#also when emotional in rare instances

[amischiefofmuses]

Hey so, melty morph canon for this blog now. Just saying.

[mabelsguidetolife]

my back hurts from hugging my dear friend goodbye while he was on the floor….. time for some advil

[kiwriteswords]

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided—over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.” 

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.” 

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along. 

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow. 

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back. 

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[prezaki]

One core trait of Phoenix Wright as a character that I rarely see discussed is how utterly evasive he is about his private affairs. It sticks out the most in AA4 when we see Phoenix from the outside, but "Phoenix won't tell anyone anything important unless he absolutely has to (and even then, he probably won't)" is by no means a new development for him.

From AA1 onwards, we see Phoenix dodge people's questions about his personal life time and time again. In part, this is by narrative necessity - Phoenix knows more than the player is meant to know in order to achieve the optimal tension curve. But AA takes his narrative shortcut and turns it into a real character beat.

Phoenix Wright is the most cagey fucker on the planet.

At the end of 1-1 Mia asks him how he came to befriend Larry and Phoenix dodges the question with a vague promise to tell her later - this also means that in all of his time working with Mia, he's never actually disclosed his full motivation for becoming a lawyer to her.

In 1-2, Maya asks him how he knows Edgeworth and he dodges, because of course he does. The same song and dance repeats at the end of 1-3. And despite Maya's repeated prodding by 1-4, Phoenix still has not told her a thing about his past. That's from October until December that Maya is left going ??? and her questions go nowhere.

Then, between AA1 and AA2, Edgeworth is presumed dead by suicide. Does Phoenix tell Maya about this? Absolutely not. He does not tell her in letters nor is he clear about it when they see each other again in person, months later.

What Maya gets once it's inevitable to talk is a vague 'he's gone' and no elaboration other than the request to not speak about him again.

This is Phoenix's default coping mechanism.

In AA3, there are numerous instances where he mentions forgetting Dahlia, not speaking her name again, etc. Edgeworth is 100% getting the 'person who hurt me too deeply to think about' treatment here.

But to not even tell Maya a vague overview on the matter, when Maya knew him too? Rough. And it just keeps going.

It's six months between telling Maya that Edgeworth is 'gone' in 2-2 and her finding out that 'gone' seemingly means' dead' in 2-3.

Maya complains about it, too. This isn't a matter of 'she never asked again', it's a matter of 'Phoenix is dodging all questions'. Gumshoe has to intervene in order for Maya to finally find out.

And finally in 3-5, does he tell anybody why he's going to Hazakura temple and why he seems interested in Iris? Absolutely not!

At this point we get Edgeworth openly acknowledging that Phoenix keeps his emotional cards extremely closely to the chest. When he states that he wants confirmation on whether or not he has met Iris before, this exchange happens:

Even as Edgeworth directly calls him out on being evasive and never actually speaking to people, all Phoenix can do is acknowledge that this is how he is by apologizing - but he won't change his ways.

AA4 Phoenix is really just a natural evolution of Trilogy Phoenix - Trilogy Phoenix is already evasive, already hates telling people about his struggles or accepting help... It's really no wonder that he'd isolate himself instead of reaching out once he gets disbarred.

[keferon]

… you think Human Ratchet having a tiny EM field without knowing contributes to how much Drift trusts him?

Like, Deadlock is super wary of anyone, so he’s paying especially close attention to any kind of danger warnings Ratchet could put out.

But through observation, he realizes that Ratchets acting like Deadlock can’t detect his field, the doctor doesn’t hide it whatsoever and there’s very rarely any instance where it doesn’t line up exactly with what Ratchet is saying anyways.

And eventually, he realizes Ratchet straight up can’t detect EM fields. He finds this out by doing the EM equivalent of shouting right behind him. You know, like how they check for deafness in cats? And nope! No reaction whatsoever.

So Drift always knows exactly how Ratchet is feeling and Drift can let his field get as embarrassingly sappy as he wants with none the wiser

OH MY GOD YOU ARE RIGHT

Ratchet being grumpy and loud and scolding Deadlock and acting tough

While all Deadlock can read in his little EM field is deep deep care. And the moment he realises that Ratchet not only can’t control his em field BUT ALSO doesn’t even know about it displaying his emotions?? Ratchet becomes his most dear and trusted person in entire fucking world.

