiler in him never fully off duty.

"Yes, his go-bag. He forgot it in my car, and they need it for a case," you explained, moving to set the bag down on one of the chairs. The casual mention of your everyday interaction with Aaron served as a subtle hint of your relationship.

Spencer nodded understandingly, stepping back slightly. "He'll be back soon, I think. Cases like these, everyone's a bit on edge," he added, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone as if sharing a small secret about the inner workings of the BAU.

"When is Aaron not on edge?" you grinned, finding a moment of levity in the constant high stakes surrounding Aaron's work life.

"Good point," Spencer laughed, a rare, easy chuckle that made him seem momentarily less guarded, less the genius profiler and more just a young man at work. His interest piqued, he asked, "What do you do?"

"Pardon?" you smirked, teasingly challenging him to clarify his somewhat direct question.

"I mean—uh," he cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed by his forwardness. "What do you do for work? Do you work?"

"Yes," you laughed, softening the moment with your amusement at his awkwardness. "I'm an RN—a registered nurse."

"That’s impressive," Spencer replied, his admiration genuine. "It must be demanding."

"It can be," you acknowledged, shifting the go-bag slightly as a physical reminder of the worlds both you and Aaron navigated—yours of healing and his of prevention. "But I like to think it helps me understand a bit of the stress that Aaron goes through. Not exactly the same, but patient care has its own kind of urgency, you know?"

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, obviously connecting the dots. "That does make sense."

Just as you were settling into your thoughts, Aaron returned to the office, his presence immediately altering the dynamic. “Hello, darling,” he greeted with a warmth that seemed as much for the benefit of anyone listening as it was for you. 

He leaned in for a quick kiss, a gesture of familiarity and intimacy. However, your reaction was a split second of hesitation; you turned your head just as he approached, resulting in a kiss on your cheek instead of your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer's surprised glance, adding a layer of awkwardness to the moment.

“Reid, I see you’ve met my wife, Y/N,” Aaron announced, a touch of pride in his voice as he introduced you formally.

“Wife?” Spencer choked out the word, clearly caught off guard.

“You didn’t tell him?” Aaron turned to you, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“We didn’t get that far,” you replied, managing a smile as you handed him his go-bag. There was an unspoken tension in the air, one that had nothing to do with the bag or the forgotten introductions.

Aaron grasped the bag firmly. “Thank you, darling. Will you be okay while I’m gone?” His question seemed out of character, tinged with a concern that he hadn't shown before, at least not openly in such a manner.

“Uh, yeah, Aaron. I’ll be fine,” you assured him, trying to mask your confusion with a calm demeanor. His sudden display of worry, although perhaps meant as reassurance, felt somewhat performative, especially with Spencer still lingering nearby.

Sensing the strained energy and perhaps feeling like an intruder on a private moment, Spencer quietly excused himself from the room with a polite nod, leaving you and Aaron alone.

—

On the jet, the atmosphere shifted from the usual pre-case seriousness to a lighter, more teasing banter among the team. Derek and Elle, never ones to miss a chance for a bit of fun, seized the opportunity as soon as everyone was settled.

“Hotch, you want to tell us who that dime piece in your office was?” Derek teased, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, chief,” Elle chimed in, her tone playful yet genuinely curious. “Pretty young thing like that, who knew you got game.”

Aaron rolled his eyes fondly at their comments, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement despite his attempt at maintaining decorum. “Inappropriate,” he muttered, though the softness in his voice betrayed his stern exterior.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek nudged his shoulder, pushing just a bit further as he often did. “Who is she?”

With a small sigh, Aaron couldn’t help but smile, a hint of pride seeping through as he responded. “That’s my wife, Y/N.”

The revelation sent a ripple of shock through the plane, turning into an uproar of laughter and exclamations, except for Gideon, who simply nodded with a knowing smile, having been privy to Aaron’s marital status. 

“What? You got married? Again?” JJ asked, her voice tinged with incredulity as she leaned forward in her seat.

“And we weren’t invited to the wedding??” Elle raised her voice in a teasing yell, feigning outrage over the missed opportunity to celebrate.

“Two hot wives in one lifetime… teach me your ways, man,” Derek laughed heartily, clapping Aaron on the back, clearly impressed and amused by his boss’s apparently smooth personal life.

—

With the house quietly humming with solitude and Aaron away on a case, you found yourself alone with your thoughts, which, much to your own surprise, wandered inexorably toward Spencer Reid. The brief interaction earlier in the day had ignited a curiosity within you that refused to be stilled. You knew it was somewhat improper, a slight betrayal even, to take such an interest in your husband's subordinate. Yet, the intrigue that Spencer sparked in you was undeniable, reminiscent of the initial excitement you had felt when you first met Aaron.

Sitting down at your computer, you hesitated for a moment, the cursor blinking back at you as if challenging your intentions. Finally, you typed his name into the search bar. Spencer Reid was not just any FBI agent; he was a prodigy, his credentials filled with accolades and commendations for his brilliance and his contributions to solving complex cases. As you scrolled through articles mentioning his work, interviews, and a few scattered photos, you couldn't help but feel drawn to his intellectual allure and youthful sincerity.

He was your same age, giving him a relatable vibe that Aaron, with all his mature charisma, sometimes lacked. And yes, Spencer was undeniably handsome in a way that was entirely different from Aaron's rugged authority. There was something about Spencer's shyness and the awkward charm that accompanied his genius that made him deeply attractive to you.

You found yourself imagining what it might be like to befriend someone like Spencer. He seemed sweet, thoughtful, and someone who could understand the nuances of being surrounded by older, more experienced personalities. Perhaps you and Spencer could share a bond, something platonic but meaningful—a connection based on mutual interests and intellectual pursuits rather than the complex web of emotions and duties that your marriage to Aaron entailed.

As these thoughts spun through your mind, you felt a pang of guilt. Was it fair to Aaron? Was it fair to Spencer? You weren't planning anything inappropriate, of course. Friendship was not a crime, and everyone needed friends, especially in a world as isolating as the one you found yourself in. You resolved to approach this potential friendship with Spencer carefully, respecting boundaries and being mindful of the professional and personal dynamics involved.

—

When the team touched down again in Quantico, Aaron was surprised to find you waiting for him in his office. His smile broadened, clearly pleased that you were finally visiting. He assumed your first trip last week had helped you overcome your nerves about visiting the BAU.

"Y/N, honey, what are you doing here?" he grinned, the warmth in his voice palpable as he closed the distance between you.

You scratched your arm nervously, the sudden reality of being in his workspace making you momentarily uneasy. "I just couldn't wait to see you," you managed to say, hoping your words sounded more confident than you felt.

Aaron walked over, his expression softening as he kissed you soundly. "Missed me?" he asked huskily, his voice lowering as he pulled you closer.

"Mhm," you hummed against his lips, lightly pushing him off. "We're at your work, Aaron."

"I can close the door," he mumbled, leaning in to kiss and nip down your throat, his hands moving to draw you in.

As if on cue, Spencer chose that moment to intervene. "Hey, Hotch, I was wondering about this form—oh my god, I’m so sorry," he stammered, his eyes widening as he realized the intimate moment he had interrupted.

You jumped back, hiding your face in your hands from embarrassment, while Aaron confidently chuckled, unphased by the interruption. "No worries, Reid. What’s up?"

"Oh, uh. This, um, this form? For the, uh—" Spencer flashed the paper toward Aaron, handing it over hesitantly. "Do I need to fill this out or is it optional?"

Aaron took the form, quickly looking it over with his usual efficiency. "Optional, only if you want to be really thorough," he replied, slipping back into his stern business voice.

"Th-thanks," Spencer stuttered again, then glanced your way. "Hi, Y/N," he waved, trying to ease the tension.

"Spencer," you nodded, managing a smile. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise," he returned the smile, but the awkward air in the room hung heavily.

Sensing his continued presence might be intrusive, Spencer quickly stepped out of the office, leaving the two of you alone once more.

"Where were we?" Aaron looked back at you with a sinister smirk.

You laughed awkwardly, shaking your head. "Going home?" you suggested, hoping to escape the building tension.

"That, I can get behind," he agreed, starting to gather his things.

Later that evening, as you both sat down for dinner, Aaron began telling you what he could about the recent case, clearly animated by the day's events. "And then Reid managed to talk the unsub down, surrendered—it was impressive," he noted with a hint of pride in his team's performance.

"Spencer seems great," you mused, feeling a twinge of curiosity spark again.

"He is," Aaron said, and there was something in his tone that you couldn't quite place. "He’s your age, you know? Has three PhDs."

You did know that, but you couldn’t admit it. "Wow, that's amazing," you replied, trying to sound as impressed as you felt.

"Mhm."

"Maybe we could have him over for dinner sometime? You always say I need more friends," you laughed, trying to steer the conversation into lighter waters.

Aaron looked at you a bit suspiciously. "Friends for when I’m gone, Spencer’s always gone with me."

You nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, well, it would be nice to hang out with someone my own age."

"Ouch," Aaron chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh no, honey!" You quickly corrected, realizing how your words might have sounded. "I didn’t mean you; I meant the ladies at work."

The conversation drifted into other topics, but the brief exchange left a lingering thought in your mind about Spencer and the future.

—

As you made your rounds at the hospital, the nursing coordinator handed you a new clipboard with a patient assignment. "24-year-old male in suite 104, just here for a physical," she informed you. Quickly scanning the file, your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name—Spencer Reid. "Got it, thanks," you replied, masking your surprise with a nod and a smile before heading to suite 104.

Upon arriving, you knocked lightly. "Come in," came the response from inside. Opening the door, you introduced yourself with a professional flourish. "Hello, my name is Y/N. I’ll be your nurse today," you announced, offering a wide smile.

"Y/N! Hi!" Spencer greeted you with a warm grin.

"Hi Spencer," you replied, your cheeks tinting with a blush at his enthusiastic welcome. "Alright, let me get all set up here." You sat at the computer, logging in and pulling up Spencer's medical chart. "So, I’m just going to get your blood pressure and pulse," you stated as you began the routine checks.

"It’s nice to see you in your element," Spencer commented sweetly, watching you work.

"Yeah? The purple scrubs doing it for you?" you joked, playing along.

"Purple is my favorite color actually," he admitted, a blush coloring his cheeks. As Spencer observed the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves, he couldn't help but think to himself, Hotch is a very lucky man.

"Of course it is..." you murmured, smiling softly as you noted his vitals. "Well, doctor, you’re as healthy as an ox from what I can see."

"Why thank you," he chuckled, clearly at ease.

"You’re just here for an annual checkup and a physical, it seems?" you inquired, noting the details in his chart.

Spencer's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and he adjusted his glasses nervously. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, momentarily forgetting that you could see everything noted in his file.

"Listen, if it makes you uncomfortable talking to me or having me as your nurse, I can have someone else take over. I should have offered that earlier, I’m sorry," you said, realizing the potential awkwardness of the situation.

"No!" Spencer quickly protested. "No, I like—having you as my nurse, I mean."

You laughed, his fluster endearing. "Okay, okay, thank you. I like having you as a patient. But I do have to ask some questions before the doctor comes in, is that okay?"

"Yeah..." he exhaled, seeming to relax again.

"Alright… what is the nature of your request for the physical?" you asked, following protocol.

Spencer blushed even harder, if possible. "I—um, it’s required for being in the field for work. Hotch requested I renew mine after I got injured," he explained.

The mention of your husband's name grounded you. "Of course, what injury did you receive?"

"Uh, it sounds weird, but I—I promise it was necessary and it’s okay! But um, Hotch kicked me in the stomach," he mumbled.

"What?!" You couldn't help but exclaim. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"He had to make it seem like he was on the unsub’s side," Spencer explained quietly. "But it’s okay, I’ve been hit—hah—I’ve been hit a lot harder by middle school girls."

Your heart ached for him. "Oh, Spencer... because you were a prodigy?"

"How did you know that?" he asked, a trace of surprise in his voice.

Now it was your turn to blush. "Oh, uh, Aaron, he told me..." you stumbled over your words.

Spencer looked at you with a hint of suspicion, perhaps wondering how much you knew about his past. The air between you filled with unspoken questions, but you smiled reassuringly, hoping to convey your professional integrity and personal respect for his privacy.

—

As the flickering images of a House episode danced across the screen, the dialogue and medical jargon nudging at your daily reality, you casually mentioned your encounter earlier that day. “Oh, I saw Spencer at work today,” you said, not thinking much of it, just a simple statement to fill the quiet between you and Aaron.

Aaron's interest peaked instantly at the mention of his young team member. “Oh?” he prompted, his tone subtly shifting as he waited for more details.

“Mhm,” you replied nonchalantly, not inclined to elaborate. To you, it was a trivial interaction, hardly worth dissecting. However, Aaron’s thoughts seemed to veer down a path marked by deeper, more instinctual concerns. As if propelled by a need to assert his presence, he made a move that was more assertive than affectionate. His hand found its way high up on your thigh, his actions bordering on possessive as he leaned in to kiss your neck.

“Aaron,” you coughed out, a hint of warning in your voice, “no marks, remember?” You tried to keep the tone light, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness you couldn’t mask as you felt him begin to suck and bite.

He merely grunted in response, his actions undeterred, driven by a desire to leave physical evidence of his claim over you.

“Hey!” you pushed his head back, more firmly this time. “I’m serious, I don’t want marks at work. It’s unprofessional.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, his response petulant, his body language childish as he crossed his arms and slouched deeper into the couch.

Frustrated and needing space, you stood up decisively. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announced, heading towards the bathroom and making sure to lock the door behind you to prevent any follow-up attempts from Aaron.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, the water cascading down your back, you allowed yourself a moment to reflect. The tense energy that had just unfolded between you and Aaron wasn’t new; it had become a recurring theme over the past few months. You wished you could attribute this strain to the brief, unexpected spark with Spencer, but these issues predated his brief entry into your narrative. The shower wasn’t just a physical cleanse but a brief respite from the emotional turbulence waiting outside the bathroom door.

—

The atmosphere in the BAU was usually charged with the undercurrents of their intense casework, but today, a different kind of tension was threading through the air, sparked by personal intersections that typically remained outside the office dynamics.

“I heard you saw Y/N at work,” Hotch casually mentioned to Spencer the next morning, a hint of curiosity underlying his seemingly offhand remark.

Spencer, caught a bit off-guard, nodded. “Huh? Oh yeah, she was my nurse. She's great,” he smiled slightly, reminiscing briefly about the pleasant yet professional encounter, unaware that his innocent smile was stirring something in Hotch.

“What were you there for?” Hotch’s tone was casual, but his gaze was probing, picking up on the slightest hint of something he couldn’t quite place.

“A physical, like you requested,” Spencer answered, his response straightforward, his mind still on the professional aspect of their interaction.

“Whoa! Pretty boy got a physical from Hotch’s pretty wife?” Derek chimed in from across the room, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that instantly drew more attention to the conversation. The wolf whistle that followed his words only amplified the implication, turning several heads in the bullpen.

Hotch’s expression darkened, a flash of anger crossing his features as he turned his gaze sharply towards Spencer. “Is that true?” he demanded, his voice carrying an edge that was rarely directed at his team outside of a reprimand for professional oversights.

“What? No—no!” Spencer spluttered, immediately understanding the seriousness of Hotch’s tone and the potential misunderstanding his earlier smile might have conveyed. “The physician did the physical, Y/N just checked my blood pressure,” he clarified quickly, his words rushed and his tone anxious, eager to dispel any misinterpretations that might further fuel Hotch’s apparent ire.

The clarification seemed to simmer down the immediate flare of tension, but the residue of the exchange lingered, casting a brief shadow over the usual camaraderie of the team. Hotch’s reaction, though swiftly controlled, was a rare glimpse into the personal stakes he felt, perhaps revealing more about his own insecurities or troubles at home than he would have liked to admit in the professional setting of the BAU.

Spencer, feeling unsettled by the day's earlier events and Hotch's uncharacteristic outburst, sought out Derek for a private conversation. Finding a moment when the hallway was empty, ensuring their discussion remained confidential, Spencer approached him.

"Hey Derek, can I ask you something?" Spencer's tone carried a mix of curiosity and concern.

"What’s up, Reid?" Derek responded, always ready to lend an ear, especially to a teammate.

Spencer hesitated, gathering his thoughts before diving into what was troubling him. "Did I do something to upset Hotch?" he asked, his voice timid but earnest.

Derek pondered the question, leaning against the wall with a thoughtful expression. "I don’t think so… He’s been touchy since we met his wife though. Maybe—nah, nevermind," Derek started to dismiss his own thought, but Spencer's need for clarity pushed him to continue.

"No, what?" Spencer insisted, sensing that Derek was holding back something potentially insightful.

Derek sighed, realizing that perhaps sharing his observation might help Spencer understand the situation better. "He might be insecure that his wife is so much younger than him, it has certain… implications. Especially since he didn’t tell any of us he was married, again," Derek revealed, his voice lowering slightly with the sensitivity of the topic.

The information clicked into place for Spencer, helping him piece together Hotch's reactions and the underlying tensions that might be affecting his behavior. This understanding, while it did not solve the issue, gave Spencer a new perspective on how to approach his interactions with Hotch.

"That would make sense…it just seems like he’s only taking it out on me," he admitted, the feeling of being singled out gnawing at him.

"I doubt it’s intentional, Reid," Derek assured him, clapping a supportive hand on Spencer's shoulder. "It's possible he sees you as a threat, you are the youngest on the team, and we don't actually know how old Y/N is. He could be worried about that," Derek explained, hinting at the potential for unintentional rivalries or jealousies, even within a team as close as theirs.

Spencer furrowed his brow, the confusion evident on his face as he processed Derek's words. The idea that Hotch might view him as a threat due to his youth and proximity to Y/N was unsettling. "About what?" Spencer asked, his voice tinged with innocence. He wasn't fully grasping the implications of Derek's insinuations about Hotch's possible insecurities regarding age and attraction.

"Don’t worry your big brain about it too much, pretty boy. I’m sure it will blow over," Derek concluded with a slight chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. He knew well that sometimes, the dynamics within the BAU could get complicated by personal lives intersecting with professional roles. His advice was meant to reassure Spencer that whatever was brewing beneath the surface, it was likely a temporary ripple rather than a permanent shift in their team's dynamics.

—

It, in fact, did not blow over. The addition of Emily Prentiss to the BAU team introduced a dynamic shift that no one anticipated, least of all Aaron Hotchner. Emily, at 35, arrived with a blend of sophistication, experience, and undeniable charm that unwittingly unsettled Aaron. Her presence, which resonated so closely with what Aaron imagined as an ideal partner, stirred up complex emotions within him.

His feelings towards Emily were fraught with guilt, especially considering his recent marriage to you, a much younger woman whose rapid involvement with him had been born of circumstance and perhaps a mutual need for companionship rather than a deep-seated compatibility. Aaron's realization that Emily aligned more closely with his own age and interests only deepened his internal conflict. It was as though her being there illuminated the stark differences between his relationship with you and the potential of what could have been with someone like Emily.

Witnessing your easy rapport with Spencer, Aaron now found himself empathizing with your situation more than ever. Perhaps, he thought, you were drawn to Spencer because he represented something youthful and vibrant that Aaron himself could no longer provide. This thought nagged at him, seeding a bitterness that began to further color his interactions with Spencer.

In response to these tumultuous feelings, Aaron decided to double down on his commitment to you. He made more deliberate efforts to connect, to foster a deeper bond, and to prove to both himself and you that his decision to marry wasn't a misstep. At the same time, his interactions with Spencer took on a more patronizing tone. He began to treat Spencer less like the valued colleague he was and more like a naive child, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to reassert his dominance and control over the unsettling emotions Emily's presence elicited.

This shift in Aaron's behavior did not go unnoticed. The team, adept as they were at profiling others, began to pick up on the subtle undercurrents of tension. While professional on the surface, these personal conflicts threatened to ripple through their tightly knit group, challenging their cohesion and effectiveness.

—

Emily, still acclimating to the team's dynamics and personalities, found herself in the breakroom with Elle and JJ, seeking insight into the enigmatic unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. His stern demeanor had piqued her curiosity, leading her to question whether his aloof nature was a constant or situational trait.

"Hey...the chief, Hotchner, is he always that cold?" Emily asked, trying to sound casual as she stirred her coffee.

Elle snorted in response, her voice tinged with amusement. "Yeah, but he’s had his panties in a triple twist since his wife started oggling our boy genius," she said, not one to mince words.

JJ laughed, shaking her head slightly at Elle's blunt description. "What Elle means is," she interjected, giving Elle a loving glare meant to soften the bluntness, "he just has a very serious demeanor. He's a good boss."

Emily nodded, absorbing this new piece of information with a mix of surprise and intrigue. The revelation that the very handsome yet stoic chief's wife might have a soft spot for the 'geeky kid with the crazy IQ' was unexpected. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident as she processed the rumors swirling around Hotch's personal life. "No kidding, his wife is into, uh, Reid?" she said, the situation seeming almost too melodramatic to be real.

JJ chimed in with a more cautious tone. "Well, we don't know that for sure," she cautioned, her voice low as she glanced around the breakroom to ensure their conversation remained private. "But from what we’ve seen, Aaron doesn’t like when the two of them interact. Makes you think," she added, her words hinting at the undercurrents of jealousy and discomfort that seemed to affect Hotch more than he let on.

Elle, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. "Spencer was a blushing mess when he saw her, couldn't get a full sentence out. He practically had hearts in his eyes. Something's going on there," she declared, not shy about voicing her observations. "Not to mention his wife is way young, like Spencer's age probably."

Emily's laughter lingered in the air as the conversation drew to a close. With a newfound awareness of the team's dynamics, she resolved to keep a watchful eye on the interactions within the group, especially those involving Hotchner and Reid. 

—

Navigating his own slew of emotions regarding Emily, Aaron found himself at a crossroads. His increasing insecurity about his feelings prompted an unexpected move—inviting Spencer over for dinner. This decision, however, was not solely his own; it came per your suggestion.

Spencer, on receiving the invitation, was initially perplexed. Hotch's recent demeanor towards him had been notably cold, and this sudden gesture of hospitality seemed incongruent with their strained interactions at work. Despite his reservations, the underlying curiosity about the personal aspect of his boss's life, coupled with another opportunity to see you, piqued his interest enough to accept. 

The idea of profiling both an individual and a couple’s dynamic in their own environment was too intriguing for Spencer to pass up. Thus, with a mixture of professional intrigue and personal anticipation, he agreed to the dinner, thanking Hotch for the invitation.

Come Saturday evening, Spencer’s nerves were on the fritz as he approached your house. His mind raced with possible scenarios of how the evening would unfold. Upon arrival, the scene that greeted him only fueled his apprehension. Seeing you in the kitchen, donned in an apron and bustling about with the final dinner preparations, contrasted sharply with Hotch, who was lounging with a glass of scotch in hand, seemingly content to observe rather than participate.

This sight stirred a mix of emotions in Spencer. He knew of Hotch’s more traditional views on many aspects of life, but witnessing it firsthand—seeing you labor while Hotch relaxed—irritated him more than he anticipated. It highlighted a dynamic that seemed uneven, one that Spencer couldn’t help but feel protective over.

When Hotch offered him a drink and a seat, Spencer’s immediate reaction was to politely decline. Instead, he turned to you, offering his assistance with the preparations. This act was not just a gesture of helpfulness but also a subtle challenge to the traditional roles he observed, a way to engage with you directly and perhaps, in his own way, to shift the evening’s dynamics towards something more balanced and inclusive.

This move was sure to set a tone for the evening, one that Hotch might interpret in various ways, but for Spencer, it was a matter of principle as much as it was about making the evening more comfortable for everyone involved.

As Spencer stepped into the kitchen to assist you, Hotch’s demeanor shifted. From his position in the living room, he watched, a huff escaping his lips—a clear sign of his brewing discontent. The sight of Spencer comfortably mingling and helping in what Hotch considered his domain added fuel to the already simmering jealousy. It wasn't just the invasion of space; it was Spencer's evident enjoyment of your company, the ease with which he moved around you, clearly favoring your presence. This did not sit well with Hotch, making his blood boil as he observed the interaction.

Once dinner was served and everyone settled at the table, Spencer was effusive in his praise, clearly appreciative of the effort and skill you had put into the meal. "This is really excellent," he commented with genuine enthusiasm, turning towards you with a warm smile. "Everything is just perfect, thank you for such a wonderful dinner."

Hotch, meanwhile, struggled to remember that Spencer is more than just a colleague, but truly a friend. However, each compliment Spencer heaped seemed to tighten the coils of resentment within him. In an attempt to assert some form of dominance or to regain a sense of control, Hotch made several pointed comments aimed at Spencer. These remarks were thinly veiled attempts to undercut him, to question his masculinity or his competence in subtle ways. "I suppose it's a good break from all those microwave meals, huh, Reid?" Hotch quipped with a tight smile, implying a lack of domestic ability.

Unfortunately and unknowingly to him, Hotch’s strategy backfired. Rather than diminishing Spencer in your eyes, his comments only highlighted Spencer's qualities—his sensitivity and respect for your efforts, traits that aligned well with a more progressive, feminist perspective. This contrast between Spencer's appreciative acknowledgment of your work and Hotch’s antiquated attempts to belittle him only served to deepen your attraction to Spencer.

The atmosphere in the living room was charged as you and Spencer returned from clearing the table. Aaron, attempting to steer the evening back to a semblance of normalcy, offered Spencer a drink.

"Reid, can I get you that drink now?" He asked, a note of forced casualness in his voice as everyone settled into their seats.

"Oh no, thank you, I don’t drink," Spencer politely declined once again, maintaining his composure despite the underlying tension.

Hotch, with a slight smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, seemed to have anticipated this response. "Right, I guess that kind of goes against NA rules, doesn’t it?" he said, his tone poorly disguising the jab.

Spencer coughed, the discomfort evident on his face, his earlier ease fading into strained politeness. "Aaron!" You couldn't help but scold, your voice a loud boom of shame, humiliation, and anger for the inappropriate remark aimed at Spencer's personal struggles.

Spencer quickly interjected to diffuse the brewing conflict between you and your husband, very uncomfortable with witnessing an argument. "It’s fine, Y/N, he’s right," he said, forcing a sad smile that didn't quite mask his discomfort.

"I do not care if it’s true," you whispered to Spencer before turning your attention back to Aaron. "That was completely inappropriate to share such personal and likely painful information," you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of your disapproval.

Aaron’s expression shifted to one of regret, the smugness replaced by embarrassment as he realized the gravity of his words. "Spencer, I’m so sorry," he sighed, his tone reflecting genuine remorse. "I don’t know why I said that."

"Please, Hotch," Spencer waved him off, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment. "It’s fine, let’s just move on."

Despite Spencer's assurances, the tension remained. You stood abruptly, taking both your and Aaron’s drinks to the sink before returning with three glasses of water, your actions signaling a clear desire to reset the tone of the evening. The look in your eyes dared either man to challenge your decision, underscoring your authority in the situation.

Aaron seemed to shrink a little, his posture deflating as he recognized his childish outburst. Meanwhile, Spencer felt a newfound sense of validation; the evening's events, while uncomfortable, had somehow highlighted a mutual understanding and respect between you and him.

As the conversation tentatively resumed on a lighter note, Spencer's observant nature picked up on another detail—the conspicuous absence of family photos in the living room, save for one. "When was that taken?" he asked during a pause, nodding towards the picture of you and Aaron kissing under a rose arch.

"On the day we eloped," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of nostalgia with a touch of defiance as you caught Aaron's stiffening posture out of the corner of your eye.

"You eloped?" Spencer asked, curiosity piqued by the simplicity and suddenness suggested by the term.

"Mhm," you nodded, not shying away from the details. "It was a quick ceremony, neither of us felt the need to have some long extravagant thing."

Spencer listened, his mind piecing together the implications of your words and the dynamics of your relationship with Aaron. Each sentence revealed more than just factual information; it hinted at underlying motivations, desires, and perhaps even regrets. The evening, while fraught with tension, had inadvertently provided Spencer with profound insights into your marriage and, by extension, into you and Aaron as individuals. 

—

“How was dinner with the boss man and his pretty wife?”

Derek's question on Monday morning startled Spencer, still processing the dinner's events, as he responded with a nervous laugh that perhaps revealed more than intended.

"Exactly as you’d expect it to be," he replied, managing to keep the details vague but his tone indicative of the underlying complexities.

"Tense and uncomfortable?" Elle chimed in, her voice laced with humor and concern, knowing well the kind of stress that could emanate from such a personal encounter with their typically stoic boss.