Deadlock is so used to other cons acting nice while secretly being backstabbing assholes. But then he meets Ratchet and it’s all other way around?? Ratchet appears to be harsh while secretly being so protective and caring and for Deadlock it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Also Ratchet being surprised when Deadlock out of nowhere somehow just knows when he’s feeling bad even if he doesn’t show it ’,:)

Next

[thewatcher727]

Writing Tip - Portraying Characters Out Of Character

More writing tips

One of the most common criticisms in writing is when an established character is portrayed in a way that seems inconsistent with their usual traits or undergoes a sudden change in personality. The question is, is it wrong to want to write an established character in a different way?

My answer is that it’s fine if there is a plausible reason for it. For example, if John, who was previously a badass military guy, suddenly becomes a soft, joking character in a sequel, it’s going to make people wonder why his personality did a 180. The key to making a different portrayal plausible is through story and context. To explain this, I will use the video game Batman: Arkham Origins as an example.

We were first introduced to Arkham Batman in Batman: Arkham Asylum, which takes place during Bruce Wayne’s 11th year as Batman. In that game, Batman is portrayed as an experienced, highly skilled vigilante who is in complete control of his emotions. He never acts out when a situation goes wrong; instead, he calculates and plans his next move. Even though we see a few instances where he still carries the trauma of his childhood, his willpower is shown to be incredible. There are even rare moments when he makes jokes with Oracle. All in all, you get the sense this is a guy who knows what he’s doing.

Now let’s cut to Batman: Arkham Origins. This game is a prequel that takes place during Bruce’s second year as Batman. In this game, his personality is quite different, out of character so to speak. He is younger, angrier, and inexperienced. The game does an excellent job portraying how flawed Batman is through the small details. His fighting style is more raw and less polished compared to his later years. His suit looks bulkier and more thrown together rather than a single, cohesive design. We see him make mistakes when dealing with criminals. For example, in one cutscene, Batman is interrogating a guy named Loose Lips. As he holds Loose Lips up by the throat with one hand, he adjusts his footing and then chokes Loose Lips too hard, knocking him out. Batman acknowledges this by muttering, “Damn.” He is also very arrogant, underestimating the assassins that are out to get him and frequently telling Alfred he doesn’t need allies, determined to be a one-man army.

So, why do I consider this different portrayal good? The reason is that it fits the story they are trying to tell. Given the significant time gap between Origins and Asylum, it stands to reason that Batman would undergo some personality changes. The game provides an opportunity to show how Batman evolved from a young, reckless individual to the seasoned warrior we know later.

One of the best scenes is when, after nearly losing Alfred to Bane, Batman begins to doubt himself and considers giving up. Alfred, who finally understands why Bruce does what he does as Batman, encourages him to continue and let allies help him. Near the end, we see him working with James Gordon, hinting at how their relationship began to improve by the time of Asylum. We also see Batman working with Barbara to destroy Penguin’s weapons. This not only adds depth to Batman’s character, showing his capacity for growth and change, but it also sets up his future collaborations with characters like Oracle, Robin, and Nightwing. This development makes his later, more balanced and cooperative approach in Asylum and subsequent games feel earned and believable.

All in all, portraying a character out of character can be compelling if it aligns with the story and provides a logical progression. Batman’s arc in Arkham Origins shows he was flawed and needed to accept that he was not alone in his mission. Proper context and development are crucial in making these changes believable.

So, if you’re considering writing someone in a different way, keep this in mind and you’ll be good to go!

[prettyboykatsuki]

your kind of like | h. suo

✮ tags ; fem!reader, tomboy / athlete!reader, friends to lovers, third-year suo but its not super important, mutual pining, silly shoujo tropes lol, i headcanon tsubaki using she/they pronouns

✮ wc ; 2k (??????)

✮ a/n ; based on violets request for suo + my tomboy reader delusions. reader is a himbo but a girl and i love her.

also sorry if i completely butchered this guy LOOOL

The first time Suo lays eyes on you, you're half-way up a tree - a few feet from the ground, trying to coax and old lady's cat to jump on you and come down safely.

He remembers it in great detail since it left a lasting impression. How you rolled your skirt up so it wouldn't get in your way, how your face and hands were covered in scratches - and most particularly, how you smiled the entire time. How you were loud as you clicked your tongue but soft to it once it jumped into your arms.