"With a side of regret?" Penelope added, her tone playful yet unwittingly accurate, hitting closer to the truth of the evening than she realized.

Spencer, acknowledging their spot-on assessments, tapped his nose and nodded, confirming their guesses without going into specifics. His gesture was enough to convey the essence of the evening—tense, uncomfortable, and tinged with regret, reflecting the strained dynamics and the personal revelations that had surfaced.

—

The team's assignment in Texas was a typical scenario—gather evidence, coordinate with local law enforcement, analyze the scene. However, the dynamic shifted noticeably when Hotch decided to keep Emily close while distributing tasks to the rest of the team. It was a move that didn't go unnoticed; eyebrows were raised, and even Gideon, who usually partnered with Hotch in the field, found himself reassigned.

Derek decided to confront Hotch directly about his decision. "So, keeping Prentiss close, huh? What’s up with that?" Derek inquired, half-teasing, half-serious.

Hotch, maintaining his composed demeanor, replied, "I want to see how she does in the field firsthand." His tone was matter-of-fact, an attempt to veil his true motivations under the guise of professional mentorship.

The team, however, sensed there was more to it. They exchanged looks that conveyed a mutual recognition of something beyond a simple professional assessment. Spencer, particularly sensitive to Hotch and his…relationships, felt a twinge of empathy for you. He recalled the dinner, the dynamics he had observed, and now Hotch’s behavior, which seemed less like mentorship and more like something personal.

As for Emily, she found herself in an uncomfortable position. Aware of Hotch's marriage and the rumors about potential strains in his relationship, she tried to maintain professionalism but couldn’t help noticing Hotch’s less-than-subtle glances. Emily's discomfort was palpable to anyone paying attention, and it added an extra layer of tension to the team's interactions.

Hotch, internally conflicted, recognized his own inappropriate behavior but felt almost powerless to stop it. His actions were not lost on him; he saw the hurt it could potentially cause, not only to you but to the team's cohesion. The possibility of a midlife crisis crossed his mind, a cliché that seemed to fit yet made him despise his actions even more. The more he reflected on his behavior, the more he disliked the person he was becoming. This self-loathing, rather than deterring his actions, seemed to fuel them, creating a cycle of mistrust and regret that he struggled to break.

—

The evening out with the team was a needed change of pace after the intense case in Texas. Hotch's acceptance of the invitation to join everyone for drinks was a surprise, given his recent pattern of declining such outings. The team couldn't help but speculate that his change of heart had something to do with Emily's decision to come along, but they were in for another surprise.

As you walked into the bar with Hotch, his hand resting reassuringly on your back, it was clear that he was making an effort to present a united front. Spencer lit up at your arrival. You looked effortlessly gorgeous, a sight that brightened the young profiler’s evening considerably. After making your way to the table and exchanging greetings and proper introductions with the team, you and Penelope excused yourselves to head to the bar for drinks.

At the bar, you ordered a non-alcoholic blackberry lemonade, a choice made in solidarity with Spencer, who you now knew avoided alcohol. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Spencer, who saw a man making advances towards you. Your polite but firm rejection of his advances mirrored the dignity you maintained despite the complexities of your personal life, stirring a mix of admiration and protective anger in Spencer, especially considering the recent tension with Hotch.

Returning to the table with drinks in hand, you chose to sit next to Spencer. Handing him the lemonade, you playfully assured him of its non-alcoholic nature, sharing a moment that felt like an inside joke between you two. Spencer, charmed and somewhat flustered, thanked you and sipped directly from the glass, mindful of germs.

“That’s really good, it could be sweeter though,” he commented with a teasing smile, sparking a round of laughter from the team as they delved into stories about his well-known penchant for sweets. Hotch watched the interactions from a slight distance, his expression one of his usual sternness, yet it seemed out of place in the casual setting of the bar.

As the night progressed, it became apparent that neither you nor Hotch had driven to the bar; you had taken a cab. This revelation meant your choice to avoid alcohol was deliberate for reasons other than driving, a detail that didn't escape Spencer's keen observations. The profiler, trained to read subtleties and unspoken signals, started to sense that perhaps there was something growing between you and him—a spark that seemed to flicker more with every interaction.

Later that night, as Spencer reviewed the evening's events in his mind, he realized the minimal interaction between you and Hotch. Most of your time was spent engaging with him, sparking further speculation about the state of your marriage. The profiler couldn't ignore the possibility that you might not be as invested in your relationship with Hotch as everyone assumed.

As Spencer lay in bed that night, his mind raced through the possibilities, the profiles, the subtle cues. He couldn't help but feel that something significant was unfolding, perhaps the beginning of a shift in your relationship with Hotch and potentially the start of something new with him. He was a profiler, after all, and his instincts rarely misled him.

—

The night unfolded differently for you and Aaron once you were back home. Aaron's attempt to initiate intimacy was met with your refusal, sparking a serious conversation between the two of you. His words, "Okay, Y/N, I have tried to be patient and understanding...and I never want to force you or make you uncomfortable, I simply want to know why you haven't let me touch you in weeks," brought the issue to the forefront.

You were taken aback by his observation, suddenly aware of the distance that had crept into your interactions without your conscious decision. "I don’t know…honestly, Aaron," you responded, taking his hands in yours, seeking physical connection even as you discussed your lack thereof. "I didn’t even realize I was closing myself off, I guess I just haven’t been in the mood to have sex."

Aaron's understanding in that moment—his gentle smile and reassuring words, "That’s okay, you know you can tell me anything, yeah?"—reminded you of the reasons you fell for him initially. It was a reminder of the connection you once felt so intensely that you had decided to elope, driven by the desire to be his partner without delay.

Your nod and his reassurance bridged the gap that had formed between you, allowing a moment of true intimacy to return. "I know, thank you," you acknowledged, feeling a resurgence of the affection and attraction that had characterized the early days of your relationship. It was in this renewed closeness that you found yourself genuinely wanting to be with him, leading to a night of intimacy that was chosen and cherished, not prompted by obligation or his inquiry.

That night, as you reconnected with Aaron, your thoughts were entirely with him. 

—

Feeling a renewed sense of commitment to your relationship, Hotch intentionally kept his interactions with Emily strictly professional. However, the undercurrents of previous tensions and suspicions didn't completely dissipate.

During a subsequent case, Spencer, being watchful and sensitive to nuances in behavior, noticed Hotch and Emily standing a bit too close for his comfort. His protective instincts towards you, coupled with residual concerns from the past, prompted him to confront Hotch. The mixture of genuine care for your well-being and perhaps a bit of personal bias led Spencer to issue a stark ultimatum: "Either cut it out, or I’ll tell Y/N everything."

Hotch's reaction was immediate and intense. He was livid, not just because Spencer had threatened him but also because his interpretation was incorrect. In that particular moment, Hotch had been comforting Emily over a professional setback, not engaging in anything that crossed a personal line. 

Hotch’s stern response reflected his frustration and the precarious balance he was trying to maintain between his professional responsibilities and personal life. “Reid, I need you to stay out of my private affairs. I hope inviting you into mine and Y/N’s life was not a mistake, do not make me regret it,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of warning and disappointment.

Spencer, taken aback by Hotch’s stern admonition, was left flustered. He nodded, realizing perhaps he had overstepped, influenced by his own emotions.

—

When you returned to the bureau weeks later with coffees to celebrate Penelope's birthday, the warm welcomes quickly shifted to concern as you noticed Spencer on crutches. Your reaction was immediate and filled with genuine worry. “Whoa! What happened?” you exclaimed, rushing over to help him with his files.

Spencer, slightly amused by your concern, simply replied with a shrug, “I got shot.” His nonchalance about such a serious injury only heightened your worry and surprise.

“You got shot?” Your voice rose in alarm, drawing the attention of others, including Aaron, who emerged from his office just in time to hear your exclamation. His response, however, was not what you expected. “It was in the line of duty, it should hardly affect you,” he stated, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of dismissiveness.

Your reaction was swift and pointed. “It’s nice to know when friends are hurt,” you retorted, turning your attention back to Spencer. “I could have gotten you flowers, or a card, or chocolate!” 

Spencer laughed, his cheeks reddening slightly under your attention. “It’s okay, Y/N. That’s a sweet thought though, thank you,” he said, clearly touched.

Intent on making sure Spencer was well cared for, you suggested, “Come over later? I want to look at it,” leaving no room for debate. 

However, noticing Spencer's hesitant glance towards Aaron, you quickly amended your offer. “Or—uh, you’re injured, why don’t I come to your apartment?” you suggested pragmatically. You handed him a sticky note, asking him to write down his address, ensuring you could be there to support him.

Aaron, witnessing this exchange, looked on with a heated expression, his discomfort palpable as he observed the closeness between you and Spencer. His reaction did not go unnoticed by the team.

Elle, Derek, and JJ watched uncomfortably from the sidelines, the tension thick in the air. Elle leaned in to whisper humorously to her colleagues, “Do you guys think actual steam can come out of Hotch’s ears?” 

JJ playfully hit Elle’s arm, responding in kind, “Shut up, it’s obviously going to come out of his nose.”

Their laughter was a brief reprieve from the tension, but Derek brought the conversation back to a more serious note. “Seriously though, do you think things will ever be okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“What do you mean?” JJ inquired, looking towards you and Spencer.

Derek sighed, nodding towards the pair. “There’s clearly some chemistry there, I mean, it’s obvious Pretty Boy likes her. And Hotch looks ready to kill anytime Spencer talks to her.”

Elle agreed, her expression somber. “I can’t see things being normal unless one of them is suddenly out of the picture.”

As the team members exchanged their thoughts, none noticed Gideon passing by. Having overheard a snippet of their conversation and knowing Aaron and you better than most, he chimed in with a perspective that was both mournful and insightful. 

“Aaron thought she reminded him of Haley. Y/N thought she was in love,” he commented, encapsulating the emotional confusion and misinterpretations that had led to the current state of affairs.

—

In the quiet confines of the records room, Derek took the opportunity to offer Spencer some brotherly advice, a moment that felt both necessary and urgent given the recent tensions.

"Yo, kid," Derek called out, catching Spencer's attention as he rummaged through files on crutches. "Can I offer a word of advice?"

Spencer, slightly confused by the serious tone, nodded. "Sure?"

Derek exhaled deeply, the gravity of his words weighing on him. "Cool it with Mrs. Hotchner. Hotch looks like he’s going to pop a vessel every time you talk to her."

“Actually, in order for a vessel to pop—” Spencer started to deflect with a technical correction, a habit when he felt uncomfortable.

"Reid, I’m serious," Derek interrupted, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation.

Spencer sighed heavily, the reality of the situation sinking in as he slumped on his crutches. "I know," he admitted, his voice low.

Derek gave him a sympathetic smile, understanding the emotional turmoil Spencer was in. "You got it bad for her, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" Spencer looked truly pitiful, his usual composure replaced by a sense of vulnerability.

"I don’t think Hotch has caught on," Derek comforted him, but then added a layer of complexity that Spencer hadn’t considered. "I think he’s threatened by how much she’s clearly taken a liking to you."

That statement caught Spencer's full attention. "What did you say?"

"Come on, kid," Derek laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension. "It’s so obvious. She has googly eyes every time she sees you. Not to mention inviting herself over? Without Hotch? She should just write ‘I heart Spencer Reid’ across her forehead."

Spencer’s anxiety spiked at Derek’s observations. "Wait, what? No, no, and Hotch? He sees that? He knows?" His questions tumbled out rapidly, each one laced with panic.

Derek nodded solemnly. "I think so, I mean, she doesn’t look at him like that." Spencer was inclined to believe Derek, given their training as profilers, but Derek’s next words were cautionary. "Just, be careful, okay? Especially being alone with her."

The advice left Spencer conflicted. As a profiler, he knew the importance of understanding the dynamics and emotions at play, but as a man, he was deeply drawn to you, complicating his ability to remain detached. Derek’s advice resonated with a warning he knew he should heed, yet part of him wondered about the possibilities that your mutual attraction could lead to, despite the obvious risks. This conversation was a stark reminder of the delicate balance he needed to maintain, not just professionally, but personally as well.

—

The tension between you and Aaron had escalated to a breaking point. The conflict, fueled by the growing closeness between you and Spencer, brought underlying issues to the surface in a harsh, raw confrontation at home.

Aaron's frustration was palpable, his voice raising despite his attempt to keep calm. “I just don’t understand why you need to go take care of him, he’s a grown man!” He argued, his irritation evident in his tone.

Your response was equally charged, born of exasperation and a fundamental difference in how you each viewed the situation. “Because, Aaron!” you exclaimed, your arms gesturing wildly to emphasize your point. “He is my friend, I am a nurse, and I care about him!”

Aaron's skepticism was clear as he rolled his eyes dismissively. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you challenged, glaring at him, your arms crossed defensively across your chest.

His accusation came sharply, his voice louder now, betraying his own emotional turmoil. “Oh, come on, Y/N! You so clearly have a thing for him!”

Your defense was instinctive, a mix of denial and irritation. “A thing? What are we, 12?” you retorted, trying to diminish the weight of his words.

But Aaron’s next comment cut deeper, harsh and dismissive. “You’re a lot closer than me,” he said, his words echoing like a slap.

That comment hit you hard, a verbal blow that felt like a punch to the gut. Anger and hurt boiled over as you retorted sharply, “Fuck you, Aaron. I’m going to Spencer’s. Call it a playdate,” you snarled, the sarcasm biting.

With that, you stormed out, leaving Aaron in the midst of a silent, tense atmosphere, the air thick with the residue of words that couldn’t be taken back. The drive to Spencer’s was a blur, your mind reeling from the argument and the hurtful things said.

—

Spencer's apartment felt like a sanctuary at that moment, a sharp contrast to the charged atmosphere you'd left behind. His initial excitement to see you quickly morphed into concern as he noticed your distressed state. His question was gentle, filled with genuine worry. “Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?”

Your request for a hug, a simple yet profound need for comfort, was met with immediate warmth and understanding from Spencer. He didn’t hesitate, his usual concerns about personal space and germs momentarily forgotten, overshadowed by his care for you.

As you wrapped your arms around him, the feeling of connection was palpable—two friends finding solace in each other's presence. Spencer’s scent, a comforting mix of old books, sandalwood, and balsam, enveloped you, offering a stark contrast to Aaron's colder, harder essence. This sensory difference wasn't just olfactory; it was symbolic of the emotional warmth Spencer offered compared to what you currently felt with Aaron.

Spencer, too, was comforted by your presence, finding the scent of your hair and the feel of you embracing him soothing. When he finally spoke, his voice vibrated softly atop your head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your response, though muffled against his chest, was candid. “Aaron and I got into a fight,” you admitted, not wanting to hold back the truth from Spencer, especially not while seeking comfort in his embrace.

Spencer pulled back slightly to look at you, his suspicion about the nature of the fight needing confirmation. “A fight? About what?” he asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

Your gaze met his, frustration and defiance shining through, though not directed at him. “He doesn’t understand why I wanted to come over here and take care of you,” you explained, your voice tinged with both irritation and sadness.

Spencer's reaction to you telling him Aaron's words about him being a grown man and insinuating that you were behaving childishly was mixed with disbelief and amusement when you recounted calling it a 'playdate'. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, a laugh escaping him despite the seriousness of the situation.

You walked further into his apartment, the space between you allowing for a momentary physical separation but not diminishing the emotional closeness. “He deserved it, he was acting like a total ass,” you said, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Spencer nodded, understanding the gravity of what you were facing at home. “Do you guys fight a lot?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry, that was invasive,” Spencer then said, immediately regretting the question as he saw your posture tense.

You sighed, the weight of the situation settling on you. “No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him, though your voice carried a hint of resignation. “We don’t… fight. We argue, but they never get resolved. We just ignore and move on. Sounds healthy, right?” Your words were laced with sarcasm, reflecting the growing realization of the unhealthy patterns in your marriage.

As you tried to brush aside the gravity of the conversation about your relationship with Aaron, Spencer gently but firmly acknowledged the situation. “No, Y/N… that doesn’t sound healthy,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. His response, filled with genuine concern, only intensified the emotions you were trying to suppress.

Feeling the tears well up, you quickly sniffed them back, wiping at your cheeks. You forced a smile, attempting to shift the focus from your troubled marriage to something less personal. “It’s fine, let's talk about that leg,” you suggested, clapping your hands together as if to physically dispel the tension in the room.

Spencer gave you a knowing look, his eyes conveying understanding and a bit of reluctance to divert the conversation. He recognized your deflection for what it was, but he respected your wish to steer away from the emotional turmoil. “Yeah, I’ll go put on some shorts,” he said, nodding towards the hallway as he prepared to make himself more comfortable for your examination.

Your next comment came out a bit more casually than you intended, blurring the lines of appropriateness given the complexity of your feelings and the situation. “Pshh, we’re friends, you can just take your pants off,” you said. It was a jest, meant to lighten the mood, but even as the words left your mouth, you recognized the potential implications.

Spencer coughed, a clear sign of his discomfort mixed with a hint of amusement at your boldness. He was acutely aware of the precariousness of the situation, both as a man who harbored feelings for you and as a friend who wanted to respect boundaries. “Oh-okay,” he stuttered, his response reflecting his internal conflict between desire and propriety.

The air between you thickened with unspoken words and suppressed emotions, the room charged with care, concern, and an undeniable connection that both of you felt but were cautious to explore further. This delicate balance of friendship and the undercurrents of something more made each interaction both precious and profoundly complicated.

Spencer’s hesitant actions, as he awkwardly pushed down his sweatpants, unintentionally revealed a side of himself that was both endearing and utterly human. His choice of polka dot briefs, stark against his usual buttoned-up demeanor, caught you off guard and your reaction was spontaneous—a burst of surprise and delight.

“What?” he shrieked, his voice pitching as he instinctively covered himself with both hands, embarrassed by your amusement.

Your laughter filled the room, a genuine response to the unexpected whimsy of his underwear choice. “Y/N! Stop laughing,” Spencer whined, his discomfort palpable yet tinged with a hint of humor despite himself.

“I’m sorry!” you managed to wheeze out between giggles, trying to compose yourself. “I just wasn’t expecting polka dots on such a scholar, they’re adorable,” you added, your smile broadening as you spoke, hoping to ease his embarrassment by affirming the charm in the situation.

Spencer’s face turned a deeper shade of red, his bashfulness evident. “Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to see my underwear today,” he mumbled, his words soft and a bit self-deprecating.

“Oh?” You couldn’t resist a playful jab, your smirk playful. “No suitors stopping by later?” you teased, lightening the mood further.

“No suitors, period,” Spencer replied, his tone resigned but gentle, hinting at his acceptance of his solitary lifestyle.

You thought you heard a soft “good” from your own lips, but neither of you dwelled on it, choosing instead to focus on the reason for your visit. Spencer redirected the conversation to his injury, a touch of nervousness returning as he scratched the back of his neck. The simple action unknowingly highlighted his physique, drawing your attention momentarily to the muscle bulging appealingly from his bicep.

Spencer's inadvertent display of vulnerability, combined with the physical closeness of the moment, charged the air between you with an electricity that was hard to ignore. Despite the lighthearted banter, there was a palpable tension that neither of you could completely sidestep.

Clearing his throat, Spencer moved to a more practical topic. "Let me show you the injury," he said, guiding your gaze down to his leg where the reason for your visit lay. He explained, "The bullet grazed here—missed the bone, thankfully."

Spencer, recognizing the need for a bit more comfort as you continued your examination, carefully maneuvered himself over to the couch. With a slight grimace that spoke to the subtle ache still lingering in his leg, he eased down into a seated position. Once settled, he gestured for you to come closer. The move allowed him both the comfort of the soft couch and the chance to observe you more closely as you focused on his injury.

As you knelt closer to inspect Spencer’s leg, the atmosphere between you seemed to shift. The clinical detachment you aimed for was subtly undermined by the intimacy of the moment, with the dim light of the apartment casting soft shadows around you. You gently positioned Spencer's leg to get a better look at the wound, your hands careful and precise.

"It looks like it's healing well," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. Your fingers brushed against his skin, delicate yet deliberate, tracing the line of the scar with a touch light enough to be barely perceptible. The warmth from your fingertips seemed to linger on his skin, an inadvertent caress that was clinical in its intention but personal in its effect.

"You’re lucky it wasn’t worse," you continued, your eyes fixed on the wound but acutely aware of every minute response from Spencer—each small twitch or change in breathing. Your proximity allowed you to notice these subtle cues, each one heightening the charged air between you.

Spencer's response was a soft exhale, a sound that might have been relief mixed with something more restrained. "Yeah, I really am," he agreed, his voice a whisper that matched the quiet intensity of the room. His eyes, fixed on your face as you examined him, seemed to search for something beyond the professional concern you displayed.

As you continued to attend to Spencer's injury, the intimate setting and your proximity began to stir a warmth that was difficult to ignore. The air between you thickened as your hands inadvertently moved beyond the scarred area, softly rubbing up and down his thigh in what started as a comforting gesture.

Spencer's response was almost immediate, a shaky breath escaping him as he felt your touch glide over his skin. The tenderness of your actions, innocent in intent, brought a heightened awareness to the simplicity of touch, sparking a flutter of something deeper between you both.

You couldn't help but giggle lightly at his reaction, breaking the tension with a playful tease. "Wow, Spence. Your legs are so smooth," you commented, your voice a mix of amusement and surprise, trying to keep the atmosphere light and friendly despite the undercurrent of something more stirring beneath the surface.

Spencer chuckled softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks from your teasing comment about his smooth legs. He tried to deflect a bit, maintaining a light, playful tone. "Well, I guess I have to keep up some standards, don't I?" he quipped, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a twinkle of mirth.

"Oh, absolutely," you responded, grinning as you continued to gently massage his thigh, carefully avoiding the healing wound. "I mean, who knows when you'll have to model for a 'Legs of the BAU' calendar?"

Spencer laughed, the sound rich and genuine, easing some of the tension that had built up. "Oh, no. If we're doing that, you know Morgan's definitely taking Mr. July. I might settle for Mr. November, less pressure."

"You’d make a great Mr. November," you teased back, enjoying the easy banter. "Mysterious and intellectual. Maybe throw in a few leaves and books around you for that autumn scholar vibe."

He raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Books, huh? I thought you’d suggest more polka dots to really sell it."

"You know, that could work," you said with a mock-serious nod. "Polka dots could be your signature style. Very chic."

Spencer laughed again, the warmth in his voice melting into a more confidential tone. "I think I’d rather keep this between you and me, no need for Aaron to find out about me and my polka dots," he joked, but the mention of your husband's name changed the atmosphere abruptly.

"Right, Aaron," you echoed, the reminder jolting you back to reality. You quickly retracted your hands, placing them on your own thighs as a physical barrier to the closeness that had just been. "Well, your leg looks great," you added quickly, trying to steer back into safer waters.

Spencer sensed the shift and regretted his words immediately. "Thanks," he said, his smile faltering into awkwardness as he recognized the boundary he'd nudged. 

You stood up, suddenly unsure of how to navigate the space between comfort and propriety. Spencer, watching your hesitation, didn't want the conversation to end on an awkward note.

"Uh, Y/N, do you want to sit down? We could talk," he suggested gently, hoping to extend the olive branch. He knew you weren't eager to return home quickly after your argument with Aaron.

You smiled, the warmth in your expression returning as you appreciated his thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Spence, you're the best," you responded, grateful for his continued support and friendship.

As you sat back down, settling into the couch beside him but at a respectful distance, Spencer continued, trying to lighten the mood again. "So, aside from my fashion choices and medical updates, what else is new with you? Any more adventures in the world of nursing?"

Your laughter returned, easing the tension. "Oh, you know, the usual chaos. But no more polka dots, unfortunately," you quipped, grateful for the return to an easy air. The conversation flowed more freely again, both of you navigating the fine line between personal support and professional boundaries, grateful for the sanctuary of friendship in the complex web of your lives.

—

Returning home after spending hours with Spencer left you feeling a mixture of emotions. The casual and friendly conversation had not only provided comfort but also stoked a confusing array of thoughts and feelings. It was a bittersweet sort of clarity, easing the immediate stress but deepening the internal conflict you were experiencing about your relationship with Aaron and the unexpected connection you felt with Spencer.

As you quietly entered your home, relieved to find Aaron asleep and not immediately faced with the need to explain your prolonged absence or the emotional residue it carried, you had a moment to reflect. The silence of the house offered a stark contrast to the lively, engaging discussions you'd had with Spencer, highlighting the growing chasm in your marriage that seemed more pronounced in the quiet.

Settling into the familiar yet increasingly foreign space of your living room, you grappled with your thoughts. Your actions throughout the evening—seeking solace and comfort in Spencer's company—were not inherently wrong, yet they carried a weight of implications you couldn't easily dismiss. The levity of your interactions with Spencer was a stark reminder of what was missing in your marriage, and your returning thoughts were anything but calm. They flitted, unbidden and unsettling, between your current reality and the 'what ifs' that Spencer represented.

The evening was long, filled with introspection and a tumultuous inner dialogue. You wrestled with feelings of guilt, confusion, and a burgeoning realization that the feelings you had for Spencer might be more profound than simple friendship. These thoughts were lewd both in their nature and in their implication, suggesting a desire for a connection that went beyond platonic, something that felt both thrilling and terrifying given your commitment to Aaron.

That night, the couch became your makeshift bed, a silent statement of your desire not to disturb Aaron, reflecting the distance that had grown between you. When morning light filtered through the windows, it found you still asleep, wrapped in the uneasy peace of slumber away from the shared bed.

Aaron's awakening was starkly different. Upon finding your side of the bed cold and empty, a rush of panic and suspicion flooded him. His thoughts spiraled immediately to the worst-case scenario — that you had chosen to spend the night with Spencer instead of at home. Fuelled by fear and anger, he stormed out of the bedroom, his mind set on confronting what he perceived as a betrayal.

However, the sight of you sleeping on the couch halted him abruptly, though it did little to cool his temper. “Y/N!” he yelled, his voice sharp and loud in the quiet of the morning.

Startled awake, you lost your balance and tumbled off the couch, your heart racing from the sudden shock. “What the fuck, Aaron??” you screamed back, your voice filled with fear and confusion.

“Why are you on the couch? Couldn’t bear to face me after you fucked Spencer?” Aaron accused, his words cutting through the air, heavy with suspicion.

“What is wrong with you? I looked at his wound and we talked,” you replied, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you.

Aaron, however, was far from pacified, his anger intensifying at your composed response. “I’m so sure,” he spat sarcastically.

“Why are you so quick to assume I would cheat on you? Are you projecting? Is there something I should know about?” you countered sharply, your eyes narrowing as you scrutinized him, searching for signs of guilt in his own actions.

Aaron’s reaction was immediate and defensive, his body freezing as he responded with paternalistic scolding. “No, Y/N,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive as if he were reprimanding a misbehaving child. “I have not done anything to betray our marriage, unlike you.”

The tension in the room escalated as you confronted Aaron, your voice edged with defiance and pain. “Pray tell, Aaron, what have I done to betray you?” you asked, the word 'betray' laced with cruelty due to the sting of his accusations.

Aaron's response was a bitter laugh, a sound devoid of any actual amusement as he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I don’t want to get into this right now,” he deflected, avoiding a direct confrontation but also signaling how deep his frustrations ran.

“Exactly because I haven’t done a goddamn thing,” you retorted sharply, your voice rising slightly, a clear indication of your anger and hurt boiling to the surface.

The room fell into a charged silence, the air thick with unresolved tensions and unspoken grievances. It was Aaron who broke the silence, his voice carrying a weight that was both resigned and decisive. “You know what, Y/N?”

“What?” Your response was terse, bracing for more accusations.

“I want a divorce,” Aaron declared, the words heavy with finality.

The statement hung between you, stark and irrevocable. Yet, instead of the devastation such words might once have wrought, they brought a grim sense of relief. “Me too,” you responded quietly, your voice steady. The admission was not made out of spite but from a profound recognition of the irreparable rift that had grown between you.

The resolution to end your marriage, though born from a place of profound discord, strangely ushered in a wave of relief and mutual understanding between you and Aaron. As the initial shock of the decision faded, an unexpected camaraderie emerged—perhaps it was the absence of the oppressive weight of trying to save a failing relationship, or maybe it was the clarity that came with acknowledging the truth out loud. Whatever the reason, you both found yourselves laughing, the sound mingling with a sense of liberation that hadn't been present in your home for a long time.

Sitting together, perhaps more honestly than you had in months, Aaron began discussing practical next steps. He was methodical, suggesting legal pathways forward, leveraging his connections with friends in the law to ensure that the process would be as smooth and painless as possible. He proposed to find an alternative place to stay temporarily, giving you space to decide your next moves in an environment free of pressure. 

"You should take your time figuring things out, Y/N. No rush," Aaron offered, his tone sincere. This gesture reminded you of the man you had fallen for—the kind-hearted, generous person whose presence had once felt like a safe haven. 

While the romantic part of your relationship was ending, this newfound platonic understanding sparked a hope within you. Perhaps you hadn't completely lost Aaron; maybe there was a potential to salvage a friendship from the ashes of your marriage. It was a comforting thought, considering how intertwined your lives had become. 

"I appreciate that, Aaron. Really," you acknowledged, feeling a genuine gratitude that was devoid of the bitterness that had clouded recent months. "And, maybe we can try to be friends? I'd like that," you suggested tentatively, unsure but hopeful.

Aaron nodded, a small, genuine smile appearing on his face. "I'd like that too, Y/N. I think we could be good at that," he agreed, the idea seeming to please him as well.

—

Monday morning in the BAU was palpably different. The air felt less tense, the usual undercurrents of stress and unspoken emotions seemed to have dissipated somewhat, leaving a lighter atmosphere that even the most preoccupied team members noticed. The change wasn't just personal but had subtly permeated the professional environment as well.

Ross had agreed to let Hotch stay with him while you figured out your living arrangements. This arrangement was made quietly, a testament to Rossi’s understanding of the delicate nature of personal matters and his respect for privacy. He had no intention of sharing this information with the rest of the team, believing that Hotch would disclose the details when he felt appropriate.

The subtle changes in Hotch's demeanor, however, were not lost on Derek. "Hotchner, looking good," he called across the room with a smirk, adding, "Have a relaxing weekend with the missus?"

Hotch, caught somewhat off guard but used to Derek's probing style, managed a small, tight smile in response. The question hung in the air, a bit more pointed than usual, given the personal circumstances Hotch was navigating. 

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone non-committal.

Rossi, observing the exchange from a distance, gave Derek a subtle look that spoke volumes. It was a silent signal not to push too hard, a reminder of the boundaries they all respected when it came to personal matters. 

Derek caught Rossi’s glance and nodded slightly, he shifted his attention back to the task at hand, letting the matter drop without further comment. 

—

Your life was undergoing a significant transformation, marked by both endings and new beginnings. The divorce with Aaron, facilitated by his legal knowledge and the connections of his friends, concluded more smoothly than you had anticipated. This closure allowed you to move forward without the lingering bitterness that often accompanies such separations.

Finding the perfect apartment on the other side of town felt like a sign of new opportunities. It was an older building brimming with charm, exactly what you had hoped for—a place without roommates where you could start fresh. The apartment quickly became your sanctuary, reflecting the new phase of your life with its inviting spaces and the personal touches you added.

Professionally, your career was flourishing. Being assigned to oversee the new wave of nursing residents placed you in a vital role at the hospital. This responsibility not only affirmed your skills and experience but also provided a social outlet, connecting you with peers who shared your passion and dedication to healthcare. These new relationships were enriching, offering friendships that matched your energy and enthusiasm.

Your interactions with Aaron had settled into a comfortable, if occasional, rhythm. You both had managed to salvage a friendship from the remains of your marriage, a testament to the mutual respect and platonic love that still existed between you. 

Aaron, too, was finding his path. Engaging in triathlon training was initially a way to channel his energy and emotions into something productive. It was during these sessions that he met Beth, someone who was better suited for him in this new chapter of his life. She was closer to his age, shared his interests, and understood the complexities of his past without judgment.

The day you met Beth was serendipitous. Arriving at the house to pick up a few remaining items, you stumbled upon them during a break in their training. The meeting was unexpectedly easy, devoid of any awkwardness. Beth was instantly warm and understanding, recognizing your past role in Aaron's life but also appreciating the boundaries now in place.

Seeing Aaron happy with Beth brought you a genuine sense of peace. It reassured you that moving on was not only possible for you but for Aaron as well. This reassurance was a final piece in resolving any lingering doubts about the divorce. Your life was truly beginning anew, marked by burgeoning friendships, professional fulfillment, and a contentment in your personal life that had been missing for some time.

As you settled further into your new life, it became clear that the decisions made, though difficult, were leading to a brighter, more fulfilled future. You were not only surviving the changes but thriving, finding joy in the freedom to redefine yourself and your relationships on your own terms.

—

When Penelope spotted Hotch and Beth sharing a kiss outside the coffee shop where she was enjoying her afternoon, it sparked a chain reaction of whispers and concerns within the team. Penelope felt compelled to share what she saw with Derek, who then passed the news along through Emily, JJ, and finally to Spencer, who was perhaps the most affected given his close friendship with you.

The news eventually made its way back to Rossi, who felt it was his duty to inform Aaron that the team was aware of his new relationship. With this knowledge, Aaron knew he had to address the situation directly. He called a meeting with the entire team to clear the air.

Sitting in the briefing room, the team waited as Aaron stood at the front, visibly gathering his thoughts. Spencer's emotions were particularly tumultuous, swinging from concern for you to confusion over Aaron's actions.

The BAU team absorbed the news of Hotch's divorce and new relationship with varying reactions, from JJ's sympathetic sigh to Rossi's light-hearted attempt to bring some humor to the situation. Hotch's own laughter, a rare break in his usually stoic demeanor, helped to somewhat lighten the mood, though the underlying seriousness of his announcement lingered in the air.

As Hotch assured everyone that everything was above board and that you were aware of his new relationship, the team members nodded, accepting his words and moving forward with their day. But for Spencer, the revelation stirred a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each more conflicting than the last.

Caught in his own head, Spencer barely noticed the passage of time as he fixated on what this development meant for his own feelings and the potential of a relationship with you. These nagging thoughts began to consume Spencer more deeply than he anticipated. His contemplation was so intense that he almost missed Derek approaching his desk with a characteristic smirk.

"Hey, pretty boy," Derek greeted, snapping Spencer out of his reverie.

Spencer looked up, slightly startled. "Hey, Morgan. What's up?"

"You gonna ask her out now?" Derek jibed, giving Spencer's shoulder a light shove, his tone teasing but probing.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately shook his head. "What? No," he blurted out, the idea seeming too sudden, too soon.

Derek tilted his head, a puzzled look crossing his face. "Why not?"

"Um, she just got divorced, she probably needs some time," Spencer rationalized, his voice tinged with hesitation and concern for your well-being.

"Hotch didn’t need any time, and from the sounds of it, it was a mutual decision," Derek pointed out, challenging Spencer's cautious approach.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and confusion. "Okay, well she was still with Hotch. That would just be weird," he argued, trying to justify his reluctance to act on his feelings.

"Have you actually talked to him about it? I doubt he’d care, he’s already seeing someone else," Derek countered, pushing Spencer to reconsider the boundaries he had set for himself.

"Maybe Y/N is too," Spencer muttered, the thought striking a chord of insecurity within him. His comment was more to himself than to Derek.

Derek observed Spencer's troubled expression, understanding the respect and apprehension that held him back. "Just think about it, man. Sometimes, you gotta take a chance," he advised before leaving Spencer to his thoughts.

Left alone, Spencer continued to wrestle with his feelings, the conversation with Derek leaving him even more uncertain about the right course of action. He knew he needed to think carefully about his next steps, not just for his sake, but for yours as well, respecting both your recent past and the potential future you might share.

—

The bar was alive with the energy of celebration, the team gathered to unwind after successfully closing another case. Laughter filled the air, with each member of the BAU team indulging in their own version of relaxation. Emily, Elle and Penelope were engrossed in their playful betting, Derek was the life of the party on the dance floor, and Spencer, ever the intellectual showman, was charming a group of college students with his magic tricks.

As the evening progressed, the ambiance was electric, a perfect blend of leisure and fun—until the bar door swung open, ushering in a fresh wave of energy. The sudden shift was palpable as you entered, laughing along with a group of new nursing colleagues. The brief moment when everyone’s attention turned towards the door didn’t go unnoticed by the BAU team.

You spotted Aaron and Beth quickly, approaching with a bright smile to exchange hugs and greetings, showing no signs of awkwardness or residual tension from your past with Aaron. Spencer watched the exchange from a distance, his card trick momentarily forgotten as the students around him found other distractions.

When you moved away from Aaron and headed towards the bar, Spencer found himself inexplicably drawn to the space you had just vacated. Approaching hesitantly, he joined Aaron, Beth, JJ, and Rossi.

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch greeted him with a rare, genuine smile, an expression of peace that seemed to lighten his entire demeanor.

Spencer returned the smile awkwardly, glancing at the group. “Hi. Was that Y/N?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of his internal churning.

Beth and JJ couldn’t help but giggle, picking up on the undercurrents of Spencer’s interest, while Hotch confirmed with a nod. “Yup. You should say hi, she always liked you,” he said, still smiling warmly.

Spencer was visibly taken aback by the comment, his confusion evident. “Is that not weird for you?” he managed to ask, trying to gauge Hotch’s reaction.

Beth laughed lightly, and JJ chimed in, playfully nudging the conversation forward. “Are you going to ask her out, Spence?”

Mortified, especially with Hotch there, Spencer spluttered, “I—I, uh, well…”

Before he could flounder further, Hotch cut him off with a chuckle, showing a level of understanding and acceptance that Spencer hadn’t expected. “It’s fine, Reid,” he reassured, nodding towards where you stood at the bar. “Go ask her, I bet she says yes.”

Spencer's heart raced as he approached you at the bar, each step filled with apprehension and hope. His friends' eyes followed him, their expressions a blend of encouragement and amusement, knowing just how significant this moment was for him.

When he tapped your shoulder, you turned with a start, and the surprise quickly melted into a warm, inviting smile when you recognized him. "Spencer?" you said, your voice tinged with a delighted confusion.

"Hi," Spencer managed, his grin tight but genuine as he tried to contain the nervous energy bubbling inside him.

"How are you?" you asked, your smile widening. Without waiting for his response, you added, "Can I give you a hug?"

Spencer’s nod was immediate, and he opened his arms, welcoming the comfort and familiarity of your embrace. As you stepped into his arms, both of you were enveloped in a sense of warmth and security, a feeling of coming home that neither of you had anticipated but both deeply appreciated. 

As you pulled back slightly, maintaining close contact, you looked up at him, your eyes locking in a moment that felt suspended in time. It was intimate, profound, and spoke volumes of the connection that had quietly grown between you.

Meanwhile, Hotch, sitting at the table with the rest of the team, had discreetly turned his attention away, giving you both the privacy of your moment. Though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something indescribable, he was genuinely happy to see you moving forward.

"Um," Spencer cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Do you want to go out with me?" he asked, his heart hanging on your answer.

"Yes," you responded instantly, before he could even finish his question. Your eagerness and certainty cut through any lingering doubts he might have had, filling him with a joy that was almost overwhelming.

The bar around you faded into a blur as you both shared a laugh, relieved and excited about this new beginning. Spencer’s friends, watching from a distance, shared knowing looks and soft smiles, happy for their friend who had finally taken a step toward personal happiness.

As Spencer escorted you back to join the group earlier that evening, there was a notable spring in his step, a visible joy that seemed to radiate from him. The warm greetings from everyone made you feel welcomed and cherished.

After the night came to a close, and your nursing friends gave you a teasing but affectionate goodbye, clearly delighted by the developments they’d observed. Spencer, in a gentlemanly fashion, offered to take you home, a gesture you gladly accepted.

Standing outside of your apartment door, the night quiet around you, you pulled Spencer into another long, rejuvenating hug. It was a moment of comfort, this time, however, he was the one to pull back first. When you looked up at him, he couldn’t help but lean down and plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

The sweetness of the gesture made you swoon internally; he was so endearing, yet it left you wanting more. With a playful sparkle in your eyes, you teased him, “You missed.”

Spencer’s smile broadened, his nose crinkling adorably as he let out a soft laugh, puzzled. “What?” he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

You pointed to your lips, closing the small distance between you as you whispered, “Here, this is the target,” and added with a flirtatious tilt of your head, “Doctor’s orders.”

Spencer's smile grew wider as he listened to your teasing words, a light chuckle escaping him. His heart raced at your forwardness, a delightful contrast to his usual careful deliberation in personal matters.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice a mix of humor and earnest desire to respect your wishes. The proximity of your faces, the warm glow of the porch light casting shadows that danced around you, added a magical quality to the moment.

"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice soft but confident, your eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Encouraged by your assertiveness and feeling a surge of courage, Spencer closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours gently, a tender and careful contact that quickly deepened as both of you confirmed the mutual longing that had been simmering beneath your friendship. The kiss was sweet and slow, a perfect capstone to the emotions and connections of the night.

As you both finally pulled away, a comfortable silence settled around you, filled with unspoken promises and understandings. Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found only warmth and a shared smile.

"I guess I hit the target that time," Spencer said with a relieved and happy grin, his earlier nervousness melting away into a contented ease.

"Yes, you did, doctor," you replied, your voice playful yet sincere. The chemistry between you both felt natural, right.

Standing there, in the quiet of the evening, you both knew that something significant had begun. It was more than just a culmination of mutual affection; it was the start of a new chapter where both of you could explore the depths of your connection.

As Spencer finally said goodnight, leaving with a promise to call you the next day, you entered your apartment with a fluttering heart and a hopeful spirit. The night had not only reaffirmed your new beginnings but had also sparked the potential for something deeply fulfilling and joyful. The future seemed bright, and you were ready to explore it, hand in hand with Spencer.

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

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[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicted Feelings Part 8

Ryan was silent for a moment, as was I. Finally, I heard his voice. For once, he wasn't being the classic Ryan Reynolds, he was being the concerned friend, Ryan. "What do you mean you're not happy?" He asked, a bit confused by my admission. 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "I don't know. I just- I mean shit, I just had a part in the biggest film of my career. I'm getting calls from my agent to audition for major roles in upcoming films. This is just not the right time." I exhaled deeply as I thought about how my career would come to a screeching halt. 

I heard him sigh over the phone, "The films will still be here. Probably not the ones you're being asked to audition for, but there will be more films. I'm guessing you haven't told him?" 

I chuckled, "I literally just took a test before I called you."

I could hear him begin fake hyperventilating over the phone as he used an over-dramatic voice, "You mean...you mean...I'm the chosen one?" He asked, causing me to laugh. 

"Goodbye, Ryan." I said jokingly. 

He chuckled, "Just tell him. He loves Oscar and Ava, but I can promise you, he'll be stoked to have his first biological offspring." 

With that, we ended our phone call as I continued pacing the NYC penthouse waiting for Hugh to return from his morning bike ride through the city. Being a mother was not exactly something I wanted. I love kids, sure but I love other people's children, especially when I can give them back once I'm tired of them. This would be different. Not to mention my career being halted, but the fucking media and Deb are going to have a fucking frenzy whenever this comes out. 

20 minutes, or for me what seemed like an eternity had gone by. I heard the lock on the penthouse door turn, which meant Hugh had finally returned. He walked in and smiled at me as he approached me, quickly pecking my lips. 

"Morning, Love. I didn't want to wake you." He said softly as he walked towards the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge. 

I forced a smile, "Thank you." I said softly. 

He gave me a curious glance, "Are you feeling any better?" 

I shrugged, "I don't know. I think I'm going to lay back down for a bit." I said as I turned towards the bedroom. 

He gave me a half-smile as I turned, disappearing into the bedroom we shared. He knew something was up, but I was hoping he'd just pushed it off on the fact that I'd been feeling like shit. It had been 10-11 months since he showed up to my hotel room in LA to tell me that he and Deb had split up. We'd been having unprotected sex for months, I don't know why I was surprised to see a positive pregnancy test this morning. 

As I laid in our bed, a million thoughts ran through my brain...How I'd tell him, how he'd react, how I'd react to his reaction. I was shaken from my thoughts as I heard him walk past me and walk into the master bath. He looked at himself in the mirror, brushing over his stubble with his fingertips. He glanced down, spotting something on the bathroom counter and stared at it for a moment. 

Shit. I realized being in a panic when I saw the test, I must've forgotten to discard it before I called Ryan and spent 30 minutes pacing the fucking floor. I nervously bit my lip as I scratched my forearm anxiously, nervously awaiting his response to the small stick he was holding and had his gaze locked on. He looked up at me, eyes not completely wide, but they were definitely wider than usual. 

"Are you..." He managed to say while looking at me to make sure what he was seeing was accurate. 

I slowly nodded, it was all I could manage to do at this point in time. My words were completely failing me and even if they weren't, what the hell would I actually say? He sat the test down on the bathroom counter and quickly walked over to me, sitting in front of me on the bed. I could see his eyes glossy as if tears had begun forming in them. 

"Baby, this is incredible." He said softly, with a trembling voice. I sat silent, which he quickly noticed, "Don't you think so, love?" He asked me softly. 

I sighed, taking a deep breath, "I..." was all I could manage to choke out. 

He grabbed my hand, interlocking it with his, "What's wrong, babe?" He asked softly, his expression a mix of worry and anxiety. 

I shrugged, shaking my head slightly as I exhaled deeply, "I've worked so hard, busting my ass to pave a career for myself, Hugh." Tears were beginning to threaten to spill over my face, "I'm finally getting offers for major roles. My career is finally starting to blossom the way I'd always hoped it would...Now that's over for me." 

He shook his head, pulling me into his arms, "Baby, no. Don't say that. Your career is not over, love. You may have to take a hiatus in a few months, but you can pick up right where you left off." He said reassuringly. 

I nuzzled my head into his chest, sighing again, "It's been so hard to get where I'm at. I can't just come back months later and demand bigger films." 

He chuckled as he ran his fingers through my hair, "Babe, I can always help with that. There are loads of MCU movies that always want lead roles for developing characters." 

This was so easy for him. He had a massive career. He wouldn't be the one out of action due to a big pregnant belly. He didn't have to fight as hard as I did for a major role, spending years as an extra or a small role. I knew he was only trying to be supportive, but it was irritating me that he made this sound so easy to just get back into like I hadn't skipped a beat. 

He rested his chin on top of my head, "You're not even the slightest bit happy about this, are you?..." He asked, barely above a whisper. 

His voice was full of emotion and it broke my heart. He and Deb tried for biological children, which resulted in two miscarriages. That's when they adopted Oscar and Ava. He was no doubt their father, but I knew the feeling of having a child that shared his DNA and was biologically his, would be a big deal for him. I felt guilty for not being as ecstatic as he was. 

I shook my head, "In a perfect world, this would be maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me." I said softly, "But I'm selfish and my career comes first..." I continued, almost instantly regretting the words that had left my mouth. I knew they were a low blow. 

I heard him take a deep breath as I felt his body stiffen while the sound of him sniffling went through my ears. I looked up at him, seeing the heartbreak my words had caused him and I instantly felt two feet tall. The last thing I'd meant to ever do was to hurt him. 

I sighed, "Honey, I love you. I'm sorry." I said softly as I caressed his cheek. "I'm just in shock." I shook my head as I huffed, "I know that once the shock of it passes, I'll feel differently. Right now, I'm just heartbroken." 

He looked at me as he let himself give in to my hand on his cheek, nuzzling it. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I know that regardless of what happens with my career, I will love this child. I just have to... fully accept that things will be different." I said softly, still caressing his cheek. "Everything will be okay." I said as I kissed his forehead. 

He gave me a small smile as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on my palm that was still caressing his cheek, "I love you, gorgeous." 

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Reader receives Peggys nudes accidentally

Authors note: For Cap Carter specifically (Agent Carter is also hot, but this damn super soldier has me in a choke hold)

Word count: 691

Marvel Masterlist How They React To Masterlist

   Technology is not her strong suit, she'd be the first one to tell you that too. So, it's hardly a surprise that she messed something up regarding her phone and its picture sending abilities. However, it is a surprise that she managed to accomplish sending you not just one, but two full frontal nudes that she had experimentally taken in the mirror after a shower while back. And she'd somehow done so just by shoving her phone in her pocket haphazardly after leaving a meeting. Great.

   She has no idea what to do here, is there a way to unsend a photo? She hasn't a clue. Stark would know, and could probably do it too, but she would rather fist fight an alligator than explain this situation to the smug genius and have him see her pictures

   “Oh, hell…” she mutters as she notices the read symbol showing up below the messages. 

   Knowing that you've now actually seen them, meaning you've seen her in full glory, has her face turning nearly as red as the stripes on her suit. Even though she's sure you're aware this was accidental, she wishes to apologize for her enormous blunder, but currently her hands just won't cooperate. 

   On your end, you really aren't fairing much better. You had been working on finishing up some after mission reports when your phone went off, twice. Now normally you would have ignored it, as you really did need to finish the paperwork for Hill. But from the drop-down notification you could see that it had been Peggy, and since you have a soft spot for the woman, and no it certainly wasn’t because you were crushing on her, you decided to let yourself be distracted

   You come to regret that now though, because you're absolutely certain you were not meant to see those pictures of her. And you feel terrible, because even knowing that, you couldn't stop yourself from looking anyway. You knew the serum had bulked her up, afterall you'd gotten glimpses of some of that due to her workout apparel, but seeing her bare really drove the point home of just how fit she truly was. And the way the water droplets gathered in the recesses of her defined muscles, god was it attractive. But you do your best to shake those thoughts away. Now was not the time to ogle, as she was surely panicking. Now was the time to be casual, if at all possible. 

   She's not sure how long she sat there mentally berating herself for getting you both into this mess before her phone dings. She's all too aware that it was a message coming through and her stomach twists in knots with the anticipation that it's most likely you responding to her photos. She takes a deep breath before picking up the device to read your message

   Jesus Peg, take a girl to dinner first

   Her stomach twists again, but this time for an entirely different reason. You didn’t sound upset that you had gotten them, and you certainly weren’t disgusted by her accidental implication that you’d be into another woman. In fact, though you were trying to be comical about the ordeal, it almost seemed as though you liked them. And the thought alone had her heart pounding in her chest

   Bloody device had a mind of its own, I am truly sorry

   No harm done. Besides, I’d rather get your nudes than anyone else's

   Oh my god, did you really just type that? And hit send?? You slam your head down against your desk with a groan and pray that it goes undelivered, or that somehow her phone spontaneously combusts before she can read it. However, you aren't that lucky.

   Her eyebrows raise at your admission, and she finds herself chewing on her bottom lip in contemplation. Should she take a risk? Surely there'd be no harm in it, if you reacted this well to an unsolicited picture of her naked then your reaction to a date request wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle.

Well then, how about we grab that dinner? I can pick you up at 6

[angelwhisp3rs]

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒 obsession

Pairing: ID!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Training the rookies was a pain until he met her. His sweetest new obsession, he wouln't stop till he was buried deep inside her.

Tags: smut, fluff, age gap (not too much! i imagined leon being 37 and the reader being 23-25, so everyone is legal and consenting! Its not his age in ID but i use it only bc of the character background), p in v, eating out, riding, breeding kink, leon is obsessed!, a small housewife kink.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ on repeat: exo - obsession

Notes: Got too excited and posted without proofreading it! If i missed anything, please let me know so i can correct it! Also, when will tumblr make a pastel pink theme for the dashboard? I hate that everything we have is either a sad/gloomy hipster or raging gothic theme.

From all his years working at the D.S.O, Leon was stressed pretty much all the time, never catching a break, too exhausted. That showed on the increasing wrinkles forming from his frowns, and the occasional white hair that appeared on top of his head. In his non-existent breaks, he had another thing on his belt: training the new agents.

At first, it was a pain in the ass, watching those morons do the same mistake over and over, it really made Leon think it was getting too easy to be a D.S.O agent. Some repeated the same mistakes over and over again, and because of it, Leon frequently lost his patience, soon getting known as a hardass. 

As time went by, he began losing hope for the future of the department, until she came through. Pretty body, voice as soothing as a canary and delicious lips that called for him. And the best thing was that she was better than all of these morons, throwing down even the experienced rookies.

Since Ada, Leon didn’t know what it was like to be this obsessed with a woman. He wanted to know her next step, have her by his side all the time, know how her soft skin feels underneath his rough fingertips. He dreamed of her, and caught himself checking her out more than he should. Chris always teased him in private, telling him “his star student is making him turn back to his twenties”. God, they had a small age gap, but thinking about it only made his cock throb. Maybe dealing with rookies made his mind turn him back to his twenties.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

As their “graduation” got closer in time, all the new agents began training more, but none were like her. She came in first and left after all of them, always using the training gym by herself the most she could. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Leon offered private training, becoming a private tutor to her.

Instead of making things easy, it just caused him to become even more addicted to her - he now knew her thoughts, her quirks and her perspectives. As they spent more and more time together, it was clear that she found him attractive too - he knew he was still successful with women, after all (even if he was more dumped than anything). Leon had cemented in his mind that he needed her, and now he just needed to find a way to approach her.

She will be all his.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

One of the nights, he had to spend in his office reading and filing boring documents, Leon heard a gentle knock on his door. “Come  in” he simply answered, and to his surprise - and excitement, it was his little star. She entered his office, and her usual sparkly eyes were dull, the poor thing was too tired, working herself too much.

“What happened, rookie? You look exhausted. Working too much to bring me down?” Leon said with a smirk

“Ha, you wish, sir.” Oh, how that term made his pants tighten. “I just came for help, I don’t know. I’ve been focusing on sharpening my skills for the admission test, but I don’t know…” she said unsure

“Hey, don’t tell the rest, but you’re the only one that I would bet on getting in” he reassured her, standing up and taking a seat beside her in his couch “You’re too much in your head, agent”

“I know, I just can’t turn it off…” she whined, making Leon think how she would sound if he made her cum around his cock 

That 's it. That was Leon’s chance to get his favorite student. He put a hand on her thigh, not too close to her precious cunt and said quietly to her “It’s alright, sweetheart… I can help you, if you want”

She knew where this was going, and it turned her on more than she thought. Feigning innocence, she pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, nodding “But… How, sir?” and looked at his lips

Leon smiled, caressing her jaw “let me fill your mind, rookie. Why don’t you sit at my desk, hm?” 

She stood up and slowly went to his desk, sitting on it and letting her head fall to the side, as if to question him “what’s next?” with her body language. Leon follows her, standing between her legs and letting his hands caress the outer side of her thighs. His face lowers to her neck, his kisses and his stubble causing a warm sensation to run through her skin. A soft gasp left her lips, her hands caressing the back of his head.

Feeling him smirk against her skin, he kept placing slow and gentle kisses, adding some nibbles on the mix “That’s what my best student needs, right? A real man to touch her”

He lays her on his desk, pushing his papers aside, pulling her hips into his - his cock adding a nice weight to her sensitive wetness. He slowly pushed her shirt up, watching her beauty for a moment “You’re perfect, baby”. As he whispered the praise, her cheeks blushed more, a soft giggle leaving her lips. He finally kissed her lips and both were hungry for each other, to quench the thirst they had been accumulating after months. 

Leon swiftly undoes her bra, not wasting any time and circling his tongue around her nipples, sucking and lightly nibbling it. Underneath him, her breath quickens, as she whines freely as he teased her. Trying to ease their ache, Leon grinds their centers together, his cock so hard that his zipper presses against his member.

Soon, he removed her pants, kissing as her skin showed - inch by inch. Again, his stubble creates goosebumps in her legs, as he worshiped her body - she deserved it, after all, he wanted to make her addicted to him and his taste. Watching her panties so drenched as they were glued to her pussy, he couldn't help but nuzzle into her bundle of nerves, causing a gentle jump on her. He kissed and licked the wet spot, as if trying to eat her up. 

“F-fuck, please take them off, sir” she whined, not even realizing that she kept the term. Leon, deciding that he wasn’t in a teasing mood, guided the clothing down, letting his pretty star all spread on his desk - his to take, to tease, to fuck, to breed. 

“Shit, baby girl, you are so wet for your teacher… you wanted me to take you, right? You wanted me to go crazy and drench my face with you. huh?” He teased her as he got on his knees, aligning his face against her cunt. She was so red, puffy and wet, not even the most delicious candy could compare to her.

His tongue tasted her at first with kitten licks, causing a loud moan to rip from her mouth. “Keep quiet, sweetheart. We don’t want anyone coming here and seeing you spread out like a needy slut, right?” at his comment, and as if teasing her, he finally sucked and rolled his tongue around her clit, letting his index finger circle her wet entrance. Almost as if she was distressed, she cupped her mouth with her hand, rolling her eyes back at the pleasure. 