You had jumped onto the soles of your feet with great force but the kitty seemed calm in your arms after a while. Bright as the sun and twice as warm, you returned the cat to it's owner and then, met Suo for the first time.

You give him your name, your age, your birthday - and then ask him for the same. When he gives it to you, you clap a hand on his shoulder and tell him it's so good to meet him.

Suo does not believe in love at first sight. Koi no yokan—love at second sight, or the feeling when you meet someone that loving them is your destiny. If Suo could put a name to that feeling, it was probably that.

He was bound to love you from that very instance.

For the last two years, he's been going straight down that path with no resistance and insurmountable clarity.

It's natural for Suo to make comparatives. It's the type of person he is, the kind of fighter he sets himself up to be. Primarily a martial artists with a preference to keep calm requires strategizing.

Drawing connections comes to him as easy as breathing.

So, if he had to compare him to you, there's no end of things that make you incredibly different. Almost opposite in all ways except your decency. Compared to Suo, you are loud and brutish and strong. You're easy to read in a way that reminds him of Sakura, but denser. Your nature is tough and absurdly honest.

You don't often fight outside of your sport for one reason or another, but when you do - you prefer to tank hits instead of avoid them. Everything you feel always shows on your face.

He's never met a girl so earnest in his entire life.

He's never really met anyone like you in general.

After your first meeting, you began to get friendly with him and Bofurin in general. A student athlete in an all-girls school in the same town, you're often in the area doing odd jobs for money. You live with your brother who works in the city, and you're the youngest of your family. You're incapable of lying, even when it might benefit you and you like sweet things.

You're nice to everyone and like to chat up whoever's around, but you like Suo especially. You often ditch class to go to Furin and hang out with them and you're rarely intimidated by anyone. You're comfortable with his friends, though you seem especially fond of Nirei and Sugashita. Sakura too, though he has yet to know how to act around you even this many years later.

Your relationship is as normal as any other friendship, but maybe that's part of the problem. You treat Suo as thoughtful as you would any other friend - even when he refuses to tell you about himself. You're not hurt by the fact he's got walls up so high, and you don't hound him when he can't be straight with you.

You understand Suo as a friend and don't bother with any other details. You just.. get him. So effortlessly. And even when you don't, nothing changes.

The nature of Bofurin after all, leads Suo to fights that leave him in emotional tatters. Moments where anyone else would ask to open up, you remain steadfast. Your friendship is a lot like you, sturdy beyond his understanding

(Countless times, Suo has shown up at your door unannounced - often covered in bruises and battered. You worry and anger, but you always let him. Take care of his wounds, let him borrow your shower. Even going so far as sneaking him into your room when your brother was home, just so he didn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

He can't count how many times he's slept across from you in your bed. Dense. An honest idiot. A girl with no self-preservation who's letting a guy sleep alongside her with no care.

Suo always feels apologetic the next morning and you smile and go along like nothing happened. It might've been true in your case, but in his - he fell in love a little more each time.)

Because you're that way - Suo finds it hard to deal with his feelings. With the enormity of them, the intensity of them. You're not totally clueless - but when people talk about relationships or dating, it always seems like it has nothing to do with you.

If you were anyone else, he thinks it'd be easy to confess to you. If you had been another girl, or less of a friend.

But it's you. The bright, earnest, tough, you. He can't even bring himself to flirt with you or treat you idly despite how much he likes you. He knows better than anyone how good you are, and can't pretend to be anything less than honest about it. He adores you so utterly that it'd be pointless to even try to pretend to have the advantage.

He can be a tease. A flirt, if he wants to be. With anyone else it'd be easy. But with you, the love is so genuine it's impossible. He just wants to cherish you. Wants to shower you in affection, wants to spoil you and give you all of his time.

Friends is such a hard line in the sand. The minute Suo crosses it, there's never going to be anyway to go back to how you were before. He's been careful in being content with just friends, because he'd rather keep you in his life than not have you at all by scaring you away with his feelings.

He thinks it'll all be fine until Nirei tells him word on the block about a recent confession.

__

"A kouhai from a different team asked you out?"

Suo reaches out to wipe the grain of rice from the corner of your mouth as you eat onigiri. Your carelessness endears him but he's too distracted by the rumor to pay it any mind. You nod, swallowing with a sip of water.