Pushing his finger forward, slowly, until he's entirely inside her, he kept eating her out with gusto, as if he was a starved man. Soon, what was one finger turned into two, her juices were flowing through his palm as he began to be more desperate for her - but he wouldn’t stop till she let him taste her entirely. “It feels good, doesn’t it, my doll? I’m the only man and only one for you, gonna make sure to keep this pussy satisfied till I die”.

His fingers and mouth worked more ferociously, pussy drunk wasn’t even close to describe how he was feeling.On the other end, she had tears in her eyes as one hand didn’t leave her mouth as the other one tugged his hair hard, making him moan against her drenched cunt. “S-sir, o-oh g-god…need to c-cum!” she pleased, looking down at him with glazed eyes.

“Do it, baby girl, give it to me” he ushered her, maintaining the pace till she finally coated his fingers, tongue and mouth with her essence. As her ‘little death’ came, she felt as if fireworks erupted inside her mind - none of her exams daring to creep up on her mind.

He praised and marked her thighs as she came down from her high. The girl pulled Leon into a passionate kiss, smiling in contentment, reaching cloud 9000. Pulling away, she whispered against his lips “Let me repay you, Leon. Wanna make you feel just as good”

“Not today, doll.” He whispered, sitting back in his chair and pulling his pants and underwear down, patting his lap “I know how to help you even further”, he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Like an excited bunny, she hopped off his desk and jumped into his lap, resuming her kisses on his mouth - casually descending into his jaw and neck, enjoying the pleased hums that he lets out. He palmed her ass and firmly grabbed it, giving some gentle smacks as she had his fun with him. To Leon, in all of his life, that was his happiest moment: having his pretty princess on his lap, all naked, hypnotized in kissing and feeling him up. 

“Go ahead, baby, let me finally empty your mind and use you” he calmly ordered her, caressing her cheeks adoringly. Soon, she positioned herself and slowly sat down on his cock, rolling her eyes back and holding into his chair behind him. 

“S-so b-big…” she moaned, her head falling into his shoulders as the girl swallowed all of him. She was so tight, wet and perfect, Leon almost came deep in her cunt just by her inserting him. His head got dizzy for a moment, his hold on her ass tightening, as he grunted and pressed his eyes closed. 

Dedicatedly, she began jumping up and down on his cock, their skin slapping as the woman looked directly into his eyes. If anyone saw them at that moment, they would attest that both had heart in their eyes. her tits jumped up and down in front of him, making his tongue and fingers play with them as the couple lost their minds in pleasure.

“Good job, doll… jumping on my cock like the good girl you are… it’s all for you, always for you” he said rambling in pleasure,  busying his mouth to tell her praises and roll her sensitive nipples on his tongue, as her cunt drenched his cock, causing a white ring at the base.

Holding tightly into the back of his chair, her hips worked even faster on him, making Leon moan more frequently in pleasure, slapping her ass, leaving behind his handprints on her pretty skin. His head falls back as he watches the goddess in front of him taking what's hers and milking his cock into her hungry pussy. He would make sure that she passed her admission check, so every end of shift he would breed her cunt, till she is finally all of his - the mother of his children, his pretty wife. But that’s a talk for later.

After some minutes pass, Leon takes over and thrusts from below, making her body turn into his own ragdoll, her moans flowing freely into his mouth. Some minutes passed, and both were on the brink of their orgasm, so close to reaching their true paradise “Will you let me fill you, doll? Make your womb so full of me, gonna make you get home with me drenching on your legs” he taunted her.

Not handling much more teasing, and his words serving as a catalyst to her peak, she nods and coats his cock with her sweet arousal, biting down on his shoulder to drown out her sounds. Her roughness and the new tight hold on his cock makes him spill into her gummy walls, emptying himself. Finally, he marked her as his. His doll, his love, his property.

Both were coming down from their highs, trying to control their breathing, letting their heartbeat slow down. He caressed her hair, kissing her cheeks and nuzzling their noses together, all smiles. “So, did I help?” he asked jokingly.

“Didn’t even know why I came here” she answers teasingly.

From now on, Leon would never be exhausted for the wrong reasons ever again.

[ef-1]

Twitter is mad at Daniel again because they caught on to that CH interview about Daniel being offered the same contract as Max, icl I'm also bitter about it. I wish he wasn't so rash in 2018

It's easy to be bitter in hindsight but the reality is more nuanced, had it not been recorded and internationally broadcast, what happened to Daniel in 2018 would be flat out unbelievable by ANY standard lol. Daniel had mechanical issues in every. single. weekend in 2018 <- this is not a hyperbole or a joke (more on this later). He ran multiple races with a b spec engine -> 20 bhp down on Max. At no point in 2018 did Max run a lower engine power than Daniel. Daniel incurred 8 dnfs, 4 back of the grid starts for mechanical issues and 6 grid drops in total where as Max had *1*[one]. This isn't even accounting for failures in quali or free practice that would have compromised his set up or race prep. Daniel's car accounted for 92% of Red Bull failures in comparison to Max's 8%.

Christian's cunty "he ran from a fight" comment stung particularly hard because it was Christian who made MULTIPLE public apologies to Daniel in 2018 on the ground that he wasn't given a chance to compete. Christian would apologise to Daniel again when Max won in Mexico, even though Daniel had an uncharacteristic outburst in the media pen during that famous "The car is cursed. I can't wait to give it to Pierre" This isn't even diving into the dubious & predatory RB contract practices. At 28 years old, to quote Christian "It's the first time he's effectively a free agent."

You look back at it now and lament it as a bad call but even by Christian's admission Red Bull were on the verge of selling the team for 4 years. Honda was coming in, I know it's easy to praise Honda now but Honda single handedly sent Alonso into early retirement. He found working with them untenable + said it cost him his love for the sport. Those were the lingering images of Honda as they re-entered the sport, the team who electrocuted Alonso then bled his love for racing dry.

If you weren't around in 2018 let me give you a run down so horrific it looks like a joke:

Australia - Race: 3 Place grid penalty

Bahrain - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

China - Free Practice 3: Gear box issue with complete engine turbo failure. Misses FP3 entirely, no quali set up prepared. He would go on to win that race from p6

Baku - Race: DNF - Collision with Max. Racing incident.

Monaco - Race: partial MGU-K failure. He would go on to win that race with drastic loss of power.

Canada - Free Practice 2 - Power unit issue, misses majority of the session.

France - Race: front wing failure. (it disintegrated)

Austria - Race: DNF - Retires from p3 with MGU-k Failure

Britain - Quali: DRS failure. No DRS activation, still qualifies p6 behind Max in p5

Germany - Race: Back of grid start + DNF - Takes new engine for the weekend, starts p19 + has lower power spec A ICE approximately 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running. Daniel climbed upto p5 from p19 but incurs a MGU-k failure and retires.

Hungary - Race: Daniel is forced to run lower power spec A ICE again, 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running

Spa - Free Practice 1 + DNF: Daniel misses entire session with engine injector issue + Daniel would go on to retire after being driven into on lap 1.

Monza - Race: Back of grid start + DNF. Daniel takes another new engine for weekend (spec C) and incurs another full grid penalty, starts p19. Daniel would go on to climb to p6 before having clutch failure and retiring.

Singapore - Race + Quali + Free practice: During every session in Singapore Daniel has an unresolved spec C engine clipping issue that Red Bull can't fix.

Russia - Race + Free Practice 1 - Daniel misses FP1 due to mechanical issues. Daniel takes another engine penalty, starts p18

Japan - Race + Quali: Daniel incurs throttle actuator failure, misses quali, another back of grid start.

USA - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

Mexico - Race: DNF - clutch Bearing failure + start software clutch issue. Daniel retires the race from P2

Brazil - Race: Daniel takes a 5 Place grid penalty due to new turbo charger replacement. Starts in p11.

Abu Dhabi - Free Practice 3: Misses majority of FP3 with water leak.

Daniel's insanely vulnerable "if racing was the only thing making me happy this year, I would have been miserable" during the last on the sofa with Max was a v apt summary of 2018. To suggest that Daniel fucked up based on the information he had in 2018, namely Daniel undergoing all those problems + knowing RB was flirting with selling the team + Helmut's fuckery + having an out from the RB umbrella for the first time in his career? Your problem isn't with his decision making process, you just wish he was clairvoyant which is an unfair thing to be bitter about

[simply-ivanka]

Are the Democrats trying to assassinate President Trump, or are they just rooting for it?

Shortly after Donald Trump was inaugurated after the 2016 election, a so-called comedienne posted a picture of herself holding Trump’s severed, bloodied head. That apparently passes for comedy among Democrats.

In a presentation of Julius Caesar in the venerable Shakespeare in the Park production in New York City a few months later, a likeness of Trump was cast in the role of Caesar. I don’t need to remind you what happens to Caesar in the end.

The violent rhetoric from Democrats just keeps on coming, through Trump’s first term, into this year’s re-election campaign, and right up to weeks before the election. And now, it’s predictably escalating from violent rhetoric and into violent acts.

A month ago, a would-be assassin missed Trump’s cranium by a quarter-inch with a bullet from an AR-15, only because Trump luckily turned at the last possible second. It came out that the Trump campaign had requested beefed-up security prior to the incident, and the White House had denied his request.

The Secret Service at the time was headed by a DEI hire, and the agents at the event were test-failing amateurs. They allowed the shooter within 130 yards of Trump on an unsecured rooftop. Even after they saw him there, with a gun, they failed to take him out and failed to alert Trump or his staff until he’d fired eight shots, killing one man, seriously wounding another, and grazing Trump’s ear.  

In an apparent admission of near-lethal negligence by the Service, five agents were later suspended.

Their replacements seem not much better. In yesterday’s attempt, a Democrat donor got within easy range of Trump on a golf course with a rifle equipped with a high-powered scope. The shooter was wearing a Go-Pro, apparently to post his assassination on YouTube where Democrats everywhere could cheer it. He was thwarted only because he was foolish enough to poke his rifle out of the bushes, where an agent happened to see it.

The shooter had been on the golf course for at least 12 hours. One must wonder, how did he know Trump’s golfing schedule at least 12 hours in advance?

Even now, after two assassination attempts that missed due only to incredible luck or Providence, President Trump is not afforded the level of protection that President Biden or even Vice President Harris receives.

Most recently, President Doofus again falsely accused Trump of saying that neo-Nazis are “fine people” even though that accusation has been thoroughly debunked even by leftist fact-checkers.

Kamala Harris repeated the lie in her debate with Trump – and was not corrected by the moderators even though the moderators purported to correct at least seven Trump statements (some of which were not factual claims, but mere opinions).

You might think the mainstream media would condemn these assassination attempts in the strongest words possible. But if you do think that, then you haven’t been paying attention to the mainstream media for the last ten years.

The mainstream media is implying – no, they’re outright stating – that Trump has all this coming because he’s a Republican who says nasty things. The Washington Post has already dismissed the assassination attempt and has framed it instead as Trump unfairly capitalizing on the incident politically.

The media take their cue from Biden and Harris. They routinely equate Trump with Adolf Hitler, the mass murderer of millions.

The Democrats let their rank and file connect the dots: Everyone has been taught, correctly, that killing Hitler would have been a heroic act that would have saved millions. So, the Democrats don’t exactly say “kill Trump” but they do suggest you’d be a hero if you did.

[careeducation20]

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[phoebepheebsphibs]

I mentioned in a reblog thing that I'd wanted to make a Rise comic series called "ROTTMNT: UNPAUSED" and I hinted to one of the finale episodes being called "Mikey's Birthday Bash"

Well I'm gonna infodump about that now...

So basically the episode started off with Mikey waking everyone up for a special breakfast to celebrate his bday, only to discover that not only did his brothers forget his bday, they all made plans of their own. To quickly make up for it, the guys take him into the Hidden City for a quick shopping spree before they all have to leave for their engagements. While Mikey is looking for something to buy, he overhears his brothers conversing about how in the next year, Raph won't be a TEENAGE mutant ninja turtle anymore (he is 17 currently). Donnie adds that he is already looking for colleges to join and hopes for an early admission. Leo also admits he has been planning for the future. Mikey realizes that his brothers are all planning to leave and grow up, which he is not ready for. He runs away crying, and meets a strange old hag who sells him a "special" birthday candle, which she promises will grant his biggest birthday wish.

Mikey finds his bros again and uses the candle on a meager cupcake they got for him. As soon as he blows the candle out, the four are transported into a version of the Battle Nexus, trapped there along with every other character from the show (and my comics) by the hag who sold Mikey the candle. She reveals that Mikey's wish was for "everyone to spend my birthday together", and the only way for them to escape is for the turtles to win the tournament! The bros are furious at Mikey for making the wish, and Mikey promises to get through the games as quickly as possible so they can get back to their plans and leave.

The hag states that the turtles will be pitted against their previous enemies, and with each round they win they'll will receive more allies. Anyone KO’d will be eliminated from the round and sent to watch in the audience, and upon the ending of the game all contestants will be returned to their last location. The enemies will get progressively more challenging until they defeat all of their opponents.

Round 1, April is with the guys, and they are up against Baxter Stockboy, Albearto, and the Purple Dragons.

Round 2, the Casey Joneses join the fight against the Foot Clan.

Round 3, Draxum, Splinter, Big Mama, and the two missing siblings hinted at by the writers join against the evil league of mutants and the Mud Dogs. April is KO’d after getting slammed into a wall and knocked unconscious by Heinous Green. Cass is KO’d by Hypno after he hypnotizes her to knock herself unconscious as well. Draxum is KO’d by Meat Sweats after he steals his power.

Round 4, Several characters (such as Agent Bishop and Mona Lisa) join to fight against the Triceratons (which were introduced in my series). During this round, everyone is K.O.'d except the turtles. However, Mikey sees that he didn’t finish the battles in time and his brothers have missed their appointments. He feels guilty, and his brothers are admittedly irritated.

Round 5, the final boss battle. They are pitted against the Shredder and the Kraang. Before the fight begins, Mikey has a blowout with his brothers and finally admits that he was angry they were gonna leave because he was scared of growing up, as he is not ready to be an adult yet and he doesn’t want to be alone. The Kraang interrupts stating “I can help you with that” and captures Mikey. However, the Turtles get one last team member… Karai. The Shredder -- having been defeated and Oroku Saki redeemed -- turns against the Kraang and sides with the Turtles and his daughter. The boys defeat the Kraang using the special formula from the movie, but not before the Shredder and Karai are K.O.'D by the Kraang. The Kraang are defeated with the last of the mixture, but to the boys' horror they see that Mikey was kraangified, and now have to fight against him as their last opponent. They try, but are unable to defeat him due to his increased strength AND his ninpo. Leo refuses to admit defeat, saying “Mikey never gave up on me… I can’t give up on him.” He tries one last attack, grappling with Mikey and holding him down...

I happened to make sketches of what came next...

The game finished, everyone is returned home. Mikey apologizes for everything, but Raph admits that he isn’t ready to grow up yet either, and he never wants to leave Mikey alone. He found out the hard way what that felt like, and the brothers agree to wait a little longer to grow up and enjoy being the teenage mutant ninja turtles while they can. Back at the lair, everyone bursts in to make sure Mikey is okay. They spend the rest of the day with him, enjoying his birthday...

So yeh that's that

[feminist-space]

"Filial responsibility turns on the notion that an adult child should be obligated to pay for a parent’s housing, care and necessities. Only eight of the 30 states provide that the child’s liability will be waived if the parent did not provide support for the child while a minor. For the other 22 states, a child’s liability is absolute.

These laws really hit home when a parent incurs an extraordinary expense like a nursing home. In one Penn-sylvania case, a nursing home successfully sued a son for his mother’s $95,000 nursing home bill. Pennsylvania has a filial responsibility law.

Texas is one of the 20 states that does not have a filial responsibility law. That does not, however, mean that adult children who live in Texas may not be held liable for a parent’s expenses.

Consider what happened in another case involving a Pennsylvania nursing home. In that case, the nursing home threatened to sue two daughters who lived in Florida. Florida, like Texas, does not have a filial responsibility law. However, the suit was under Pennsylvania law. The case eventually settled when the mother qualified for Pennsylvania Medicaid and the nursing home was paid through Medicaid.

Most of the 30 states with filial responsibility laws do not enforce them. That may change when more people enter nursing homes, and the Medicaid money dries up. Someone must pay the nursing homes, and the government simply will not be able to borrow, print or tax enough money to carry the burden.

Aside from a blanket law, there are other ways that nursing homes rope children into paying for their parent’s care. One common ruse is the “responsible party” designation on a nursing home contract. Some admission agreements define a responsible party as being financially responsible for the patient’s care. It is not merely a designation of a primary contact or medical agent for the patient."

[chronically-ghosted]

there ain't enough room in this Pontiac for the two of us

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary:  1. No sex. 2. No touching yourself. 3. No orgasms. 4. No murdering your annoying DEA partner. (A Javier Peña-shaped rift on this iconic fic)

tags/warnings: smut, dubcon/noncon elements, hand jobs (f receiving), no use y/n, javi being sexually frustrating as hell, time period compliant sexism (not from Javi)

a/n: please go read the original fic. Her’s is far superior to mine and this is but a shameful hollow echo.

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Bogota

11:23PM

Back before you willingly and eagerly joined the special task force between several unruly government organizations created with sole and express purpose to hunt down and catch the cartel king Pablo Escobar – before you applied to the DEA on the highest recommendation of your law professor, your criminal psychology professor, and the dean of admission, all whom believed your talents, (despite the unfortunate accident that you were a woman) would have a deep and profound impact on catching those responsible for the deaths of thousands worldwide –  hell, even before you applied to Stanford and you spent your free time oscillating between color guard, JROTC, and retaking your practice SATs and ACTs until you got nearly a perfect score so that the realization that you didn’t have one single friend in the world to distract you from your single-minded almost obsessive focus to prove yourself, despite all your faults – 

Before all of that –

If someone had discreetly taken you by the arm, gently sat you down, and told you what a perfect and deluded idiot you would make of yourself on a seven hour stake out on a dark, rainy night in the capital of Colombia, well, you probably would have laughed them out the door.

You aren’t one really predisposed to bouts of uncontrollable, side-splitting, “I’m laughing so hard I’m afraid to take a breath out of fear of the noise that’s going to come out of my nose” laughter, but if someone allowed you to take a good, long, healthy look at one of your more unhealthy habits – that, of course, being your almost toxic levels of competitive behavior – you might have been prone to at least one giggle.

The thing was, you really didn’t lose. Ever. You didn’t back then and you don’t now and your tenacious, unbreakable will made you not only a formidable and dogged DEA agent, but it also (and perhaps more importantly) made you a social, professional, and absolutely mental equal to men like Javier fucking Peña. 

Javier Peña, whom women would literally melt into a puddle around, whom men would clamor over themselves just to get a drink with. He’s just so fucking cool, you overheard one of the office interns mutter to another, just look at him. That was also the day you spilled coffee down your entire blouse because you squeezed your styrofoam coffee cup too hard, but that was an entirely unrelated matter. 

Whatever sway Peña seemed to inflict over the panties of every woman in the building, you resolutely stayed immune. When you first joined, it had been easy to avoid him. So much so, you were completely flummoxed when the man with the name you’d heard whispered in the hallways, finally made his way over to your side of the building for a meeting with your boss. He walked in with a badly-fitted suit, bags under his eyes, the reeking stench of day-old cigarettes, but by the reactions of the phone girls, you’d thought Elvis himself had just emerged from his coffin and began performing “Hound Dog” topless in bedazzled pants. 

This? This is “The Guy”? The guy that women on your floor would spend their entire lunch breaks in the bathroom comparing stories over – “yes, Kathy, I heard his dick really is that huge!” “Yes, Shannon swears he made come for hours just with his tongue!”

Him? 

Really?

Was it just slim pickings between married men and wheezing senators? 

Never meet your heroes, I guess.

That was back in the late 80s. Back before the bombings and the kidnappings and the mutilated bodies of journalists.

Things had changed. Significantly. 

Once things had gotten – let’s just say, dire – the agency started moving around teams, prioritizing certain missions over others. Which meant not only were you taken off a case you had just spent the better part of a year and a half building, but you were reassigned to a new team. Co-led by the one and only Javier. Fucking. Peña. 

Now, Javier didn’t like the rain, especially not after a seven hour stake out. You knew this because every time it rained, he stormed into the pen, snorting like an enraged bull, his hair wet and his shoulders damp. Why the man couldn’t just simply go out and pick up an umbrella, you didn’t feel the need to ask. But it set your teeth on edge that a grown adult would be so annoyed by something that had such a simple solution. More than once you thought about hurling your own umbrella like a javelin at him, but your fighting matches had become legendary around the office and you refused to be provoked again by Javier’s own arrogance. 

But that’s what started all of this, right? 

You, with your white-hot competitive streak, and him, with his over-inflated ego, clashed again and again – until finally about the one thing both brought you a sense of pride: your sex lives. 

Annoyingly, this was proving more difficult than you anticipated. 

Thumbing the rim of your third lukewarm coffee of the night, you sigh, long and loud, not entirely regretful of the choices that led you here, but simply rather irked that someone had come along and finally proved to be a real challenge.

“Shut it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Javier, who had been sitting next to you for the better part of the past seven hours, his long legs tucked up around the bulky wheel of the black Pontiac Firefly the agency had rented for this mission, continues to scowl through the dark and the rain at the spot where you had tracked one of Pablo’s higher ranking enforcers. A gambling den on the first floor, and a brothel in the basement, most men you tailed here spent only a few hours betting and fucking, before wandering back home, probably a little drunk and significantly less horny. But this guy – fuck – did he have the stamina of an Olympic athlete?

What had begun as a quick follow up to some intel your team received earlier in the week had turned into one of the longest and most unbearable nights of your life. 

“I said, shut it.” 

Your mouth drops open. “I am literally just breathing, Javier.” 

“Yeah and you’re doing it too loud.” He takes a sip from the coffee between his legs then resumes his hunched, crossed arm position. “It’s annoying.”

Huffing, you sink lower in your seat, as much as the surveillance equipment and evidence boxes around your legs would allow. 

“This is so stupid,” you grumble. 

“This is basic DEA work, sweetheart. If you can’t cut it, I’m sure I can find someone – literally anyone – else to take your spot. Sarah’s always been eager to spend some extra time alone with me. Or what about Mac? You two get along right? Who am I kidding? You get along with e-e-everyone–,” 

It is infuriating he knows exactly where to poke and prod to supercharge your competitiveness as well as your jealousy.

“I’m not talking about the sting, Javier! I’m talking about your need to always be in control. I’m talking about how, just because you can’t get your fucking rocks off, you’ve been sniping at everyone in the building.” You scowl and lean as far away from him as you can in the cramped hatchback. “Making everyone’s lives hell because you haven’t gotten your dick wet in a month.” 

“Oh, sure, I’m the only one being a fucking nuisance in the office,” he sneers, scratching at his forehead with his thumbnail. “After your little meltdown at the copier machine, I think Mark from accounting would rather fist-fight God than have to ask you for a stapler again.” 

You snatch up the used napkins in the cupholder between you and shred it to pieces. You chuck the little bits at him as you snap back,

“The. Stapler. Was. Right. There! He. Was. Being. Stupid!” 

“Stop it! You’re going to get it in my coffee!” 

With a snarl, you hurl the mangled rest of the napkin at him and he swats it out of the air. It rolls over the dashboard, fluttering in the AC that was doing absolutely nothing to combat the sticky humidity. 

He did this to you. He always did this to you. Made you feel like a silly child, an overly emotional brat, for pointing out things he did time and time again. Why was he allowed to get away with it and you weren’t?

In the temporary silence, the rain patters loudly on the roof of the car. Headlights emerge from the gloom and disappear as the few unlucky caught out in this deluge run from awning to awning with magazines, newspapers, or umbrellas tucked over their heads. It had been raining for hours and it seemed to have no intention of stopping anytime soon. 

You aren’t sure which irritates you more: the humidity or the stickiness gathering on the crotch of your panties.

It had been there for days, constant, a reminder, no matter how often you changed them out for some temporary escape. Your thighs tightened as close as they could, but a large storage box split your legs apart. 

“You know,” Javier begins softly, almost contrite, gentle in a way you’d never heard before. He's pinching the edge of his coffee cup with his fingers, resolutely not looking at you. “If this bothers you so much, you can just quit. Call it off. No hard feelings.” 

You snort. He really is the most ridiculous man alive. 

“Yeah? You’d get the satisfaction of finally coming, after being hard for at least – what, a month, month and a half? – and half my next paycheck? I don’t think so.” You adjust in your seat, your left hip starting to ache from the position you’ve been maintaining for seven hours. “Well, the money’s one thing. But I think I’d rather be physically shot than have to listen to you parade around the office, gleefully spilling secrets about me as your latest conquest, bragging to all your little buddies around the water cooler how you finally bested that bitch in the bullpen. At that point, I’d rather we just actually fuck. At least that way I can finally understand what the fuck has the secretaries all in a goddamn hissy fit over.” 

After nearly a third of the day spent next to you, he finally tears his gaze away from the target and looks at you. His dark eyebrows drawn down, plush lips frowning, he’s unnervingly serious. You wonder if you actually managed to make him genuinely angry.

“I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t brag about you to anyone, even if you lost. And I especially would never if you let me fuck you.” Let me? Now that’s a turn of phrase you definitely won’t spend hours thinking about. His frown deepens as he glances down to his coffee cup. “People – women – like to talk, but I never say anything, to anyone. I don’t encourage it, but it feels like I’m the one being checked off a list. Like I’m a space on a fucking bingo card. It’s rude.”

Gobsmacked into silence, you watch as he cranks down the window for just enough space to chuck his (and yours) empty coffee cups out onto the wet road beside the car. You let him tug it out of from between your legs without a single line of snark.

Your brain finally comes back online when the window squeaks back into place. 

Hang on a second – did you really just feel bad for the office casanova? That little shit manipulated you into actually feeling sorry for the dozens of women he willingly brings home then turns out like used toilet paper. You can feel that decades old hate and disgust crack open and boil in your stomach.

“Well, hey, Javi, here’s an idea. Just stop fucking the women you work with. If it bothers you so much, then stop fucking women entirely!”

“I did! I have done that and I am!” He gestures wildly with his hands, palms out as if in supplication. “Everyone in the office – including Noonan, I’m pretty sure – knows about this stupid fucking bet and for once, it’s been great to have an excuse to not have to hold up my expectation of being a great lay!” 

You will not allow yourself the time to fully process the idea that not only is Javier Peña grateful to not have to fuck a skirt, but it’s you he’s doing it for, so you snarl back, as you always do.

“Then what? What’s got you so fucking wound up, if your poor dick needs a break from getting sucked?”

With a groan that starts somewhere in his lower ribcage, he falls forward into the steering wheel, his forehead on the rim. 

“I’m not saying that, alright? It’s actually been nice to have my bed to myself for a bit. But Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.” 

Don’t. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the way he says it. Like it’s holy.

The warmth of the humidity in the car ratchets up as your heart starts to race, your palms sweat. You wonder vaguely if there’s condensation on the inside of the windows. He shouldn’t be allowed to get you so wet by just saying the word. You swallow, clawing back that familiar anger until you feel in control again. 

“So then go get it.” You wave your hand around the dark streets of Bogota. “Just go out there and end this thing once and for all. God knows I’m sick and tired of having to listen to you roll around, grunting and huffing, with a hard-on so big I can almost hear it.”

“What are you so mad at me for?” He snaps up, a much more palatable rage in his eyes. “All of this – the bet, the rules, the fact that you actually included wet dreams – you decided on!”

“You’re the one who demanded you move into my apartment for the entire duration of this hell! You’re the one who went out and bought two twin beds like a fucking maniac and made me take out my bed to put in your little torture devices to make sure neither of us cheated off the clock!” 

“And you agreed to it! I’m not the only insane one here! Sometimes I think you do it on purpose – kicking and fighting with the sheets, moaning in your sleep, rubbing yourself up on the mattress. Twice now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone blind in one eye, listening to all that and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.” 

You scoff, but now slightly uneasy. You’ve been moaning in your sleep? Fuck. Taking down your overbearing and egotistical coworker a few pegs was one thing. Becoming roommates with him was something else entirely. About two weeks in, he had come out of the bedroom without his shirt on – he’s been doing that more and more lately – and you had to sit in the bathroom with your hands clamped around the toilet seat for ten minutes straight to keep from finger-fucking yourself on the living room coffee table. 

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t want to install cameras in the shower just to make sure I’m not jacking off in secret. You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there, Javi. You touch yourself once and I win, Javi. Stop looking at my ass when I’m wearing less clothes than a Victoria Secret model, Javi.” 

“It’s summer in Bogota, you jackass,” you snipe, particularly ruffled by his high-pitched affectation of you. It stings more than it should because it sounds exactly like the shrill harpy all your male coworkers make you out to be. “What do you want me to wear?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, something terrifying like a smirk crawling across his perfect mouth and you feel the safety of annoyance crumble out from under you. He really is so fucking pretty.

“A puffy snowsuit would be lovely, actually. Arms, legs, all wrapped up. Cover your gorgeous hair in a hat too, if we’re at it. But if I knew you’d wear what I bought you, all you had to do was say so. Women always say I have excellent taste.”

You sigh, again, irritated and desperate to relieve that fist of tension in your shoulders, that gently knotting warmth between your legs. You wonder how much rubbing your crotch with the seam of your jeans you could get away with before he’d say something. 

No, fuck, shit – focus. You’ve got to get a grip. This is just like those long night study sessions at the academy. All you had to do was buckle down and get serious about this. Sleep deprivation and curtailing your basic instincts didn’t scare you. You had been outlasting men like Javier your entire life and you weren’t about to get weak-kneed now. 

And then something occurs to you that you hadn’t really considered before.

You had been so caught up in your own denial, in fighting your own need to hump your pillow even for a bit of relief – you hadn’t stopped to think what this might be doing to him.

Jesus Christ, I miss pussy. 

Here's a crack in his resolve and you had seen it. Just for a minute. But it's there. You didn’t have to win so much as to make him lose.

Javier Peña. Nowhere to go and having nothing to fuck made him a very dangerous man. One you could easily exploit. However, and as much as it physically pained you to admit, Javier was smart. Blind-sided by his own horniness, or not, if he caught wind of you purposefully stacking the odds against him, there was no telling what he’d do in retaliation. 

For a moment, your sex-deprived brain lounges in the idea of the many forms his retaliation might take. 

No – Focus. You lick your lips, wrenching your gaze to the ceiling of the car. You had to be very careful about this. 

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Go at it from the side. Around back while his attention is focused elsewhere. This was fucking guerilla warfare tactics. Placate him with submission. “I didn’t realize my outfits were bothering you. It’s just . . . it’s been so hot lately. I feel like I wake up, drenched wet in sweat, and it’s just too much still. And then, with this bet, sometimes I wake up and between my legs, I’m so –,”

A fist slams against the inside of the window so hard and so loud it makes you jump. His shoulders hunched, the fist in his lap tight and white-knuckled, he doesn’t even fully open his mouth when he snarls, “Do not . . . under any circumstances . . . finish that fucking sentence.” 

He’s breathing heavily, breath skipping between his ribs, and you know you’ve got your opening. Your bottom lip drawn in between your teeth, you’re as much transfixed by his control visibly slipping as you are secretly, darkly thrilled to hear him make those noises. He breathes for a few more times, eyes closed. The sound of rain makes another appearance.

His hands come up to wrap around the steering wheel, as if he were picturing something else flexing beneath his palms. 

“I know what you’re doing, or what you think you’re doing. But it’s not going to work. It’s just going to make me mad and I am not above hauling you over my lap and spanking you for being such a tease.” 

You aren’t sure what shorts out your brain first: the fact he caught on so quickly, or the mental image he’s painting – and how much you fucking love it. God, when did it get so hot in here? You can feel sweat pooling along the ridge of your spine, under the cups of your bra. As though reading your mind, he shucks off his notorious brown jacket and hurls it into the back seat. Your toes curl in your boots. He’s wearing that white linen shirt that expertly shows off the cut of his biceps, his forearms and is more appropriate for a beach trip in Hawaii than the mean streets of Bogota. In his movement, his infamous sunglasses clatter against his stomach – if he just buttoned his collar all the way up like any man with an ounce of decency, they wouldn’t get in the way as much. You want to tell him that, correct him yet again, but now you can see the sweat shine in his clavicle, skin slightly pink and feverish over the hollow of his throat. You had no idea you affected him this much.

“You’re right. This is ridiculous.” He huffs, tossing back his glasses too before flopping back against the seat. “This can’t be healthy, at least. Edging ourselves for weeks at a time. I keep seeing tits in the clouds.”

“So then end it already.” You don’t mean to sound breathless – it’s the opposite of what you want – but your heart rate still hasn’t settled over the idea of Javier spanking you till your ass is red. He’s so much bigger than you, broader. He’d do it rough, if you asked, you know he would. You really hate to sound like you’re begging, but maybe you are. His eyes snap open wide at your near whimper. “Javi, please. We’re not going anywhere. He’s been in there for hours and he’s not coming out any time soon. Just unbutton your pants – I can just watch you – drop your hand in your underwear and –,”

A hand that can cup you nearly from ear to ear flies across the console and claps over your mouth. Something’s changed about him. You can see it in his eyes. At this point in your partnership, you had become fairly good at identifying his emotions, given there were only a handful he ever cycled through: tired, irritated, bored, furious, frustrated, disappointed. But this . . . this is different. His shoulders still face forward, arm reached out over the console, but his thick eyebrows arch down, as if he’s considering something. His head is cocked slightly to the side. You have to stop yourself from breathing in a sigh when his tongue wets his bottom lip.

“I’ll willingly lose this godforsaken bet on one condition,” he rasps out. His hand is warm, all consuming, you can barely breathe under it. You train your entire focus into the way his hair flops over his forehead to keep from whining at what his deep voice does to your lower half. Your muscles clench and your neglected pussy drools. Fuckin’ traitor. “And the condition is, that after this is done, after this fucking doomed stakeout is finally over, I drive us home and you let me rail you against our couch. How does that sound?”

You squeak, once. That’s it, but you can already feel that tell-tale hum, that warmth that almost itches, taking root below your stomach. His eyebrows arch in surprise, in victory, that smirk threatening to make an appearance. Your nails dig into the pleather seat – you want to thrash back, to get out from under the weight of his hand, to snark back a litany of responses that are not only mean but belittling – but you don’t. 

You know he can feel you swallow and his eyelids hover halfway as he licks his bottom lip. He shifts, elbow now pressing against the back of the seat, his weight leaning forward, almost pressing down on you. His other hand is dangerously close to your knee. 

“I’d make it good. I’d make it so fucking good, I swear. I’ll get down on my hands and knees and eat that wet little pussy for as long as you want. Lick and suck that attitude right out of your cunt.”

The car is too small, too cramped. Heat is washing over you in waves and the ache between your thighs is burning. With him this close, you can smell his cologne, the cologne that you rib him endlessly for because you’ve watched women inhale it like a pheromone as he passes down the hall. The scent now floods your senses, choking out everything that isn’t him, and your fingers dig up around his wrist, to pry him off you. You can feel sweat trickle down your temple onto his pinkie over your cheek. He watches it with his eyes, hungry and ready to devour. You have to wrestle back some semblance of control, or else your heart is going to beat out of your chest. 

With all the strength left over from keeping yourself from bucking your hips up into the center console, you shove him back across the car. 

“You fucking . . . stay over there,” you croak, gulping down air as if you had been deprived. He sprawls back, arms outstretched across the window ledge and the back of his seat. “Don’t ever fucking t-touch me again. Those things y-you said. I should report you–,” 

“Why?” he chuckles. “You liked it. Thought you were going to eat me there for a minute . . . and I would’ve let you.”

It’s remarkably easy how your white-knuckled, lightning-sparked anticipation for him to do exactly what he said he’d do quickly morphs into a near-blinding rage. He doesn’t get it – he still doesn’t get it – he thinks this all a fucking game, when every minute of every day, your entire self-worth was put on the line.

But this is how you danced with him – right up to the edge, barking, screaming, yelling, then when it got real, or even almost real, you backed down. And he knew it.

“You really deserve someone who knows what they’re doing,” he continues. He folds his arms across his chest, grinning wildly. “Maybe that would teach you to be nice. Is that why you’re so nasty all the time? Someone who cares about you to properly stuff up that sweet little pussy in the way you need it?”

You feel fire crackle up and down your spine, plunging low to lick your insides every time he muses about the state of your cunt, then sky-rocketing back into this rage you’ve built out like walls.

It’s your turn to twist in the seat, to push against the windows as if you could expand and break out from this twisted scrap of metal that kept you chained to him.

“This is not about sex, Javier.” Your teeth ache from grounding out the words. “This is about proving to every single man out there that I deserve to be here. That I’m not just some cock-struck idiot who falls to her knees just because you snap your fingers. I don’t care what you think I need or what you want to do to me. I don’t care because until I come out of this bet the winner, all they’ll ever see is a pair of tits who negs them to do their fucking jobs.”

That wipes the smirk instantly off his face.

His eyes go soft and that might be worse than when he threatened your cunt. 

“You think I don’t respect you.” It wasn’t a question but a surprised, almost hurt, statement. He sits up as best he can while still facing you. You were both irate and appreciative that you didn’t have to put it all into words. Words that would make you, again, feel like an overly emotional wimp. Someone with feelings. “You think I’m doing this – that I’m still doing this – because I want to humiliate you.”

You wait in silence for the pricking in your throat to subside before continuing on. “Is that not why? To bend that bitch as far as she’ll go before she breaks so everyone can see how much of a child she really is?”

His nostrils flare. “That’s the second time you’ve called yourself that tonight and I won’t stand for a third. Do you understand?”

His protectiveness flares so fast you aren’t quite sure what to do with it, so you nod.

“Good.”

Javier turns back around, his knees spread outright around the edge of the steering wheel, and picks the packet of cigarettes from underneath the radio. He wheels down the window again, rain spitting inside the inner ledge, and he lights up for the first time all night. His breath is shaky as he exhales through the crack he made. You can’t stop staring at the shine against his throat. What was rain and what was sweat? The golden lights from the store fronts and shops make the curls around his neck glow. 

“I’m sorry that by fighting with you, I made you feel inferior. If you can believe it, I actually respect the living shit out of you and I . . .” He taps out ash before dropping his gaze to his lap. “That was never my intention, but Christ alive, you drive me crazy.” 

If anyone ever asked, with a gun to your head, what was the one thing that immediately turned you on, you would without question answer with: Javier’s voice. How deep it got when he barked orders. How stern and serious it was when he directed raids and stationed soldiers. How playful it could be when you stopped trying to claw his eyes out. 

He inhales slowly, thoughtfully, before blowing out again, fully turning his shoulders away from you as if something he is ashamed to admit is crawling up his chest into his mouth. He presses back against the seat, his unoccupied fingers tapping on his thigh. 

“I think you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever met,” he confesses quietly. “Which should be the only opinion that matters, actually. I don’t say that to be egotistical – this bet isn’t about them. It’s between you and me, so fuck them. They’re all idiots and you know that. They know you know that and that’s why they want to take you down. Some men can’t stand it when a woman is smarter than them.”

Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth. There is a heady mixture of pride, relief, and lust swirling lower and lower. He thought you were one of the best agents he’s ever met. Your lower half tightens at the praise, especially coming from him. “And you? What do you think?”

Javier grins. He flicks the butt end of the cigarette out the window and rolls it all the way up as he says,

“It’s a fucking turn on, is what I think.” His hips adjust towards you, that obnoxious belt buckle gleaming in the low light. Do not look at his crotch. He presses the backs of his two fingers against his mouth as he watches you. “But I’m not going to let you win this bet because you flutter your pretty eyes at me.” 

He knocks his temple against the headrest, gaze shamelessly sweeping up your thighs, your wrists – of course, your tits – your neck and then your lips. You had caught glimpses of this look from him before – when you were reporting to a room full of slobbering men with precision and direction, or when you kneed a suspect into the ground, pinning him down and cuffing him with the other hand or that one time you joined the game of volleyball at the agency picnic in nothing but a sports bra and swim trunks. But now, that unique Javi look that seemed reserved only for you, it barrels down on you in full force – not another agent or superior around the corner to drag his attention away. Without restraint, he let those dirty, nasty little thoughts spring into his mind and you can almost hear the moans you're making in his head. 

The desire that had been reduced to a simmer suddenly flares up in a fever pitch. Between your legs, your cunt aches at the mere hint of attention.

“Javier, don’t,” you warn. You try to back away, try to cut the argument in half like you do in the office by storming away down a hallway or into the bathroom or your car. But you can’t. You’re pinned by proximity under the weight of his stare. You’re not even fighting with him and he’s making you angry. 

Angry? God, leave it to fucking Javier Peña to prove to you that the line between rage and being outrageously turned on was a razor-thin edge. 

“I’m not even doing anything, baby,” he croons. He rounds his shoulders as if trying to lean forward, cover himself with his body. If you couldn’t see the whites of his knuckles around his clasped hands, you would have feared you would have been making this all up. “I’m not touching you, just like you asked.” 

“Thank you, Javi,” you squeak out. “Now, please let's just get back to–,”

“I could, though, if you change your mind.” His eyes follow a very predictable path up the curve of your throat. “I could touch you. Are you going to change your mind?” 

Even now, on the knife edge, even when he has been extraordinarily honest with you, you can’t make yourself say it. Can’t ask for it.

“It’s against the rules.” Because she's a traitor to you, your cunt leaks when you meet his jet black gaze. You feel the sweat on your neck return so fast you shiver. “I will kick you if you come over here again.” 

“You’re so mean to me but, fuck, I love it so much.” He smirks. With mounting horror, you watch as he lifts his hand, the same one that flew over your mouth, up to the lip of the center console. “Here I am pouring my goddamn heart out, and you want to resort to violence.” 

Not so much cautious, but more with the slow, syrupy flow of direct and deliberate intention, he brushes the backs of his fingers against your thigh. You jolt back, a muffed gasp caught between your teeth, but you don’t move to snatch his hand away. 

He watches your face for any hint of resistance. When he doesn’t find any, he continues, casually flowing the pads of his fingers from the top of your knee, all the way up to your hip.

“Do you wanna know what I think, baby?” He purrs. “I think, somewhere along the way, someone came along and really fucked you up. Hurt you beyond comprehension.” His touch is more insistent now, more of his fingers, his palm occasionally. His thumbs sweeps your inner thigh and your cunt clenches down onto nothing and your teeth ache in your head. 

“Javier–,” 

His eyes flutter for a minute at the sound of his name tearing through your mouth. “Fuck, you’re getting me distracted . . . what was I saying? Oh, yeah . . . I think someone fucked you up and like the fucking warrior you are, you built up safeguards to never let that happen again.” His eyebrow arches lazily as he palms your waist. By the sheer grace of God, you had tucked your shirt into your pants today, never wanting to give the men in the bullpen the satisfaction of an accidental flash of skin. But Javier just tuts at the intrusion. His knuckles digging into your skin, he pinches out the edge of your shirt, bit by bit. “Problem is, you kept building until you locked yourself in and now you don’t know how to get out. You don’t know how to ask nicely at all.” 

His broad palm slides uninterrupted under your shirt, smoothing the rough pads of his fingers across your stomach, and then up to the underwire of your bra. That’s enough to jerk you out of this dizzying haze. 

“Javi, you can’t–,” you squeeze your eyes shut, as tight as your cunt, as he threatens to brush his thumb over your teased nipple. “I–I don’t wanna – I don’t wanna lose –,”

“Fuck the bet, sweetheart. You can tell them I lost for all I care. Right now, I just wanna feel you gush between my fingers.” 

He doesn’t even need to touch your tit to yank that first moan out of you, but the breeze of his thumb only elongates the noise. Your own hand claps over your mouth this time, to muffle half of that stifled sound. 

“None of that now,” he purrs, switching the direction of his hand and going lower on your body. “It’s fine when we’re in public, but here, I want you hoarse from screaming my name as loud as you can.” 

“Javi, please–,” 

His hips twitch. Twitch so hard they jerk off the seat, the side of his crotch rubbing the steering wheel. His eyes roll back in his head.

“Juuust like that, baby. Keep saying my name just like that.” 

His fingers don’t slow down as they breach the waistband of your pants. He didn’t even unzip you so his entire warm hand is shoved right up against your coarse, damp hairs. 

“Fuck, is this sweat, baby, or is it from me? Please fucking lie if it's not and tell me it’s for me.” 

The pad of his middle finger skims the top of your lips, terrifyingly close to your clit and you finally react. Your clit throbbing, your fingers clamp down on his wrist and he freezes. But he’s panting, breathing harshly across the seat. 

“Don’t ask me to stop. Not right now. Please don’t –,”

Your hips buck into his palm and your head drops back against the window. You end up pressing him harder against you and you moan. 

“It’s you, Javier, I’m dripping for you.”

“Shit,” he snarls and rubs himself against the steering wheel again, anything to relieve the pressure. His fingers slide around the edges of your puffy, swollen lips, skitters across your pulsating clit, and you nearly orgasm from the direct touch. You jerk back, the denial of your orgasm almost painful, but because your waistband binds him to you, his fingers come with you and you bump into them again. You almost cry out at the intrusion, but his hand is still. 

“Can I touch you– c-can I put them inside you, baby – please?” 

Tight-lipped, you shake your head furiously, muffling nuh uh between your teeth. He hisses darkly.

“This can’t possibly still be about this stupid fucking bet –,”

“I don’t – w-w-wanna lose – I-I-I don’t wanna lose –,” you swallow, voice breaking, and you yank his hand out from your soaking underwear. You can’t bear to look at his fingertips, assuming from the ocean between your thighs, they’ll come out pruny. But the ache doesn’t go away. It lingers, waiting and lurking for the next touch. It’s been denied too many times tonight. Your head spinning, you gasp for breath for the split second he’ll allow. 

“You know, for such a smart woman, you really don’t get what’s best for you.” His other hand finally comes around and grabs your knee, pinning you apart with his broad hand and his other elbow as his fingers dive for the buttons of your pants. You try to shut your legs, but the box at your feet is immovable. “Just fucking relax and let me take you apart.”

“W-w-wait, Javier, that’s not–,”

His gaze pinning you down as much as his weight is, his fingers deftly unzipping your pants, sliding through the opening, and pressing up against your sodden panties. You gasp. It’s relief, painful, throbbing relief, but it comes at the cost of fire licking your spine. 

“But that’s not what you need, is it, pretty baby? That’s only part of it. Touching is one thing, but you need someone inside of you, don't you? Need someone to fuck up into that pretty cunt.” Your pussy swollen, you fight to breathe as much as it to fight off your impending orgasm. “Just say thank you, Javi when we’re done, alright?” 

Unrelenting and deaf to your cries, his fingers strip back your underwear and finally, finally, finally, he sinks two fingers into your hot, pulsating core. His shoulders shudder as you arch back, letting out a wail. Your thighs quake around the box in front of you. 

“‘Is so good. So warm.” He slurs. His hand releases your knee and slides up your hip to palm as much of your ass as he can reach. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He inhales like he wants to haul you over the console into his lap, but that you resolutely cannot allow, because there would be no coming back from that. You can still see the other side of your orgasm, enough to stifle it back down, sequester it. He strokes your inner muscles, in and out, the wet sound obscene – you must be gushing – and he hums. “Listen to that, sweetheart. God, the things I could do with that. Put you over my fucking shoulder, for one.” 

Your release is roaring at you, the razor-edge of pain and pleasure digging into the meat of your pussy, as you fight again to deny what you actually really want. You plant your heels, rolling your hips against his fingers because if you were going to fucking lose, you were going to be the one to make you do it. Not him.

And then unprompted, he retreats his fingers and all but shoves them into his mouth. His hips buck up again and he’s not breathing properly. You shudder at the loss of contact but at least the edges of your vision return. God, you’re not sure how much more you can take. But there is some respite, even for a moment. Javi seems to have momentarily forgotten how close he had come to winning.

Saliva and your thready cum dripping from between his lip, Javier sucks on his fingers as if someone were threatening to cut off his hand. His hips bump lazily, distractedly, against the steering wheel as his other hand white-knuckles his knee. He licks his wrist up to the meaty side of his palm, never one to waste excess. 

“Fuck, fuck, f-f-fuck,” he murmurs, eyes closed. The sight has you flushing again. “I’m gonna eat that cunt whole if it’s the last thing I do. Gonna put you in my lap and bounce you on my cock until you beg me to let you –,”

“Come.” You command, sanity finally snapping as you use the same voice to scold rowdy students at the academy or talkative agents in a presentation. It’s forceful, direct, and you are hoping that it throws him off enough to do exactly that. Come, so you win fair and square. Because that means you can finally come too. 

It works.

Or it nearly does. 

Javier’s spine goes rigid, hips still, his soaked fingertips hovering inches from his wet lips. His eyes snap open and oh, shit, you’ve done it now, you’ve really done it now. His once blissed out face contorts into that scowl of primal determination that only comes down for raids. For meetings with sketchy CIs. Moments when lives are at stake. 

“What did you just say to me?” The growl is more gnarled wolf than human. You immediately back up as far as the car will allow, the front of your pants still undone. 

“Javi, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry –,” By his expression, you half-expect him to throw open the door, storm around to your side, yank you to your feet and start fucking you against the car window. Your cunt is throwing a fucking riot at this point. She’s so pissed at you, she’s squeezing so tightly, you think she’ll suck the air right out of you. “I wasn’t thinking – i-i-it just slipped out –,” 

He unbuttons two more of his buttons on his shirt and you think, deliriously, he’s going to take his shirt off, but no, he’s just letting more heat escape. More steam rise from his sweaty back. He seems to grow, fill out, until he takes up the entire front seat of the car. 

“Please, please, don’t make me come, Javi.” You cry, shrinking back as far as you can. You might actually die from this. From him or a lack thereof. Either way, Javier Peña is going to destroy you. 

“I should leave you alone, you know.” He growls. “I should just leave you there to fucking drool into your jeans, smart little cunt knotted up so tight, I could breath on you and make you come. The kind of shit you pulled tonight, you fucking deserve to suffer. But I’m not going to do that and you know why?”

Without warning, his hand snatches around your wrist, yanking you up against the center console. He’s right, you’re so fucking close, the movement rubs you wrong and you squeak again.

Slowly, with superhuman restraint, his nose delicately strokes the underside of your jaw by your ear, then down your neck, as if inhaling the goosebumps that burst out across your skin. You shudder. “J-J-Javi, p-p-please –,” 

His other hand slides back up under your shirt, his fingers slotting in between your ribs, your back as arched as it can go. He feels you breath shakily and he closes his eyes. His next words are so soft, spoken so close to your cheek, you can feel the hairs there vibrate with the frequency of his voice.

“I’m not going to do that because I want you to know exactly what the fuck has the secretaries in a goddamn hissy fit over. I want you to think of me and me only every time you try to open your legs for anyone else. I want you to cry in frustration every time you can’t make yourself come with just your fingers because they’re not mine – they’re nowhere close to mine – and I want you to scream in frustration when I don’t pick up the phone. After tonight, I’m going to ruin you for everyone else.” 

He pauses, as if expecting an answer, but he couldn’t possibly think you are capable of responding, of dredging actual human thought up out of the murk he held you under. His lips drag gently over the arc of your cheek as he leans into your ear. His voice rumbles and you whine, embarrassed, at the sound alone.

“Because that’s what you’ve done to me.” 

No, no, that can’t possibly be right – it’s a trick. It’s a trap. It’s a lie. Javier Peña can’t actually be –

And then, in that same, slow timbre of voice, Javi says,

“I’m gonna finger-fuck you now, okay?”

Any chance of fighting back, of arguing still, is obliterated when his hand shoots back down between your thighs, surges past your underwear, and hooks his fingers up inside you again. This time it’s fast, he’s not waiting for you to gather your sense, he’s going to split you open, here in this fucking Pontiac. 

The force of his thrusts make your spine turn to ooze and you drop forward onto his shoulder. 

Fine. It’s fine. You’ll fucking lose. Who cares about your precious pride?

You don’t realize you’re whimpering in time with his fingers until you try to say his name. He cups the back of your head, reverently, as he spews more filth into your ear. As if the lewd noises he’s evoking from your pussy isn’t enough. 

“I’m going to take care of you, you little sweet cunt. I’m going to take care of you the way no one else has. That’s right, that’s a good little pussy, squealing for me. Hmm, tell me, does she like this?”

His thumb merely brushes your clit, the lone survivor in all of this, and your hips jolt in his hand. He holds you steady against his shoulder. Your fingernails dig into his bicep. 

“Oh, yeah, she does. Of course, she does. I can do that for as long as you like, alright?”

That white heat curls your body inwards, tearing your mouth open, and sending your eyes to the back of your head. “JaviJaviJaviJavi – please –,”

He tsks into your ear. “You keep saying that but you never tell me what you’re begging for.” 

It’s coming. It’s staggering. It eclipses everything and it’s just out of reach. You feel it start to expand and after all this time, it’s actually a fucking relief to give yourself over. To let yourself be rent asunder by something this huge and overwhelming. 

His fingers, the ones not rocketing you towards the biggest orgasm of your life, gently wind up into your hair, sweetly caressing the soft skin behind your earlobe. His voice is quiet, coaxing, kind. His lips almost kiss the ridges of your ear. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll tell you what to say. Say, Javi, I want you to make me come.” 

“Javi, I–,”

There’s an explosion.

No, not like that. He’s not that good.

It’s a literal explosion in the street, with flashes of flames and heat that rattle the car. Alarms go off, your vision goes white – because of a pipe bomb stationed out underneath a car parked outside the part-time gambling den, part-time brothel. Javi’s arm flings out in front of you as the car is rocked from the impact. Flames lick the charred out husk of the front of the building. Only when your ears stop ringing, do you finally hear the screaming. 

And then patter of bullets. 

“Baby, get your gun and stay low!” He roars, as the windshield of the car behind you shatters, the popping of gunfire echoing the distance. He lunges back and grabs his jacket, fumbling for his gun. The panic in his voice shakes you awake and you dig into the glove box for your own handheld. 

It’s a firefight for your lives, in the middle of the rain, in the middle of chaos and smoke. 

It’s time to go to work. 

🤍Part 2

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 7

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Relationship drama, family teasing, parental/societal demands, light discussion of politics, handful of sex jokes, Marcus is a menace. Summary: A gesture you weren't expecting, a memorable phone call, an admission at dinner, a surprise for a friend, and one more grand gesture that you definitely *did* plan. Notes: A gif from Sabrina feels extremely appropriate for this chapter, and this one is even the outfit inspo for Birdie at a certain point. You'll see it 🧡 (Outfit inspo, but not in any way indicating her body type. Wear the clothes you love!)

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

The next few days fly by, as working on the Cameron/Wiley wedding takes up all of your spare time. The only thing you've managed to do on your second day off is to comb through their contracts and get things straightened out with their florist — an agonizing series of phone conversations that nearly ended with you going down to the shop in person — but it is finally the end of the day. You're going to make yourself eat something reasonable, which is to say not the fast food you're craving, and you're going to take your yoga mat down to the studio in Old Town for puppy yoga. It's the single greatest way to relax and destress apart from the phone calls you've been having with Marcus — three now — and while you're bummed that you won't be getting a call tonight, at least he was courteous enough to text you and let you know that he is working late on a new lead.

You've got your leggings and t-shirt on under a sweater dress and you're ready to sneak out the back of the inn with Agent Bailey when you get stopped in the lobby.

“I am sorry, there is a gentleman her to see you.” Malachi rolls his eyes. “A flower delivery. Says that he must deliver to you personally.” He sniffs, a little annoyed that he had not been left the blooms so he could be nosy about who they are from by reading the card affixed to the front. He huffs. “He must be one of those singing flower deliveries.

“So he didn’t give you the card to read?” You tease, knowing Malachi has a penchant for gossip. “It’s okay.” Looping your arm through his with a playful grin, you walk with him out to the lobby. “I’ll let you read it first.” The hope in the back of your mind is very real and present, though — thinking of the possibility that Marcus might have sent you a few buds while he’s away. Maybe as a thank you for helping Cameron, since he’s still in a relationship.

“That is the least that you can do.” He snorts sassily and is eagerly looking forward to finding out who had send you such a beautiful bouquet.

“Hi there.” Greeting the delivery man easily, you’re immediately distracted by the tall cut vase of stunning white flowers with greens strewn throughout to enhance the beauty of the arrangement. “They sent you with quite an armful, didn’t they? Let me take those for you.”

The delivery person is dressed sharply and he confirms your name with Malachi, since you are distracted with the flowers. Instead of handing them to you, he starts to sing. “Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time. And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on a line.”

The striking way your face falls immediately, draining of blood and leaving your eyes wide, leaving your throat dry right along with it. “I—um—thank you. Uh…thanks. That’s enough. You—you don’t have to sing anymore.” The way you had been desperately hoping Malachi was teasing about a singing delivery has been flushed down the drain, and you fish in your purse to tip the man so he can be on his way. “Oh god,” you mumble to yourself immediately, mortified and feeling like you’re about to throw up.

It’s not uncommon for someone to not wish for the song to be finished so when you tell him to stop, he sets the flowers down on the counter and accepts the tip. The transaction has been fulfilled in his eyes and he won’t insist the song be completed. “Have a nice day.” He tells you quickly.

“Thank you.” There’s no reason to be impolite to the man even though you feel like you’re going to be sick, and instantly you know that not even the cute little puppies at yoga are going to be able to cheer you up from this. “What the hell am I going to do with these?” The question is mostly rhetorical, even though Malachi is standing right next to you. “And why the hell would he send them?”

“Is it not alright for your boyfriend to send you flowers?” He scrunches his brow in confusion. “You love flowers.”

“Mal…” Lowering your voice, you grab the lapel of his jacket and drag Malachi behind the desk to make it look like you’re talking about something work related with the flowers acting as a shield between you two and the rest of the lobby. “I broke up with Sam earlier in the week,” you confide, as quietly as you possibly can.

His eyes widen in surprise and he folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance you have not told him before now. “What? Why? You love Sam.”

“It’s complicated.” Is the best excuse you can really give him in this exact moment, which feels weird and wrong, but the whole situation is so odd. “Only Sydney knows, so please don’t say anything? You know I prefer to keep my private life private.” Which is yet another reason that the singing telegram is not exactly your style.

“I do not know what to say.” While Malachi loves to know all the gossip and details, he does not share information. He claims he is more of a gatherer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him, exhaling a long and haggard breath. “Just…help me look for a card or something? Sam having the delivery guy sing ‘our song’ is a little pointed, but there might be a note too.”

“Of course.” He nods and he starts looking through the massive arrangement to find a card.

“Here it is.” Tucked deep into the arrangement between the most massive white carnations you’ve ever seen, is a card in Sam’s scrawling print. Not one to go back on your promise, you hand it to Malachi first, but you have a sinking sensation that you know what it will say.

Malachi opens the card and clears his throat to start reading. “My love, I know I have much to apologize for, but I will spend as much time as it takes to win your forgiveness. Love, Sam.” He reads out loud and looks up at you. “He is begging for forgiveness, Birdie.” Ticking an eyebrow up, he smirks. “Looks like Congressman Chase is trying very hard to win you back.”

“Apparently so.” Although you can’t say that you’re thrilled about it. “Where am I going to put these flowers? This thing is enormous.”

“Your office?” He asks. “Or make it a centerpiece for the family table.”

“Emily Post says never use fragrant flowers in a table arrangement so they don’t alter the scent of your food.” The factoid — learned from your grandmother — spills out of your mouth instantly and you sigh softly. “I’ll bring them upstairs. The side table in the living room has room, and I need to call him now anyway.” Privacy is better is the implication there.

“I will send Charlie up with them.” Charlie is boy who works afternoons carrying luggage and delivering tea and meals to the rooms. As well as working in the kitchen when another pair of hands is needed.

“You’re an angel, Mal. Thank you.” It still leaves you with a phone call to make, but that is up to just you no matter what else happens.

“Of course.” Malachi nods and quickly walks off to find the burly younger man. Knowing you wouldn’t want the flowers to be downstairs for long so no one would ask questions.

Turning around again is an option, but Charlie is bringing the flowers upstairs and you’re already dressed for yoga, so you slip out the back door in the vain hope that an hour of stretching with very cute puppies will help. You can call Sam and have an uncomfortable conversation later when you’re feeling more centered.

The puppies are just what you need. Scampering and yipping through the posed arms and legs of people might not seem like it would be relaxing, but it is. And short of hearing Marcus’s voice, it’s the most relaxing thing you can possibly think of right now. Hopefully it works.

**

Fridays are always busier than any other day. Getting through the work day and having a little time to decompress before going to family dinner is always a task, but tonight you’re having an evening cup of coffee in your living room while you hammer out the scheduling assignments for the wedding which is now only one week away. Everything is falling into place, thankfully, and you’re going to give your team a big thank you for hustling to get everything ready in time.

The incoming call isn’t a normal one, and Marcus hopes you don’t mind. He wants to show you something and hopes you like it.

If he could see the smile on your face when his photo pops up on your phone screen, he would know for sure that you don't mind at all. "Hey G-man." You greet him with a voice full of sunshine, and since it's a FaceTime call he can actually see the grin this time as well.

“Hey.” Marcus grins back at you, very pleased that you seem happy to see him. “I’m sorry to call you at such a weird time, but I’m somewhere I thought you would appreciate.”

"Don't ever be sorry to call." As if to prove it, you heft the notebooks off of your lap and sit back on the couch. "Where are you?"

“The Tower of London.” He turns the camera around to show you the area.

"No!" Immediately you're sitting up in your seat again, trying to inspect the image on your phone like you might be able to climb into it if you try hard enough. "God, I miss London! Have you gotten to poke around anywhere? That whole place is so cool and so haunted."

“I’ve been allowed back into the Jewel House.” He admits. “They said that it’s okay if I’m on a video call while I’m there. Do you want to see the jewels up close?”

"Did you seriously just ask a girly girl if she wants to see the Crown Jewels? Marcus Pike you are a dream." The few minutes you have before you need to leave will be perfectly spent just like this and you grab your coffee to sip while he moves around the space.

He snorts, thankful that the camera is off of him so you can’t see that he’s blushing. “Here we go.” There is a moment that he has to wait for the doors to be unlocked, but then it’s opened up and he steps into the Jewel House.

"Did you know the Black Prince's ruby in the Imperial State Crown isn't actually a ruby?" The excitement bubbles over you with the instinctive knowledge that Marcus won't judge you for it. Getting excited about history isn't a bad thing, after all.

"What is it?" He asks, glancing around to see if he can find the Imperial State Crown to show you up close. "Oh, there it is."

"It's a balas stone." When he starts walking up to it you practically squeak with excitement. "They say Henry V wore it in his helmet at the Battle of Agincourt. Like a good luck charm."

"A good luck charm, hum?" Marcus smiles as he pushes the phone's camera closer to you can see it under the bright lights of the room. "I need one of those." He huffs. "Been running out of luck lately."

"Dead end with the case?" You ask, genuine concern in your voice despite humming over the large gem. "I hope not. You're supposed to be back in a week for Cameron's wedding."

"Nah." He doesn't want to turn the conversation to things that will bring down the mood. "Professionally, things are great." He promises. "I'm going to spend the next few days wrapping up to turn over to Interpol and I'm hoping to be back two days before the wedding."

"So..." Biting your lip is a nervous tick that you never quite got rid of, but you're smiling into the camera regardless. "Does that mean I can give my parents your RSVP for my birthday when I go to dinner tonight? Since you know you're going to be back in time?"

“Yeah.” Marcus shifts the camera back around so you can see him nod. “I’ll be there. Sorry that I’ve been gone, it’s probably sitting in my mailbox. But tell your parents I’m happily accepting the invitation.”

“I’m happy to accept it on your behalf, but since they still insist the location has to be a surprised, you’ll have to check the card for that.” Once he’s back in frame, that smile on your face gets beaming all over again. “So are there any corners of that jewel house that we peasants don’t get to see and you do?”

“Yes.” Marcus smirks and turns the camera around. “Would you like to see the personal jewels?” He asks, walking over to another door.

“You’re kidding?” Another gasp and giggle comes out of you as you readjust on your couch. There’s only one last sip of coffee at the bottom of your cup but what he’s showing you is far more exciting than hazelnut creamer. “Yes please! Absolutely.”

“Okay, but I’ve been instructed that I cannot pick up or touch any of them. So….yeah.” He doesn’t know why he would say that, it’s not like you can come through the screen and pick up the jewels.

“Oh my god…” The room that he’s in is full of cases, shelving, and careful lighting that make the stored pieces glint and glitter. They wink at Marcus as he moves about the room, teasing you through the camera and making both of you gasp or giggle alternately. It’s just such an enormous measure of opulence that taking it in together is surreal.

“What do you think? Pretty amazing, right?” He’s a little giddy, and soft, sharing this with you, even if it’s through a screen. “The sheer monetary value of this room is more than every house I’ve ever owned.”

“Same,” you huff, and laugh when he throws you a doubtful look. “We don’t own the White House. We’re just borrowing it for a while.” You remind him with a grin. “And I don’t even live there!”

“Yeah, buuuuuut…” he flashes you a grin. “You can sleep in the Lincoln bedroom anytime you want. I bet your mom wouldn’t say no.”

“You probably could too.” A little poke at the screen is the closest you’re going to get to touching him, and you hate that fact. “After the State dinner, she probably likes you more than me.”

“Nahhhh.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re her daughter. She loves you unconditionally. Me? She just likes that I look good in a tux and can dance.” He reminds you. “Those are mutually exclusive things.”

“If you think she loves me unconditionally, remind me to tell you about the time I lost the fifth grade spelling bee to Maude Appleton,” you snort, nearly in giggles on the couch again. “I’m a disgrace to the family, Marcus. Truly.”

“The black sheep, huh? I can tell.” He rolls his eyes and cheekily sticks out his tongue at you. “You have a sitting President planning your birthday party.”

“One that she absolutely does not need to be throwing, and that you will be at.” The fact that he’s coming tickles you more than a little, and you grin like a moron for a moment longer before the alarm on your watch goes off. “Speaking of Madam President,” you huff a dramatic sigh and lift yourself off the couch. “That’s my cue. It’s Friday night dinner.”

“Go, enjoy your dinner with the President while I skulk around the Crown Jewels and dream of being King Marcus.” He jokes, smirking at you through the screen.

“Just remember, every king needs a queen.” The moniker First Princess flashes through your head again and your cheeks burn with it. “Or at least a Princess.”

You are moving to your door and Marcus is about to come back with slightly flirtatious comeback when he spots the gorgeously large bouquet of flowers on the table. A slap in the face reminder of who you are and despite that, you are taken. “Yeah.” The agreement is a little flat for the previous tone of the conversation. “Well, um, I better go. The President doesn’t need to be kept waiting.”

“She’s still just my mother.” The change in his tone doesn’t escape you but the reason does, and you furrow your eyebrows at the screen but swallow it down. He’s still dating Vanessa. Don’t make it weird. You remind yourself harshly. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s always how you sign off your calls now, and you know you sound hopeful but you don’t care one bit.

“Talk later.” He agrees and disconnects the call. Staring at his Home Screen for a moment before sighs. “You’re a fucking idiot, Pike.”He grumbles. “She’s dating a fucking congressman. She doesn’t want you.” When he gets back home, he needs to look at the dating apps again. Needing to forget about you and move on.

**

Friday night dinners are ritual, soothing, although June is eager to get this particular one over with so she can go out with the potential boyfriend she had met at the party last Friday. Nervous, she exudes that kind of boundless energy she had as a child, since she likes this guy so much it surprises her.

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight.” Your father observes with a wry smirk as the five of you sit down at the table together. He’s particularly excited about dinner tonight for purely food reasons, but he likes seeing his children happy and buzzing.

“I’m going to the movies.” She volunteers, knowing that the security detail would have already informed her parents anyway.

“With Kiley?” Alex assumes automatically, knowing that Junie’s best friend is a movie fanatic. “What are you guys going to see? I might tag along.”

“No!” She’s almost spitting out her refusal and then realizing that it sounds suspicious, she backs down. “I mean, I’m not going with Kiley. You can’t come.”

“If you’re not going with Kiley…” Alex’s eyes widen as he picks up his drink, not bothering to hide his growing smirk behind the glass at all. “Did you meet somebody, Junebug? Please tell me you are smart enough not to get bamboozled by a frat boy or a post grad.”

“Shut up.” She hisses, throwing her napkin at him. “It’s none of your business and I’m smarter than that.”

“So you did meet someone.” You join the smirking too, knowing that razzing your sister is all in good fun and that you and Alex would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. “What’s their name? How’d’ya meet? Give us the dirt, Junie.”

She narrows her eyes at you, feeling slightly betrayed by you essentially ganging up on her. “I met him at the party last weekend. His name is Bryan and before you say anything…” She holds up her hand. “He is in a fraternity but he was the DD for the party.”

“Sounds responsible.” Your father commends from one end of the table. “We just want to know you’re safe, Bug. That’s all.”

“Oh, no.” Alex shakes his head as the salad course hits the table. “We want dirt.”

“He may have passed the Secret Service’s background check, but not the older sibling one,” you agree with a nod.

“Oh my ggggggggoddddddd.” June groans, dropping her head into her hand and giving a moan of embarrassment. “I think he might be my soulmate, okay?” She huffs.

The room is dropped into a vacuum as all the air is sucked out of it. Four family members sit stunned before all hell breaks loose in excitement as everyone starts talking at once.

“Why do you think so, honey?”

“Junie, that’s wonderful!”

“Holy shit, are you serious?!”

“Are you excited? Did you ask him how he got the scar on his leg?”

“I haven’t seen that scar.” June admits, groaning slightly and now worried that she might have raised everyone’s hopes for nothing. “But it’s not like it’s obvious like your tattoo.” She snorts, throwing you an amused look. “Although Agent Pike didn’t seem to think it was dumb.”

Halfway to picking up your salad fork, you freeze all over again. “Why would you say that?” The carefully affected breezy tone in your voice doesn’t fool your family for a second, and your blood is pounding your ears out of sheer fear for your baby sister’s answer.

“Oh, we talked about it while we danced.” She confirms, unaware of the turmoil she is causing. “He’s really nice. He actually didn’t make fun of where you put your hummingbird like I do.”

“June Allegra…” There is as much warning in your voice as there is fear and worry, your eyes blowing wide as they narrow on her across the table. “You told Marcus about my tattoo?”

“Was it supposed to be some kind of secret?” She asks, startled by your reaction. “I didn’t— you’ve never really hidden it before. Are you— did I do something wrong?” She throws her parents a confused look.

“I hadn’t said anything yet,” you admit, feeling sick to your stomach at the realization that Marcus has known for an entire week that you are soulmates. Through the phone calls and the chats and the work you’re doing for his friend’s wedding. He’s known, but he’s still with Vanessa. “I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t…it hadn’t been confirmed…”

“Suspected what?” She’s still not grasped what you are talking about, but your mother and father exchange a very pointed glance with each other.

“Oh honey.” Your mother sighs.

June huffs. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Agent Pike is Birdie’s soulmate.” Alex’s voice isn’t nearly as teasing, more of a soft tone of understanding cutting through the tension in the room. “And you told him before she could.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure your sister quickly, but your heartbeat has leapt up into your throat. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Oh shiiiiiit.” Her eyes widen and she looks like she might cry. “Why— why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t you? You’re soulmates? What about Sam?”

“I broke up with Sam.” That admission is heavy enough on its own, knowing that letting the cat out of the bag with your family is now officially necessary. “Not…exclusively because of that. But it made me think about things. And…I hadn’t told Marcus yet because I wasn’t sure. Plus, he’s seeing someone else. And I didn’t want to complicate things for him.” June really does look like she’s about to cry, though, and you get up and circle the table to hug her. “You didn’t know, Junebug. It’s okay.”

“Oh shit.” It’s not often your mother curses, but she does now. “Sam got an invitation to your birthday, I wouldn’t have dreamed of not inviting him, but if you’ve broken up….”

“I still want to stay friends with him.” The clarification is obviously important since it does change expectations a bit. “And Marcus will be home from London in time to come to the party, so please just…I will let you guys know when I’ve talked to him, okay? If I don’t say anything to you directly will you all please assume I haven’t gotten to talk to him about it yet and not say anything?”

“Damn.” Alex whistles quietly. “I thought my soulmate status was complicated.” He snorts. “You’ve got me beat, big sis.

“Your soulmate status isn’t complicated, people are just bigoted,” you toss back, knowing that Alex and David have been crazy about each other forever. They just stay quiet about it to avoid unnecessary commentary on their personal lives. Which you give them a lot of credit for, honestly. “This is…a lot.”

“Yes it is.” Your father speaks up. “And only you can decide when the time is right to talk to Marcus about this.” He agrees. “You said he was also seeing someone?”

"Yeah..." As the five of you slowly start to eat, the sick to your stomach feeling is subsiding a little and you nod. "Um...Vanessa D'Amario? She's, uh...she's Sam's aide."

Your mother winces. “Also daughter to Judge D’Amario.” She tells the table. “Federal circuit and on the short list for Supreme Court.” She would never tell you to not follow your heart, but she does want to caution you. “Just be honest and let Marcus decide what he needs to do before you take any steps.”

"I just want him to be happy." It sounds cliched, but as soon as it's out of your mouth you know it's true. That the feeling that's nestled deep into your ribcage is new love and that it's real enough to make you both selfless and just a little stupid. "If that means staying with Vanessa, I'll just have to deal with it."

Alex shakes his head. “That man is a romantic.” He snorts. “He probably is waiting for the right moment. Some big gesture.”

"I don't know what's going to happen," you admit, stabbing a piece of apple and some cheese rather violently with your salad fork. "But what I do know is that for now, I'm excited about Junie maybe meeting someone she's interested in and my birthday happening in a week." Your eyes raise to your mother on one end of the table and you offer her a lopsided smile. "You might have to tell me where the party is after all, Mom. Unless you're going to have somebody else drive me."

“I can have Marcus bring you.” She offers with a small grin.

"I honestly think he would forget how to speak if you called him." It's an enormously sweet and endearing thought, trying to wrap your head around how Marcus might react to the sitting President calling him up to ask a favor.

Your father chuckles and reaches over to take your mother’s hand. “Well, she might talk him into it if she demands a dance with him. She was grumbling about not being able to dance with your escort herself after the State dinner.”

"There's going to be dancing?" You raise your eyebrow at your mother, no longer able to get any kind of read at all at what kind of party this is going to be.

“That entirely depends on the music that you choose.” She grins at you. “Doesn’t have to be ballroom dancing. I can still break a leg.”

"It's cut a rug," June huffs, still amazed that the woman who somehow uses turns of phrase just barely incorrectly convinced an entire country to make her President.

The President laughs, aware of what the phrase actually is, she just enjoys watching her children cringe at times. “Whatever.” She huffs, waving her hand. “Either way, Birdie’s party will be wonderful.”

“That’s how your tattoo came up!” June huffs. “Your nickname. Again, I’m sorry, Birdo.”

"You couldn't have known, Junebug. It's okay." At another point in your lives you might have been the right ages for you to hold it over her head, but not anymore. You and June have just under ten years separating your ages and that difference has united you in as many ways as it's separated you. "And I'm going to be honest, along with all the different songs from the years of my life? It's a lot of 80s dance music. I gave the list to Dad when I got here."

“Perfect.” Your mom winks at you, “I loved the 80s.”

"We know, Mom." Alex snorts, shaking his head as he eats his salad. "Just promise you won't do the Running Man or the Robot or anything."

“My Robot is amazing!” She protests with a laugh, knowing that while she can dance, she’s goofy with that move. “Okay, okay I’ll resist.” She huffs dramatically.

“We acknowledge and appreciate your sacrifice,” you tease, raising your glass to your mother in salute.

“As long as my accomplishments are acknowledged.” She teases back, smiling at the three of her children. Happy that all of them are on the way to knowing their soulmates, even if they don’t choose to be with them. “So how do you feel about the idea that Marcus Pike might be your soulmate?” She asks softly. “That’s the most important thing.”

The opportunity to think about your answer while tonight’s main course comes out is appreciated, and when it turns out to be your mother’s very favourite thing on the planet — chicken cordon bleu with roasted potatoes and broccoli — the softness on your father’s face at seeing her delight reminds you of the warm, tight feeling in your chest every time you hear Marcus laugh. It tingles its way up to your cheeks and you end up smiling just hearing his name. “He’s a good man,” you say finally. “I think I’m lucky.”

She watches you with a sense of pride. “Good.” She hums and lifts her glass of lemonade. “To Birdie and Junie.” She poses. “May their soulmates be worthy of the wonderful women they are.”

“Here here!” Your father’s addition may not be long in the way of words, but he sees your reaction, and the soft way you smile, and has a feeling that things will end up okay.

June smiles, still feeling guilty for letting the cat out of the bag, but honestly she wonders if Marcus is aware that you might be soulmates. He didn’t seem to react too much from what she can remember.

“So…” Your mother sits up tall at the table and looks between her three children at the table. “Am I allowed to do a little business at supper? Since I have all of you here?”

“Oh boy.” Alex immediately rolls his eyes. “I knew we weren’t getting a great meal and there not be strings.” It’s an old joke in the family about how no one eats for free.

"Oh, you'll like yours," she waves one hand at him, unbothered by her middle child's habitual sass. "I just wanted to let all of you know that someone from my office is going to be contacting each of you in the next month or so with some opportunities for good publicity. There are plenty of websites and magazines that want to talk to the three of you and different businesses that want to be associated with you. We're going through all of it before we approve requests, and I thought each of you should be allowed to have some say in each of your approvals." She meets eyes with each of you individually, knowing what the first question will be. "And I'm sorry, but no publicity is not an option. That's why we're curating each list carefully. To keep things controlled and try to avoid things coming at any of you from left field."

June is the least social out of all of you and it’s immediately apparent that she is not happy. “Whhhhhhhhhy?” she whines. “You’re President, not us. Go adopt a puppy or something.”

"That's actually on the list," she admits, chuckling at how on the nose some of the choices are for her kids. "Since animal rights and animal welfare are the things that you've always cared the most about, we thought you might be willing to partner with a local rescue and pick out a new dog for the family." There has been a lot of time and effort put into making sure that the things being presented to each of the kids is something they actually care about and something that is representative of who they are. Hopefully that makes things a little less overwhelming for each of the kids individually.

“Wait…really?” Her parents have been loving and wonderful but the busy lifestyle they had lead hadn’t been fair to an animal. At least for a long time. The last family pet had been a cat who had died of old age when June was eight. “Are you being serious? This isn’t a joke, right?”

"They'll be your responsibility to take care of, for the most part," your mother warns, but she's glad to see the way June lights up. "I'm sure Alex will help, and Birdie too, when your sister is around. But...we know we're asking a lot of your kids. So we thought you should get something out of it, too."

“You had to wait until I’m practically out of the house?” Alex huffs playfully.

“Four years in the White House with a puppy still sounds like a pretty good time,” your dad contends. From the way he’s smiling it looks like letting Junie get a puppy was probably his idea. Even more so when he adds: “And I have some thoughts about the name.”

“We are not naming it Scout.” Alex warns him, pointing his finger at his father.

“But it’s a good name!” Your father protests in response, sending everyone into intermediate laughter and sighs. It’s always what he wants to name pets. Even the baby bird Junie rescued from the park when she was five.

“But we need something more dignified for a White House pooch.” June insists, grinning at her dad.

“Don’t tell me. You want to name the dog after Eleanor Roosevelt or Susan B. Anthony?” Alex jokes. “Why don’t we meet the pup before we name them? They might turn out to be just as goofy as the rest of this family.”

“We should get a really dopey puppy and name him Goofy.” June snickers happily. She picks up her glass. “I want to adopt.” She insists. “And make sure they are spayed or neutered.”

“I think Junie might be enjoying her assignment after all,” you observe, flashing both of your parents an impressed smile. Whatever they have for you, you’ll take the responsibility of more spotlight onto your shoulders with as much grace as you can muster. While it’s not your favourite part of your mother’s victory, it’s a very real part of how things will work for the next few years. And you did willingly sign up — for lack of a better phrase — to be as helpful as you could be.

“Good.” The President watches over all of you with a small smile and nods back at you. She knew that it would be difficult at times, but you are all handling it with as much grace and aplomb as could be expected.

“In other news.” With things going fairly well after the shock early in dinner tonight, your father is glad for the change in tone. “I hope everyone has the White House Easter Egg Roll already on their calendar.”

“I’m finding the golden egg!” Alex declares with a laugh. “There better be big money in it this year.”

“There will be prizes for the kids, and a nice lunch.” It earns Alex a smirk from your father, though. Of course it does.

“Are we supposed to do anything besides dress appropriately and be proud of you at the podium while you make a small speech?” It’s a valid question, directly aimed at your mother, but the question you’re afraid to ask is whether or not this is something they would prefer the three of you have escorts for.

“I’ve decided to change things up a little this year.” The President admits with hopeful smile. “We are bringing in one of the local orphanages, I was hoping that you and any friends you want to bring, along with my staff, would pair up with a child for the egg hunt.”

“You’re going to piss off a lot of judges and legislators with that one.” And you don’t mind pointing it out to her. It’s often seen as a privilege of the position for high-ranking government employees to get that coveted invitation for their families to attend White House events. Letting ‘just anybody’ in is a mark for your mother to the public but possibly against her to a lot of other people. “I’ll be sure to bring a whole crew.”

“Fuck ‘em.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It is the People’s House. That includes children that haven’t found their forever home yet.”

“Besides,” June smirks, the admiration for her mother clear as day on her face. “What are they gonna do? She’s the President. You can’t impeach somebody for being nice.”

“They are really going to be pissed when we push the homeless initiative.” She has a list of things that she wants to tackle before she has to worry about re-election or leaving the office. Honestly, she wants her record in office to do the campaigning for her.

“And we’ll be even prouder.” There hasn’t really ever been a time when you haven’t been proud of your mother, but seeing the things she wants to accomplish while in office really does hammer it home for you. If the number of homeless and unemployed drops across the country like it did in Pennsylvania while she was governor, it will be enough to put her in history books all by itself.

“Thank you all for your help, your patience and everything you put with.” Right now, there isn’t a Secret Service Agent in sight, they all stay outside of the private residence, but she knows that it chaffs sometimes.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” you promise her, because despite being a family of sass and negotiation, the fact is that you’re all very close. The age gaps between you and your siblings have never mattered, and the bumps in the road that you’ve all weathered were manageable because you got over them together.

**

The invitation to your birthday is beautiful and Marcus smiles when he sees the theme. Finally home, there’s plenty of mail to open and things to do before he changes and runs over to the inn for the wedding rehearsal.

His cell phone is perpetually on his person, always ready to go at a moment’s notice, but he isn’t expecting any calls. He’s just concentrating on getting through his stack of mail and getting his head on straight when his phone goes off. The word Private across his phone screen isn’t necessarily unusual, but having just come home from a case, there is an uncomfortable possibility that this is work related.

“Special Agent Pike.” He tucks the phone under his chin as he sets the mail down, pulling out a notebook in case it’s someone about a case.

“Good afternoon, Agent.” The President’s voice is distinct and recognizable to anyone who has heard her speak as many times as a government agent has, but she introduces herself anyway. Arrogance isn’t a characteristic she typically has. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Marcus straightens immediately and wonders if something is wrong. “What may I help you with?” The President of the United States is calling him, he is going to do whatever she needs.

“I know you have an important night, so I won’t keep you.” She is well apprised of the wedding you are coordinating in just two days’ time. You’ll be missing family dinner for it, but your business and your integrity are important enough to take precedence. “But I’m afraid I have to ask a small favor of you, if I may? Are you Stateside again, Agent Pike?”

“Yes Ma’am, I am.” The fact that she knows he was out of the country means you talked about him with her, even if it was concerning the invitation to the party. It warms him in a way that it shouldn’t, given your relationship with Congressman Chase. He knows that whatever the favor, he will gladly do it. “Whatever you need, I’ll be happy to help.”

“It’s small,” she promises with a chuckle. Just as you had said — and as she had seen a little bit of at the State dinner — Marcus Pike is an earnest sort of man. “I was hoping you would be willing to pick Birdie up for her party on Saturday to bring her to the venue? The location is a surprise and I know she’d appreciate being able to ride in with you.” Instead of one of her siblings is the end of the sentence in her mind, but these days she’s fairly certain that you would pick Marcus Pike over almost anyone.

“Of course.” He agrees immediately, almost without thought, but he wonders why Sam isn’t bringing you. He opens his mouth to ask, but quickly shuts it before anything comes out, deciding he doesn’t want to know if there’s some birthday surprise involving the congressman. “What time do you want me to have her walk through the door?” He asks instead.

“Seven-thirty would be ideal.” The invitations say to arrive at seven, and she wants everyone assembled at the club before you get there. “She’s never been to the Statesman Club, I checked with Sydney. So she shouldn’t have any idea where you’re bringing her. And don’t let the half-hearted protests convince you of a thing. She loves a surprise.”

Marcus chuckles quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He promises. “Seven-thirty.” He repeats. “I’ll have her there on time. Will Agent Bailey follow us or ride with us?” He asks.

“She will follow.” In fact, as a mother, she made sure of that. The chance to give you and Marcus some time alone seemed important. “Hopefully nothing will be complicated, and everything should be fun. I do appreciate the favor, Agent. It won’t go unremembered.”

“I am happy to help.” He feels slightly strange about having the President feel indebted to him, not that he would use it for anything at all. “Sincerely.”

“Wonderful.” There’s a smile in her voice, but a finality as well. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun at the rehearsal dinner tonight and the wedding on Friday.”

He’s surprised she knows the plans, but why, he’s not sure. You are close to your mother and he doubts you don’t talk about your work. “Thank you Madame President.” He hums quietly. “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening. And thank you again.” The call clicks off with a pleasant tone, and the President smiles to herself on the other end, knowing you didn’t think she would actually go through with having Marcus bring you to your party.

Marcus just stares at the phone for a moment, feeling like that was a surreal moment. He’s certainly never had the President call him for a favor before. Chuckling to himself, he moves towards the bathroom, needing to shower before he gets dressed for the rehearsal.

**

The rehearsal dinner truly is the easiest part of this process. For you, at least. You’ve done large handfuls of them in the past to be a help to Juan, and the number of people at this particular rehearsal is going to be incredibly small. Cameron and her fiancé had asked for just a family style meal after the actual rehearsal and you had set up a round dinner table in the gazebo in the grounds for them to enjoy their night with a few friends and family in relative privacy. Per your usual protocol, everyone working the wedding will be in black tonight and for the ceremony on Friday, and you’ve set yourself into a long-sleeved black blouse and cigarette pants for tonight with a smart pair of flats to complete the Audrey Hepburn look. There was a lot of back and forth about it between you and Sydney and Juan, but now that you know Marcus knows about your soulmate status? You’ve got to talk to him tonight. You may even have a few surprises up your sleeve, since you had to change your plans for that grand, romantic gesture.

Marcus tries to make his outfit seem casual, a more tailored suit than he wears at work, no tie. Loafers instead of dress shoes. He shows up right as Cameron and Michael do. Smiling as they get out of their car and he hugs the bride, shaking the groom’s hand. “You survived.” He jokes.

“Thanks to you.” Cameron — Joyce outside of work and to her friends and family — happily hugs Marcus instead of shaking his hand. “I don’t know what you said to her but she has bent over backward to make this happen and we’re so grateful.”

“I just asked her for a favor.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “That’s all.”

“Well, then she’s an amazing friend and we’re grateful for that, too.” She’s absolutely beaming in her white floral sundress and happily ready for this week’s celebrations. As stressful as everything had been, it has also been wonderful to feel like the day isn’t in jeopardy after all. “How was the case?”

“Interesting, but I want to focus on you and Wiley.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. “I want to help with the costs. I know you guys got screwed having to pay twice.”

Cameron shakes her head adamantly, touched by the gesture even though it isn’t necessary. “We didn’t have to pay twice,” she tells him, acknowledging how remarkable that is. “I don’t really know what she did, but she hasn’t asked us for any money. The whole thing is just…it’s been a miracle.”

“Wow.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he wonders if you managed to get the other venue to cover the costs, but he knows in his heart, you just aren’t charging them. “Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re sure.”

“You’ve already helped us so much.” As a coworker and a boss, Marcus is fantastic. But as a friend? She will always be grateful for everything he’s done. Their long friendship has been through plenty of ups and downs, but this is above and beyond any call of duty that she could possibly think of. “Are you…still okay with walking me down the aisle?“

“I am looking forward to it…although…if you want someone else to do that, I understand.” Marcus hums as you walk outside to greet them.

“Joyce, Michael, you look fantastic. How are we feeling tonight?” You are nothing but professional smiles despite your own nerves for the various things that are set to happen tonight. Hopefully it will all be emotional in good ways only. “I’m glad you were able to get back in time, Marcus.”

“Me too.” He smiles politely, trying not to moon over how good you look. It makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms, although that’s not right. “Are we all set?”

“Just about.” There’s a tingling in your fingers and the nervous butterflies in your stomach bottom out, but things are as ready as they’re going to be. You’re not about to steal the thunder from this couple on such an important night, but Marcus looks so good in his more casual and stylish suit that you have to remind yourself that you can’t just drag him upstairs. “Let’s take a walk out to the back and I’ll just give you a few moments to say hi to everyone before we get in place for the rehearsal. Okay?”

“That sounds good.” She’s excited, of course she is, but she’s also very disappointed. Wishing that she had her family here. The upside is that Marcus and her other friends are the best kind of family she could ask for.

“We’ve set up a table out in the gazebo for dinner. It should fit all eleven of you just fine.” A slight smile touches your lips, knowing that the couple only told you to expect nine for the rehearsal. The first surprise of the night is waiting for them out in the garden.

Cameron frowns slightly, tilting her head as she catches the error. From what you’ve shown her, you don’t make mistakes. “Eleven?”

“Eleven.” Waving one beckoning hand, you head out to the garden with Marcus, Cameron, and Michael in tow.

There are big batches of raspberry iced tea ready for tonight and all the guests gathered in the garden have glasses already. A few people are chatting but mostly they are looking around, inspecting early flowers blossoming in the flower beds from the warm spring, and the large planters that have already been brought in to be part of the decor for the wedding. In amongst the guests — the joyful friends and select family members who had offered continuous support — are Agent Cameron’s parents.

“Mom? Dad?” Cameron’s tone is nearly disbelieving and that makes Marcus’s heart hurt.

Mr. Cameron unwinds his arm from around his nervous-looking wife’s waist and rubs his hands together. “I hope we aren’t crashing your party.” He wants to set her and Michael at ease that they aren’t here to cause trouble. “I got a call from your boss a few days ago.” He glances over at Marcus briefly before turning his attention back to his only daughter. “Who told me, in much more eloquent terms, that I was a horse’s ass and would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t support you and Wiley.” He explains. “Your mother and I….we would like to come to the wedding and if it’s possible, maybe I could give you away?” He hopes that she will let him but if not, he would understand.

“Really?” A grown woman of more than thirty years, Joyce Cameron tears up immediately and clutches her fiancé’s hand while staring — gob smacked — at both of her parents. The whole thing doesn’t even register for a few seconds before she looks over at Marcus with a watery smile. “I don’t know a lot of people who can say their boss saved their wedding, and this is so much more than just one day.” She turns to hug Marcus fiercely before walking the six steps across the lawn she needs to embrace both of her parents.

Michael hangs back, giving his fiancée her moment with her parents as he turns to look at Marcus in astonishment. “How?” He demands, making the older man shrug.

“I asked them if they would be proud of the union if you shared marks.” He tells him. “They said you were a good man, and I reminded them that is all they should want for their daughter. A good man. One who treats her like a queen. And she’s found that. In you.”

"I guess it took somebody from the outside." Wiley shrugs, though, watching his fiancée hug her parents with happy tears in her eyes. "She deserves this, Marcus. Thank you." He murmurs, before stepping up to shake his soon-to-be father-in-law's hand and leaving Marcus standing with you on the edge of the garden.

Marcus smiles, happy that he has been able to help Joyce again, even if it means that he’s lost out on walking her down the aisle. He will happily be relegated to just a guest in this case. After a minute or so of quiet where Marcus doesn't step away from you, you nudge his side playfully with your elbow. "It's good to see you in person again."

“Glad it’s not accompanied by screaming parents, disturbing the peace and police reports.” He snorts, turning and giving you a friendly grin. It’s all he can muster but hopefully it’s believable. “But at least I didn’t get thrown into the dungeon for trying to steal the jewels.”

"They were very meek and apologetic when they got here," you assure him. The maid of honor — a cousin, apparently — had been shocked to see them but things had gone okay after the initial surprise wore off. For now, it's only good things with this wedding party so you can turn your attention to Marcus. "It would've caused quite a scandal if I had to go over there and bail you out, so I'm also glad you didn't get into any scrapes across the pond. I don't know if my curtsy is good enough for groveling."

He laughs slightly and then looks back at the older couple talking with the younger one. The relief is staggering from both sides and he sighs happily. “Guess I’m out of the rehearsal.”

"No reason you can't stay." It probably comes out too quickly, but the last thing you want is for him to leave. Not when you have...things you want to say. "You're the hero of the night. Stay and have a little supper, at least. I'm sure they don't want you to go."

“I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.” He assures you. “Not when I can stay and bask in the happiness that my meddling worked.”

"Bask in it all you like. You earned it." Just like you're basking in this — just standing here beside him while the warmth of his presence washes over you like an exquisite sunset.

“Just like you.” Marcus turns towards you. “Are you not charging them? Or did the other place pony up some money?”

"I couldn't bear to charge them anything," you admit, shrugging your shoulders slightly. It's not something you're doing for the praise — it's something you're doing for the love of him as much or more than any other reason. "Derby Farms' lawyers are putting together compensations for all the clients who lost their dates and deposits and all...and it covered the expenses here. They already paid for their wedding once. And Sydney's food is better than what they serve anyway."

“So let me give you this.” He pulls the envelope out of his coat again. “To help. Because you just said they ‘are’ not they ‘have’.” He points out. “You have expenses.”

"You don't have to do anything, Marcus." Pressing the envelope gently back toward him, you just shake your head once so you don't draw any kind of attention from the happy wedding party or their officiant as he gets them all into order. "You asked me for a favor and I take that very seriously."

“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be paid.” He huffs, knowing that your time is precious and you have worked miracles with the short amount allotted.

"I know. But this is...it's more than just a few days of business. It's their happiness. And—" Your head tilts slightly, knowing that you didn't plan for this kind of timing but now you have a bit of extra time. "Do you...would you mind if we...talked? Just for a couple of minutes, since the rehearsal will go perfectly smoothly without either of us?"

Marcus feels his stomach flip and he swallows slightly, wondering why you want to talk to him. “Sure.” He says breezily.

You nod to the right, to where one of the small outbuildings that you use as a staging area has been staged for tonight, instead. Set up with twinkle lights and a little set of Bluetooth speakers and a small something for Marcus, you feel like you're visibly shaking as you walk to what used to be a shed and is now quite fixed up and neatly painted. The lights and music aren't on — not wanting to force a romantic mood on him in case he reacts poorly in any way to what you have to say — but privacy is good regardless.

"I...before anything else, I owe you an apology," you start, inhaling and exhaling deeply once the thin door has tapped shut behind you both.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His rebuttal is automatic, along with the frown on his face.

"Yes I do." The nerves are running through you like lightning strikes, but you wrote out all of what you wanted to say and if you get through half of it you'll be very proud of yourself. "I kept something from you. Something important. And I thought I had kept a lid on it until I was prepared to really explain why I kept quiet. But then I found out at family dinner last week that Junie had gone and spilled the beans on me at the State dinner and I just..." Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. "I should have told you that I suspected we were soulmates right away. And I didn't. So I'm sorry, I just hope you'll let me explain why."

Marcus freezes and he wants to walk away. Fear, true fear curling in his gut. The fear of being rejected by the person the universe had said was supposed to be his. To realize that he wasn’t good enough for anyone. “You don’t—” he shakes his head. “Please don’t. Not right before Cameron’s wedding.” He asks softly.

"I know." You hang your head in turn, the bravery evaporating from you far faster than the weeks it has taken you to build it all up. "You're seeing Vanessa. And that's part of why I kept things to myself. If you really—" Nearly hiccupping at the idea of full-on rejection when you had been dreaming of any other reaction, you nod dumbly and try not to look as crestfallen as you feel. "I'm sorry. I should have kept it to myself a while longer, I guess."

Marcus chuckles dryly, surprised that he can in a moment like this. “I went to her after the State dinner.” He admits, looking down at his loafers and wishing he was still in the wedding after all. “I needed to tell her that I— that it was— to end things.” He sighs and gives a self-amused smirk at the ground. “Only to get dumped before I could open my mouth.” He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “She apparently discovered who her soulmate was.”

"When it rains, it pours." Your laugh is hollow, still afraid, and you twist your arms behind your back nervously. "So...all the phone calls...all the times I swore to myself I wasn't going to flirt with you on the phone...we've both been single the whole time?"

“You’re dating Sam.” He murmurs, as if to remind you even though it’s odd you would say that. It is too much of a hope to have that you had ended things with him.

"I told you at the State dinner that I was ending things." Although it does, somehow for the very first time, occur to you that you didn't actually tell him you had done it. "I meant it. I broke up with him the next day."

“Why?” The question is quiet, although he would normally never pry, he needs to know.

"Do you want the complete or abridged list of reasons?" Attempting at humor falls short, and you find yourself swallowing down that fear mixed with bile that is threatening to bubble up your throat. "Well... whichever list you pick... this biggest reason is... is actually you." Inhale. Exhale. Try to remember everything you wrote down over the last week. "Because from the moment you walked in the front door of the inn, you took my breath away. And not just because you're handsome, although I admit that's undeniable. It's the way you seem to make things effortless. Easy conversations and god you have the most incredible laugh. It's like music. Everything about you has just built up and built up and... and somehow it isn't just oh, I like Marcus more than I like Sam. It's the way something inside me started tugging toward you right away and I didn't know what it was. All the cracks in the veneer I had built up of convincing myself that I was happy before... I've been happier being friends with you than I was in that entire relationship."

As the rambling boils over, the small speech you prepared is abandoned, and for better of your worse you find yourself laying your heart bare right there on the floor of the work shed. "I told myself I couldn't tell you that I was falling in love with you until I had made sure that I was doing it for the right reasons, but I don't even know what the right reasons are anymore. I just... know that my entire life I've felt like I was reaching for the moon. And every time you smile at me, it makes me feel like the moon is reaching for me, instead."

There’s a moment when his heart stops. Skips a beat or just falters from the emotions. Recognizing the line, it’s almost embarrassing how misty his eyes become. “You quoted Sabrina.” He murmurs, finally able to catch his breath and pure pleasure rushes through him when he realizes that this isn’t the ‘sorry we can’t’ speech he had been anticipating. “I didn’t want cause you problems.” He admits softly. “But I was – expecting this to be more of a reasons why you couldn’t be with me, speech. So you’ve surprised me.”

He smiles at you again. “From the moment I met you, I felt like I knew you. That you were someone precious to me.” He whispers. “And you are. Not just for the ridiculous tattoo we share—” he jokes, reaching for your hand. “But because of the woman you are. Hardworking, kind, smart, generous, beautiful – inside and out.”

His touch soothes and burns all at once, scorching you and making you feel lighter than air. All the grand, elaborate plans you made have gone out the window, and now it’s just you and Marcus standing together alone with your hearts in your throats. “Every realistic way I imagined this going…most of them ended in a polite denial or a reminder that you’re seeing someone,” you admit, exhaling a shaky breath. “I almost don’t know what to do now.”

“Neither do I.” Marcus can only laugh because he’s so hesitant right now. So sure you had wanted to just pretend he wasn’t your soulmate, he hadn’t even realized he had discounted the possibility you wanted the connection.

“I had a whole plan.” A fact which now makes your cheeks burn just as much as your hand is where he’s still holding it. “It was much more romantic than just spilling my guts to you all at once, I promise.”

“A plan?” He frowns slightly in confusion.

Not willing to take your hand back from him, you reach over with your free one and flip a few light switches — turning off the main lights in the small room and turning on the twinkling fairy lights instead. The small Bluetooth speaker crackles to life to begin playing Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose, and a small, cylindrical box nearby holds a single, ivory Eternity rose. Opening it now feels almost backward, but you still want Marcus to have the small token of your affection. “My first thought was honestly to whisk us both off to Paris for a weekend,” you admit, laughing at your own romanticism. “But when I reined myself in a little, I realized that all I really want is to spend time with you. So… Marcus Pike…” you hold out the wax treated rose just like a nervous high schooler and admit to yourself that that is how you feel right now. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

He’s been asked out before, he has. He’s been hit on in bars or through dating apps, but this feels significant, because no one has ever put a lot of thought or effort into doing something for him. “Maybe Paris next weekend.” He chuckles, taking the rose and reaching out to cup your face with it in his hand. “This weekend we have a wedding and a birthday party.” He hums softly. “And maybe the flea market on Sunday?” He would say a baseball game, but the season hasn’t started yet.

“I’d really like that.” With his hand there it’s nearly impossible not to lean into his palm, and the feeling of nearly shaking apart with excitement shoots through you again. “As long as…” The nerves return, but you swallow them down carefully. “You don’t mind being seen out with me? People tend to take notice these days… and there’s always a chance of being photographed. Well… you saw the papers after the dinner…”

“I don’t care if the whole world knows that I’m out with you.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I’ll be proud to stand beside you. Not because I want any kind of fame or recognition, but because I’m with you.” He smiles. “Although sunglasses and a baseball cap work wonders for making people second guess if you want anonymity.”

“We’ll have to give it a try.” You’re beaming at him, absolutely grinning from ear to ear, and the feeling of rightness in this moment is nearly overwhelming. “I would’ve told you all this two weeks ago if I’d known on that first phone call that we were both single already. But I’m glad we got to do this face to face instead.”

“Getting away was best.” Marcus admits softly. “I was having a hard time reminding myself that you weren’t available.”

Nuzzling your cheek into his hand is as easy as breathing, and you laugh softly. “I think if you had asked, I would have come running.”

He smiles and gazes at you softly. “This is real? I’m not dreaming?” He jokes.

“If you’re dreaming, then we both are.” It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this giddiness, and even getting lost in his eyes at this moment feels like a gift.

“Sweetheart…” Marcus brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “May I kiss you?” Even if you are his soulmate, and want to be with him, you deserve to be asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you admit after a soft laugh. “I’m glad we’re already on the same page.”

“Good.” Marcus is stepping closer the second you say that. His other hand on your hip gently and he smirks slightly. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to kiss you during that dance.”

“About half as badly as I wanted to kiss you?” It’s good that you didn’t, of course. Not in front of so many people and while you were both still attached to others. But now? In privacy? Your heart is beating wildly out of time. “Please?”

Marcus is happy that his lips aren’t chapped, pressing them together and then parting them slightly. Watching you in wonder as he leans in.

The knock that comes just a second before your lips meet is probably the single most unwelcome interruption in history, and the disappointed sigh you let out when you hear your name called from the other side is practically a growl. "I'll be right there!" You call back, wishing you'd just hesitated slightly less and gotten to that kiss a touch faster.

He chuckles quietly and his own sigh of frustration is smothered. “Duty calls.”

"Hold that thought." You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and give him a gentle hug before turning around to shut off the electronics of your little surprise. He's still holding the rose bud with its trimmed stem, and you gently tuck it into his lapel with a smile. "I'll make it worth being interrupted, I promise."

“It’s okay, Birdie.” He uses your nickname for the first time. “You take care of what you need to.”

"If they're done it means it's time for dinner." It's still his friend's night, even if something has also happened here for you and for Marcus. "Come on." As much as you don't want to, you both have to go back out there. "Sydney made a ton of panzanella salad, giant pans of lasagna and these amazing parfaits of Madagascar vanilla panna cotta, raspberry jam, and pistachio brittle. I can't allow you to miss this dinner." It absolutely sucks to have to open the door, but you're practically beaming you're smiling so hard. "Sydney can't get over the fact that you were talking her up to José Andrés, by the way. I think you have a private chef for life."

“That sounds amazing.” He groans, having missed the last few meals due to traveling. “And I was only telling the truth.”

Coming out of the work shed, you see the wait staff starting to bring beer around to the table — as requested by the couple instead of wine or champagne with their casual rehearsal meal — and you nod toward the gazebo. “Go join your friends. I’m going to go check in in the kitchen and make sure Syd has everything under control.”

“Talk later?” He asks seriously, lifting a brow at you. There’s a lot to talk about obviously, but he does want to kiss you.

“If you want to stay late, I’m not going to be upset.” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you realize it could be taken as an overnight invitation, and while that wasn’t what you meant originally, you’re also not going to turn him away if he wants to stay the night. Apparently your old tendency to be fast-moving in potential relationships is back with gusto.

He smiles softly and nods, trying not to read into it, but he will be talking to you later.

Telling yourself you’re walking back to the main building at a reasonable pace, you know you’re racing when you bust in the back door and practically fling yourself into the kitchen as the waitstaff is bringing dinner out to the wedding party.

“There you are!” Sydney is rushing around, checking everything as she grins at you. “You disappeared on me.”

“Sorry.” In all honesty, you hadn’t expected things to go so well, and you were happily tucked away in a little vortex where time didn’t exist. “I lost track of time…talking to Marcus.”

“Oh!” She immediately stops and comes over to you. “How did it go?” She knows you’ve been worrying over possibly the most important conversation of your life.

Absolutely deadpan — or at least as close to it as you can get right now — you tilt your head at Sydney. "I'm firing your head server for interrupting us before he could kiss me."

“Done.” She snaps her fingers playfully. “Gone.” She insists. “Oh my god! He was going to kiss you! How did— so obviously he’s not upset, right? Unless it was going to be an angry kiss? But I don’t see Marcus being an angry kisser. Do you?” She’s rambling because she’s happy, ecstatic for you really. Now dreaming of a happily ever for you.

“It was definitely not angry.” Now that Syd is bubbling over too, you start giggling all over again. “We’re going to go out on Sunday, which means we’re spending like half the weekend together.”

“Half?” She snorts and shakes her head. “You mean all.” Holding up her hand she smirks. “Wedding Friday, you are going to attend and you know it.” She holds up one finger. “Then your birthday party.” She holds up another finger. “And now a date on Sunday.” She holds up three fingers altogether. “That’s all the days of the weekend, my love.”

"I will be working the wedding and seeing him for part of each day doesn’t mean he’ll want to see me all day." Even as primly as you try to present it, you know she's right, and the giggles boil over once again. "He's got the rose in his lapel and I can't wait for him to realize that it's the special kind that's been treated to last for years."

“And in return, he’s going to support you like you’ve never been supported before.” She snicker, beaming at you. Now that Sam is gone, she’s realizing how much more enthusiastic you are about the inn again. Like the zeal had been suppressed when you were with him. Or maybe planning this wedding is what has snapped you out of the funk.

“There was a dirty pun in there somewhere,” you observe, giving her a playful side eye. “Or maybe I just hope there was.”

She smirks and waggles her brows at you. “Are you needing a good romp, Birdie?” She asks playfully.

“Listen.” Wagging a finger at her, you blow out a breath and lower your voice, making sure no one else can hear you. “There nothing wrong with missionary. Nothing, as long as it’s done right. But a girl likes a little variety.”

“You mean you want your hair pulled while you’re railed from behind and he slaps your ass right above that dirty little tattoo and calls you his filthy, gorgeous little cum dumpster?” She winks wickedly at you.

Your deadpan expression comes back just long enough to tease her, and you put one hand on your best friend’s shoulder seriously. “Thanks for the insight into how my goddaughter was conceived.”

“You’re welcomed.” She snorts, laughing at herself. “I wel-cummed too!”

“Oh my Fuckin god.” Snorting, you turn away to grab your clipboard and try to compose yourself but are still laughing when you head for the door again. “Okay. I gotta back out there and pretend I’m not thinking about fucking that gorgeous man in the bathtub. Byyyyyeeee.”

“Byyyyyyyyeeee!” She afflicts the same tone you do and waves happily before diving back into making sure every dessert is perfect.

**

For a wedding that has been so fraught with stress, the rehearsal dinner goes perfectly. Dinner is delicious and by the end of the night, it’s obvious that Cameron and her soon-to-be husband are feeling both much more relaxed and more excited for their big day.

“Tonight is about you.” Marcus lifts his beer in a toast and smiles at them. “In two days, you will be married.” He chuckles. “And then I don’t want to see you in the office for two weeks.” He tells his agent fondly.

“She’ll be in good hands, I promise.” From the edge of the gazebo, you offer everyone a smile.

“You have planned everything perfectly.” Cameron smiles and stands quickly, walking over to hug you.

“It’s been my pleasure,” you assure her honestly, giving the very sweet bride a squeezing hug back. “I forgot how much I enjoy the hustle of wedding planning.”

“You have done such an amazing job. I would never know you didn’t do it all the time.” She promises you.

"I'm glad you're not upset to be stuck with second fiddle while Juan is out of town. I promise I consulted him every step of the way." The two of you exchange another hug as people start to get up from the table, all of them milling about and not quite ready to say good night. "You have a spa day tomorrow for your bachelorette right? Enjoy it."

“My mom is coming with me too.” For a moment, she looks like she’s going to cry again. Only happy tears though. “I can’t believe it.”

"Bask in that happiness, Joyce. You deserve it." Over the past two weeks it's become very routine for the two of you to check in with each other, and the text message thread you share has been as cram full of memes, music recommendations, and little affirmations as anything else. It's an unexpected start to a friendship, but a friendship nonetheless.

“I can’t believe Marcus called them.” Even hearing it from them again, she’s still in awe. Especially because they had changed their minds. “I just wish Michael’s parents would be here. That would make it perfect.”

"They might need a little more time to come around, but don't let that hold a cloud over your day." You squeeze her arms gently in both hands, prompting both of you to smile. "It's going to be a wonderful day no matter what. You get to marry the man you love. That's what matters."

“That is all that matters.” She smiles in that giddy, secretive way as her eyes automatically drift over to where her fiancé is talking with Marcus and her father. Looking a little more dreamy when she sees the man she will create a life with.

"Go on." Nudging her a little and grinning, you have to acknowledge that at least half your smile is for Marcus, but it's a private acknowledgement. "Have a fantastic day tomorrow and I'll see you Friday morning to start getting ready."

“I will.” She promises. “And when we come back, I want to take you and Sydney out to lunch. One that she doesn’t fix.”

"Deal. We'll want to hear all about the honeymoon anyway." As soon as you agree she's skittering off again, excitable and oh so ready to spend some time with her almost husband.

Somehow, Marcus has been talked into a round of golf with Cameron’s father and Michael tomorrow, although he’s not sure how that happened.

You don't butt in and don't eavesdrop, just quietly start clearing the table of dirty dishes and loading up trays with silverware and glasses to be brought back inside to clean. The party has already started slowly wandering across the lawn to the parking lot so you know it won't be too much longer before you can shut down and get upstairs. If Marcus is too tired after everything to want to talk tonight, you'll absolutely understand. It's not like you won't see him again in just two days' time.

Marcus says goodnight to everyone and looks around, finding another tray of dishes loaded up to take inside and he picks it up. Assuming you are already taking more back and he can help you clean up.

When he walks into the kitchen with a full tray to hand off to the dishwasher, your already bright smile gets impossibly bigger. “You’re a guest,” you remind him, lifting the tray from his hands and reveling in the tiniest touch of skin to skin regardless of how fleeting it is. “You don’t have to clean up.”

“And you shouldn’t have to do everything when I have two empty hands.” Marcus replies with a grin.

“As helpful as you are handsome.” Now that the line has been crossed — now that you can — flirting is probably going to bleed through into just about everything.

He doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that enthusiastic flirtation, so he just shrugs slightly, aware of how his cheeks are heating up. “I try.” Is all he can muster.

“Sorry,” you cringe for a second, realizing you might have stepped too far over that newly crossed line, and you bit your lip. “Too much?”

“No.” He shakes his head quickly, not wanting you to feel like you have done something wrong. “Not at all. It’s just—” he shrugs self-consciously again. “I liked it, a lot.”

“Okay.” The momentary pause with both of you smiling at each other like star struck idiots is broken by the sound of Sydney clearing her throat.

“Go,” she insists to you, even making a shooing motion with her hand. “We’ve got clean up. Go upstairs.”

“I— are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly, aware that Sydney is pregnant and has to be tired.

“I have tons of help.” Motioning around the kitchen before she shoos you again, Syd considers his concern for her an extra mark in his favor, but insists. “Seriously, go on. And don’t let her do any more work tonight. She’s been going nonstop without the benefit of a whole staff to help her.”

“I won’t.” Marcus promises, looking back at you. “I’ll make sure she does nothing but relax.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Sydney grins, throwing you a wink before turning back to the tray of things she was unloading.

He doesn’t know what all was said, but obviously there’s been a conversation between you and your best friend. “Do you want to buy a bottle of wine to take upstairs?” He suggests.

“Sounds perfect.” More than anything it implies that he wants to stay for a little while, and you’re very happy to hear that.

He figures that will let you relax; you can have some time to talk and then you can go to bed after he leaves. “Okay.” He smiles. “Any particular bottle you’re fond of?”

“I don’t know a whole lot about wine.” You had been trying to absorb whatever Sam had told you about a particular bottle or style, but it hadn’t been sticking well. “I’ve been sticking with sweeter wines, but if you have something you like I’d love to try it.”

“Sweet.” He decides it’s a perfect time to flirt back. “I’ll try to pick one that’s as sweet as you are.” He promises before he walks out of the kitchen to look at the wine rack.

"If you'll excuse me." Glancing over at Sydney, both of you grin at each other. "I'm going to go scream into a pillow about how cute that man is."

“Maybe you’ll scream into a pillow for a different reason.” She teases, throwing you another wicked wink. “Go get your soulmate, Tiger.”

While you absolutely would not mind, you don't think that's on the docket for tonight. Still, you smack a kiss on your best friend's cheek and head down the hallway to find Marcus coming out of the bottle room with a bottle of Riesling in hand. "Find something you approve of?"

“I think this will satisfy us both.” He hums, smiling at the sight of you. “Are you hungry? We could order something to be delivered.”

"I have the makings of an excellent charcuterie in my fridge upstairs, if you're interested?" While the wedding party ate, you picked minimally at a small bowl of salad and gotten some other things done, so a snack along with your wine sounds perfect. "If nothing there looks good to you, there are lots of places that deliver."

“I always love a good charcuterie.” Marcus admits, nodding easily. “As long as you are content. I notice you didn’t eat much and I’m sure you didn’t eat in the kitchen when you were running around.”

His caretaking tendencies are endearing, and since he had mentioned to you before that his ex wasn't a fan of them, you offer him a sincere smile. It's...sort of remarkable the way he notices things but you have to think that some of that comes out of his professional training. "You were supposed to be having fun, not keeping an eye on me," you chide gently as you walk together toward the elevator. Agent Bailey is keeping her distance but always present, trying to give you a bit of privacy while still doing her job.

“It’s hard not to notice a beautiful woman.” Marcus comes back easily. “Especially knowing what we know now, it’s impossible.” He isn’t going to rush you, not on the heels of a previous relationship, but he wants to get to know you. Learn more about his soulmate.

"That makes me feel slightly less self-conscious about always feeling like there's a magnet in my eyes whenever you're around," you admit. The elevator dings on the bottom floor, expelling two guests, and the three of you get in together once it's empty.

“I felt extremely guilty about how interested I was in you, from the very beginning.” He admits softly. “But I never would have said a word. That invitation to dinner was just a friendly invite.”

"That's all I took it as. And how I meant it when I accepted. It's just...that interest has always been there. For both of us, I guess." The ride to your apartment in the attic doesn't take long. It's only four floors, after all.

“Good. Soulmate or not, I don’t— cheating is not something I approve of or want to engage in.” He assures you. It’s not like being a soulmate would prevent cheating, there are still crappy human beings in the world.

"Cheating is really my biggest...I won't call it a trauma from earlier relationships, but definitely the issue that weighs most heavily on me. I absolutely do not and cannot condone it." The door to your apartment swings open easily and Agent Bailey steps inside to do her usual check of things before settling onto a chair by your door. Marcus has only been to your place once, but it's not exactly large so it's easy to see pretty much everything from the front entry. "My agents have free reign in my kitchen, also. Just...in case I never thought to mention that. I keep snacks they like on hand, and the coffee they like. Plus sometimes you might see a lunch bag or something on the bottom shelf. It's my home, but it's also their workplace, so I try to make sure they feel like they can be comfortable."

“That’s very nice of you.” He chuckles and glances at Agent Bailey. “I’m sure it’s appreciated. Sometimes eating during work is hard isn’t it?” She nods and he glances back at you. “Why don’t you go change into your comfy clothes and I’ll get everything?”

"There's platters and boards in the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator." On a more casual evening, you would have tipped your head back to kiss him, but something in your gut tells you that your first kiss with this man will be anything but casual and not to waste that little bit of magic. "I'll be right back."

“Take your time.” He smiles. “Agent Bailey can help if I need to find something.”

If it wasn’t the first time you’re spending time together like this, and if there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on hand, you might have gone into your room and found something slinky or lacy or otherwise revealing to put on. Slip into something a little more comfortable, as the movies always used to say. Instead, you trade your cigarette pants for a pair of yoga pants that you routinely sleep in, and trade the very tailored, carefully fitted blouse and push up bra for an old tank top that is soft on your skin and an oversized sweatshirt from Kings College, back when you were in London. The decision to wipe your makeup off and just be a bare, clean version of you is one you take very seriously. Some men expect their partners to be ‘on’ at all times and that isn’t you.

Marcus finds your kitchen to be small, but set up in a very easy to use kind of way. He follows your directions for the board, and opens the wine to let it breathe before diving into your fridge and small pantry to put together a board based off what you have. You were right, you have all the makings for an excellent board and he hums as he works.

It’s certainly less than ten minutes that you’re gone, but when you reappear again, Marcus has created a masterpiece of a board and fished two wine glasses out of your cupboard to boot. He looks so natural — standing there in your kitchen with his shirt collar hanging open and a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to twist slices of prosciutto into something resembling a knot or a flower — that it makes you downright emotional. In all the months you were with Sam, he had barely done more than fix you a cup of coffee.

Looking up when he senses movement, he beams at the sight of you all dressed down. Even more beautiful than you had been when he arrived. “How did you manage to do that?” He asks, abandoning the prosciutto to scoop up a wine glass and walk around the bar to bring it to you. “You look even better than you did when you walked into your room.”

“He prefers the casual look.” You beam at him, letting the heat in your cheeks burn the rest of your face as well. “Noted.”

“You are beautiful dressed up or dressed down.” He promises, smiling as he hands you the wine. “Go sit and I’ll bring the food over. The couch?”

“Perfect.” It seems like you’re saying that a lot, but your face is on fire with the compliment as you accept the wine glass from him and glance back at your living room. There are a few candles around just because you like the ambiance, and you quickly gather them to put out on your coffee table. When was the last time anyone had just…taken charge and spoiled you like this? Maybe years ago? Maybe never. It’s certainly not something Sam ever did — those situations always seemed to be you serving him and never about meeting in the middle or treating you. The realization stings, but only for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind.” It takes him a second to gather up the board, his wine and the bottle, but he manages it before he starts to walk over. “I found a little bag of chocolate candies and I love having chocolate with cheese.”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re perfectly right about those two together.” The board he sets down looks like it belongs on the cover of a cookbook or a food blog, and it looks like he found your nearly-done jar of blackberry jam too, because there is a ramekin of it on the board next to some of your favourite sesame crackers. “This is…” It’s perfect, but since you keep using that word, you search for another. “It’s such an indulgence, and a beautiful one, too.”

He’s never described himself as someone who preens, but he definitely wallows in your praise just a bit. “I took a charcuterie board making class.” He explains. “I thought it would be a good date. Food, learning, wine. The date didn’t work out, but I enjoyed the class.”

“And you clearly absorbed everything they taught you.” Shifting over on the couch, you take the wine bottle from him and set it on a thick coaster before inspecting the magic he’s made of all the bits and pieces from your kitchen. “Thank you for this. I know you must be tired from traveling and everything, but I’m glad we actually have a chance to talk.”

“You’ve been busy too.” He reminds you softly, leaning over and nudging your shoulder gently. “Putting on a wedding in two weeks’ time with little help.” He huffs slightly. “I hope you know that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I called you for a favor.”

“I know it’s not.” The first sip of the wine you take is sharp and fruity up front, mellowing on your tongue and warming you through just seconds later. “But you wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important to you, and…you’re important to me. So I wanted everything to be perfect.”

He can’t help but give a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, covering it up by taking his own sip of wine. “I appreciate it, so much. You can see why it was important. Cameron— I guess I need to start calling her Joyce— and Michael are such good people.

“I wanted you to know you could count on me,” you admit, sitting forward to compose your first little bite. “And I ended up making new friends in the process.”

“I think that is probably the best part.” Marcus smiles as you pick and poke until you get the bite you want on your cracker.

A sesame cracker with creamy Brie and a little dab of Calabrian chili jam — not traditional, but an experiment of Syd’s — is first and you practically giggle at how well it all goes together. Even the sweet wine seems to be perfect with the spicy jam. “So…” The beginning of something like this, not that you’ve ever sat down to have a methodical chat with your soulmate before, feels important and intimidating. “Do you mind if we sort of lay things out in the proverbial table? Just kind of be open with each other going into this?”

“I think that would be the best way to handle things.” Marcus admits, hoping that the way you’ve phrased that isn’t some kind of ominous prelude of what’s to come. You surely wouldn’t flirt with him and then crush his hopes? He picks up his own cracker and puts a slice of very sharp cheddar and a fig onto it with a smear of the blackberry jam on top.

“We’ve already talked about wanting kids.” That day at Eastern Market has stuck in your mind, although you couldn’t have known then that it would become such an important topic for you. “And I…I’m actually looking forward to being married. To have a partner who is my confidante and my friend and my support as well as being along for whatever fun and mischief might come up in our lives. I just…my family means the world to me and the fact that I couldn’t see a future with Sam where we were equal partners in an equal marriage was one of the major reasons I knew it wasn’t going to work out.”

Marcus chews his bite, understanding what you are meaning. “So you are asking if I can handle the political, social spotlight and put up with the interferences that it might cause in our personal lives?”

“Partially.” You nod and go back in to build another bite. Serious conversations somehow always make you hungry, so this was a good idea. “I’m also asking if your dream or your future includes a wife who stays at home with the kids, because that isn’t a version of me that I have ever found realistic.”

Marcus laughs, shaking his head and reaching out to pick up a candy, offering it to you instead of eating it himself. “No.” He snorts. “God no, I’ve never had any dreams of having a wife at home to cook and clean, bring me my slippers or anything of the sort.” He assures you. “My parents both worked, my father was constantly traveling. My mother would sometimes work late. We had my family, family friends, babysitters to help her when he was gone. I know that this inn is important to you.” He stresses carefully. “What you decide to do, that is what I would want you to do.”

The chocolate drop is such a small offering physically, but the warmth is spreads through you to accept is something you can’t really describe. Marcus just puts you so at ease, even with small gestures. “I saw my father give things up to help my mother achieve everything she ever wanted,” you tell him honestly. “And while I know he’s happy, it isn’t what he dreamed of. And I’ve just always wanted to find a way to make sure my partner and I could both have our dreams come true.”

“My own dreams are pretty simple.” He shrugs. “I want an equal partnership. Kids. A healthy family dynamic where sometimes I have to take off work because the kids are sick, or you have to take them to work because I’m out of town. I like compromises.”

“Compromises are good.” The chocolate melts slowly on your tongue, mixing with wine and making you smile again. “I like traditions, too. Mixing your family traditions with mine and then coming up with some new ones all our own.”

“And I understand that for the next three to seven years, your family is….well, prioritized, for lack of a better word, and I’m okay with that.” He knows that there will be press obligations and holidays where you need to be present. He wouldn’t begrudge you that.

“You don’t mind Friday night family dinners, or a Secret Service detail, or the fact that people are going to feel entitled to know things about us or have opinions about us?” Sam had said he didn’t mind. And sometimes you thought he even basked in it a little, but the reality is that he doesn’t like things he can’t control. You just hope Marcus is willing to be a little more flexible.

“Do I love the idea of people judging our lives when they don’t actually know the details?” Marcus shrugs slightly. “No, but at the same time, I understand that it will happen. I’m not going to be upset at you for it.” He glances back at Agent Bailey who is comfortably sitting in a chair and trying to not listen in on your conversation. “Your detail is a necessary evil. I would never want you to get rid of them. I know the types of threats your family can receive.”

“My Dad’s already gotten a few.” Of course your mother has, but as the first female President she had expected that and has just handed the pertinent materials over to the Secret Service. “He just says it’s proof that Mom is a strong leader that some people also feel strongly against her. But that doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He can agree with that. “But some think that the sin of the mother, in this case…” he picks up a grape and offers it to you. “Are you worried I will hate it, or love it?”

“The attention?” Without even thinking, the bite of cheese and prosciutto in your hand instantly becomes his in exchange for the grape, like a reflex. Sharing easily and just instinctively giving things back and forth without worry. “I’m terrified that you’ll start to resent it and resent me by association.”

“Never happen.” He can promise you that with absolute certainty. “I am the son of a therapist, remember?” He teases lightly, tapping your nose. “I talk when things bother me. I don’t hide from them.”

“I’m the daughter of two lawyers, one of whom turned politician.” It’s impossible not to nudge toward him, the endearing little boop to your nose making you smile like an idiot all over again. “We’ll talk about it, but as soon as you’ve given me your opening statement I’ll have a cross-examination, a motivational monologue, and an emotional closing argument ready to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You do realize that I’ve got quite a bit of experience on the stand, right?” He asks, picking up another cracker and recreating your first bite to hold out to you. He had enjoyed the way you moaned over it.

“And if I remember correctly, you said you also debated at the family dinner table.” This time you spread some of the goat cheese from the board onto a piece of baguette and top it with a chocolate drop for him to try. “So I think we’re going to be just fine and the communication front.”

“I don’t foresee any grand problems.” He agrees. “But if there are issues, we talk and work them out.”

“I completely agree,” you even nod as you hold the bite out for him to try.

He takes the bite out of your hand, just leaning forward and eating from your hand. “Oh that’s good!”

The casual intimacy of the gesture and the slightly cavewoman-esque feeling of feeding and giving life being connected aren’t exactly things you expected to mix so easily. But here you are squirming in your seat and trying not to set on fire with it. “Damn it, Marcus,” you laugh despite yourself.

“What?” The question is innocent enough, but Marcus has enough experience to know what he’s doing to you. The slight smirk twisting his lips giving him away.

“You’re a tease,” you huff, pouting at him animatedly.

“I’ve been called that before.” He admits, picking up another cracker and putting together another little morsel for you as a peace offering. “Do you not like that?”

The slight snicker and smirk you have for him is good natured, and it turns into a wry smile. “I like it better when I’m allowed to climb the offending teaser like a tree.”

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks and he would be lying if his body didn’t immediately react. “Yeah?” His voice is a little raspy choking out the word. “You’d like that, huh?”

“I’m not planning on rushing you,” you assure him, but you still put down your wine glass. “You did just get out of a relationship.”

“As did you.” He points out, leaning back and staring at you, trying to gauge your position on this.

“I did.” It’s nearly a standoff now, but not in a hostile way. Just in a way where you’re both wondering who will break first. “So I’m not saying we should sleep together right away, but I still really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be completely honest?” Marcus asks, almost a little ashamed of even having to admit this.

“I prefer it.”

Reaching for your hand, he chuckles slightly. “I really want to kiss you too. And more….but I just flew in less than an hour before I got here.” He reminds you. “I’m afraid that I would not be at my best if we did anything tonight and I would like to make a good impression the first time.”

“That’s completely fair.” And actually makes you laugh a little. Not because you’re laughing at him but because it’s so human. “So we’ll come to it when we’re ready. And when we’re well rested.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not interested, because I am.” He promises. “But I also don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of learning your body.”

“Well when you put it like that, I don’t want that either.” The smile curving your lips and cheeks is bright, though, and you set one hand gently on his knee. “If you need to go home, I’m not going to be offended.”

The hours that he’s been awake are starting to settle onto his shoulders and the half glass of wine makes him sleepy. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “I was supposed to be taking care of you and putting you to bed slightly wine drunk and relaxed.”

"I promise." A gentle squeeze of his leg is a small sign of affection, but a very real one. "You've taken care of me beautifully and this is the most relaxed I've felt in ages."

“Good.” He hums, pleased with that. It’s all he wants to do, to be a good partner and give you what you need.

"If you're already exhausted, you can crash here?" It comes out more like a question than you meant it to, but that's because you realize that you don't actually know how much he had to drink at dinner. Not that Marcus seems drunk to you at all, but everyone is affected by alcohol differently. And you don't want him on the road if he's sleepy and still a little tipsy.

Just the idea of it makes Marcus nearly yawn, sleep that much closer to being a reality. But he still has to protest slightly. “I don’t want to impose…”

"It's not imposing if I offer." You remind him, feeling the sweetness of the moment sort of float down over it like a warm blanket. "I can bring some spare blankets and pillows out here to the couch, or you can come snuggle up in bed with me. It's up to you." The fact is, it's late. And you have a wedding to put on in two days. So maybe it's not sleeping with him for the first time in the traditional sense, but it's definitely intimate in the kind of way that you want to be able to share with him. Either way, you still get to be near him.

“It’s a twenty-minute drive, but honestly I don’t know if I can make it.” He sighs. “I’ll sleep wherever you want me to. How does that sound?”

"I want you in my bed," you admit without apology. "But you deserve rest instead of a handsy girl cuddling next to you. So go use the bathroom and I'll clean up out here and grab you some blankets and a spare pillow. Do you have to go into the office tomorrow?"

Marcus huffs out a sleepy laugh, his battery rapidly draining now that he’s admitted how tired he is. “Worse.” He groans. “We have a seven AM tee time and then I have to go to the office.”

"Who are you golfing with at seven in the morning?" Lifting yourself up off the couch and starting to gather things up, you leave Marcus's wine glass with its last few sips for him to finish if he wants to. The current plan is to wrap this board up in some plastic and have the remains for lunch tomorrow.

“Michael and Joyce’s father.” He moans. “Michael asked me to join, thinking it would be a good buffer, given the fragile relationship.”

"It makes sense, but that's a hell of an early morning." When he follows you into the kitchen with both of your wine glasses, you smile at the padding sound of his shuffled steps. He's definitely tired. "So you golf, then?"

“Not particularly well.” Marcus snorts. “But I’ve had to learn since a lot of directors like to have meetings on a golf course.”

"My Dad used to take us mini golfing when we were kids." The two of you work slowly but in a good rhythm and get things put away easily. "Believe it or not, Junie is the one who really took to it. It's their bonding thing, and she goes putting as a stress relief thing. I vastly prefer yoga."

“I probably need yoga.” Marcus laughs. “But I normally just run.”

"You'd love my yoga class." You finish the last sip of your wine and set your glass on the side of the sink to be washed tomorrow. "I go to puppy yoga once a week."

“Puppy yoga?” That has Marcus both intrigued and confused, thinking that he’s tired enough to be having auditory hallucinations.

"A room full of grown ass adults doing gentle yoga poses with cute little puppies running around the room for the whole hour." When he hands over his glass you put it next to yours and take a quick inventory of things in the kitchen just to make sure that you're all set for the next day. "It's the most relaxing silliness you could possibly ask for."

“That sounds adorable.” He admits with a small smile. “And chaotic at times.”

"Best way to spend a Thursday night in the world." You reach out easily, rubbing Marcus's arm softly. "Go get ready for bed. I'll grab those blankets for you."

“I’m sorry.” He feels guilty, very guilty, that he can’t stay up all night talking to you. However, it’s technically five in the morning in London and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Just an hour or so, and then he couldn’t sleep on the plane. So he is just completely gassed.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Promising him that is easy, like promising the wind that you appreciate its breeze. "I get the feeling that you don't let a lot of people take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. So allow me to be the one person who gets that privilege. At least for now?"

“Can’t be disappointed when no one will if you don’t let them.” He’s so tired it pops out of his mouth without realizing he’s said it, his inner monologue gone.

The utter shock to your system is as much about the hurt in his voice as anything else, and in less than a heartbeat you're wrapping your arms around him to hug him more tightly than you probably mean to. This gentle, sweet, kind man just...put up his walls a lot closer to himself than most other people do to keep his heart guarded from the very worst hurts, and that makes you ache. "I'm sorry people have disappointed you before. But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Shit. “I didn’t mean to say that.” He sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t move away from the hug though, slightly leaning into it.

"I was going to do my best to take care of you anyway," you tell him, overwhelmed in the honesty of the moment. "The only difference is now you know I'm doing it. That's not so bad, right?"

“No.” He can’t deny you, not right now. “Thank you.” He murmurs quietly.

"Come on, honey." When his arms loosen after a few moments, you turn into his side to walk with him. "Let's get you ready to sleep."

“God, I’m sorry.” He snorts. “Think I’ve had…three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours?” It’s almost a question and he can’t quite calculate it.

"That's alright. I'm just glad I didn't send you out onto the road this tired." You never would have forgiven yourself if anything had happened to him, so you're doubly glad that he agreed to stay.

Getting ready for bed is relatively quick. You give him a spare toothbrush and he cleans up quickly for someone so tired. Eager to sleep. Two extra blankets and a spare pillow from your bed make the couch cozy enough, and you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to get comfortable. "Good night," you hum the words, finding his sleepy state endearingly cute but not wanting to tease him about it. "Soulmate."

“Goodnight.” The good thing about Marcus is he can sleep anywhere. Your couch is far superior to the one in his office and he’s almost asleep as his head settles into the pillow. “My beautiful soulmate.” His eyes are already closed. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” He whispers.

______

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My Masterlist!

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 20)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 1,889

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the separation between Robert and you became agonizingly long. The weight of the situation bore down heavy on both your hearts, as you tirelessly navigated through the treacherous waters of uncertainty and danger.

Albeit the fact that you had been moved to more pleasant prison just two days after you had been arrested by Pash, you were still confined to a secure facility which, luckily for you, had medical care.

In this facility, the months dragged on, a never-ending cycle of uncertainty and despair.

While you were away from him, Robert felt as if he were living in a purgatory, caught between his duty and his love for you. The revelation that Kitty Oppenheimer, his own wife, had betrayed him like this was a bitter blow. It shattered any semblance of trust he had left, leaving him feeling betrayed and empty.

It was her who leaked secret information to an agent of the soviet union and the investigation into Kitty's actions revealed a web of secrets and lies that she had woven meticulously.

She had leaked information and tried to divert the blame onto you in order to get rid of you and this, itself, was a dangerous game that she was playing.

It was a twisted and cruel act, one that Robert never thought he would witness from someone he had once loved. The fallout from Kitty's betrayal only complicated matters further. The authorities were now wary of potential moles within the project, questioning everyone's loyalty and motives and despite her partial admission, the investigation into your past continued.

With Kitty’s actions, it seemed that no one was above suspicion, including Robert himself. Every step he took was scrutinised, his every move monitored while he led the project. Desperate to protect you and ensure your safety, Robert used his influence where he could. He pulled strings, called in favours, and pleaded with higher-ups to expedite the investigation so that you could reunite. But bureaucracy moves at its own pace, and justice seemed painfully slow.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Robert could only imagine what you were going through, locked away in a military facility, while the world passed you by.

His heart ached at the thought of you being subjected to the harsh realities of prison life, especially with a child on the way. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing day marked by a dull ache of longing and a gnawing fear of the unknown.

Robert grappled with his own guilt, feeling responsible for the situation that had befallen you. He questioned every decision he had made, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to protect you.

As the months went by, Robert found solace in his work. He threw himself into research and experimentation, channelling his frustrations and fears into the pursuit of scientific breakthroughs. He pushed the boundaries of his own knowledge, hoping that some great discovery would alleviate the pain of his separation from you.

***

Unable to see each other or communicate directly as visitors were strictly prohibited at the facility, the only solace came in the form of letters.

General Groves became the messenger, reading your heartfelt words and delivering them to each of you personally.

Every letter was a lifeline, a fragile thread connecting your hearts in the midst of an unpredictable and unforgiving world. Through ink-stained pages, you shared your hopes, fears, and struggles, desperate to hold onto the love that had been abruptly torn from your grasp.

The letters were filled with a mix of joy and sorrow, as you recounted each day's events, except those related directly to the development of the gadget.

You described the unbearable loneliness and longing for each other's embrace, the difficulty of trying to remain strong amidst the harsh conditions. But amidst the darkness, there were glimpses of hope as you spoke of the unwavering belief that one day, you would be reunited.

Robert, ever the optimist, wrote poetry to cheer you up and you poured your heart onto the pages, documenting the challenges you faced, both physically and emotionally while being confined.

The uncertainty of your fate weighed heavily on you, but you refused to succumb to despair. Instead, you clung to the memories of your time together, allowing them to fuel your determination to overcome the adversities you faced.

General Groves, touched by the depth of your love and resilience, took it upon himself to ensure the safe passage of each letter. He knew the importance of this lifeline, recognising that their words held the power to inspire and sustain you. With each delivery, General Groves witnessed the unwavering devotion that bound you together.

Your love, tested by distance, confinement, and uncertainty, remained steadfast, growing stronger with each passing day. These letters became a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity, a bond that refused to be broken. And so, the months crawled by, punctuated by the arrival of each letter. They became the rays of hope that pierced through the darkness, reminding you that love could endure even in the bleakest of times. Every word, every sentiment, forged a connection that transcended the physical divide, drawing you closer together even in your separation.

***

Then, one day, General Groves attended Los Alamos without a letter in his hand, informing Robert that he had something much more exciting to give to him.

Handing him a photograph, he said “Congratulations Robert! You have a healthy baby boy.”

With trembling hands, Robert took the photograph from General Groves. As his eyes settled on the image, his heart skipped a beat. There, captured in a moment frozen in time, was a tiny bundle of joy cradled in your arms. The weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders as he gazed at his son for the very first time. Tears welled up in Robert's eyes, a mixture of relief, longing, and overwhelming joy. It had been a year of unimaginable anguish and uncertainty, but seeing the radiant smile on your face as you held their child close, he knew that everything he had fought for had been worth it.

“He is perfect,” Robert declared tearfully, unable to take his eyes off the photo. In that instant, all the heartache faded into insignificance compared to the overpowering sense of pride and love surging through him. This new life embodied the essence of your undying commitment to each other, standing tall against the forces that sought to rip them apart.

Looking anxiously, Robert said, "This baby will change things and all our sacrifices won't go to waste."

"No, they won't Robert," the General said before he nodded resolutely, acknowledging the weight of responsibility resting on Robert's shoulders as well as his own.

"Please, can I see him. He is my son," Robert asked, his voice cracking, but General Groves told him that this was not an option due to security reasons.

Heartbroken yet understanding, Robert swallowed back tears and thanked the General for the photograph.

"I understand, General," he managed to say, his voice hoarse with grief and happiness mixed. 

"When you see her next, can you give her my letter and tell her that she is doing amazing and that I am proud of her?" His voice breaking slightly, he added, "Tell her how brave she is. How beautiful she looks holding our little miracle. Tell her I miss her dearly. And let her know...let her know..."

His voice trailed off as Robert realized he couldn't quite put into words exactly what he wanted to express about his feelings toward you, about their relationship, about their shared experiences - especially after learning about your bravery in giving birth under such difficult circumstances.

"I suggest you write it down, Robert. I will be here until noon," said General Groves, sensing Robert's struggle to articulate his feelings. "Take your time," he told him with a pat on the shoulder. 

Grateful for the supportive presence, Robert nodded and quickly retrieved paper and pen from his office. Sitting down, he began scribbling feverishly, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts and emotions towards you.

In a few moments, he finished composing the most honest and vulnerable message he had ever written and it was this very honest and raw letter of his that brought tears to your face. 

*** The Letter ***

My Dearest [Your Name],

Words cannot express the overwhelming emotions coursing through my veins as I hold this photograph of our beautiful baby boy. Seeing his innocent face has cast a brilliant light upon the darkest corners of my weary soul. In this single image, I find solace, hope, and an abundance of joy that courses through my every fiber.

I stand here, with tears streaming down my face, in awe of the miracle you have brought into this world. Our son, our precious creation, is a testament to the strength and resilience of our love. He is a beacon of hope, a symbol of our undying commitment to one another and to a brighter future.

I cannot help but think of the sacrifices you have made, the hardships you have endured, and the relentless determination that has guided you through this tumultuous journey.

Our love has endured the trials, the uncertainty, and the immense pressure placed upon us. And now, in this moment, the weight of the world seems insignificant compared to the boundless love radiating from this tiny bundle of life.

As I gaze upon this photograph, I am filled with an indescribable pride for what we have created together. Our love, our bond, has transcended distance, sacrifices, and the devastating impact of this war.

Please tell our son, when the time comes, that his father loves him more than words can convey. Tell him about the countless lives that will reap the benefits of our sacrifices. Whisper to him our story, a tale of resilience, bravery, and the unwavering love that binds us all together.

And to you, my love, I want to express something that words alone could never encapsulate. Your indomitable spirit, your unwavering courage, and your unyielding love have sustained me through the darkest of days. In you, I have found my anchor, my refuge, and my reason.

Please know that you are an extraordinary woman, my love. Your bravery, your strength, and your unwavering spirit during the pregnancy and birth have left me in awe. The thought of you going through such a monumental moment without anyone by your side breaks my heart, but it also fills me with immense pride. You are my rock, my source of inspiration, and the embodiment of everything that is beautiful in this world. Our son is fortunate to have you as his mother, and your love and guidance will shape him into an incredible human being.

When the time comes for us to be reunited, know that I will hold you tightly, for I have missed your touch more than words can express. Until then, my heart stays with you, my love.

Yours, forever and always,

Robert

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