"Uh-huh. Akira-kun. Dun' know his first name, but he's a good kid. Super tall for being younger, though."

Suo was sure he would never have to worry about this since you went to an all-girls school. To think you'd get a confession from a fellow student athlete, a boys member of an opposing team. He tries not to get irritated at the thought.

"Are you interested in him?"

You pause. Suo feels his heart race before you answer with a shrug and continue to eat your bento.

"Dunno the guy enough to like 'im. He seems nice. I told him as much but he said that was fine," You pick at the veggies in your bento, taking a bite out of one. "So he asked me on a date instead so we could get to know each other."

"Oh?" Suo forces himself to smile and keep his voice even. "Are you going to go?"

You nod and Suo feels his heart stop. Shit.

"Really? I'm surprised."

You hum. "Well, you know, I've never been on a date," You say, suddenly smiling. You look so genuinely happy Suo can't bring himself to be totally upset. "But, it sounds super fun! We're gonna go to a batting cage in another prefecture."

He looks at you in surprise. "A batting cage?"

"Well, he thought I'd like that more than other date ideas, but I'm not all that picky since I've never been."

"You already talked about it a lot then."

"Uh-huh. He laughed when I said I wanted to go eat meat after. Said that was just like me... somehow I don't get it, but I'm happy anyway. I hope it'll be fun."

Suo smiles his best business smile and tells himself beating the shit out of his friends kouhai for flirting with her is wrong. "Hm. Are you prepared to go on the date?"

"You sound like Tsubaki-chan," You lament. "She made me go get nice clothes and everything."

....

"She did, huh? That sounds just like her. Did Kotoha-san go too?"

"Mhm. They just picked it out for me since I'm not good with any of that. Tsubaki-chan is so beautiful so I trust her."

"Mm,"

"What's wrong?"

You're looking at him with such clear eyes it makes Suo guilty. He knows if he says nothing now, you'll drop it without question. That's just how you are. But for once he doesn't really want to drop it. It's too impulsive and entirely rash but he really...

"You know, if you wanted go on a date - I could've just taken you."

You pause then grin a little. "Dates are for people in like, you know."

Of course you would assume it was a joke. Suo pauses, suddenly looking serious.

"So, if I told you I liked you - would you consider going on a date with me?"

"Sure," You smile because you definitely still think he's joking. But it's a pretty, honest smile anyway. "But Suo-kun doesn't need to ask me for anything. We can always just go together."

He still himself as he scoots in closer to you where you sit, pushing your lunches out of the way and closing the distance to look at you closer. You blink in surprise but don't back away or flinch.

"I'm being serious you know?" He hums softly. It's less hard to say than he thought, but maybe it's because he's already been willing to put everything on the line for you from the start. "I really like you. In that way."

You blink. "...Huh?"

He can't help himself. He'll apologize later. Your breath is warm and soft when he leans in and presses his lips to yours for too long. You don't push him away, uncannily receptive to the touch. You taste salty. Suo kisses you for as long as you'll let him and pulls away only for breath.

He isn't sure what he's expecting, but the jump from pure shock to pure embarrassment surprises him. You put a hand on your shoulder, jaw open in disbelief.

"....So it was like that," You mumble, in shock. "It was... really like that?"

"For a long time, now"

"I also like Suo-kun, but how shocking."

Suo stares at you. "Are you sure your like and my like are the same? I get the feeling that -"

You press your lips to his as if to prove a point, pulling away and brushing it off just as quickly. He can feel the heat rise to his neck in immediate disbelief. You frown at him "Between us, I'm the one who's good at being honest so don't be like that,"

He just... stares. He's elated but completely confused. "Why didn't you confess earlier?"

You smile sheepishly. "Being your friend is also good, so I was okay with not changing it. It's hard to tell what you're thinking and I didn't think it was important."

He laughs in disbelief, dropping his head down to your shoulder. He didn't think he would be this happy. He didn't even think it was possible. "How could that not be important?"

"You're more important to me than that," You say easily, though he can hear your beating from where his head is. "I'm happy we like each other but I care the most about Suo-kun's feelings and being with you since you're important to me. I want to be with you for a long time."

Ah. In some regards, it seems like Suo is never going to be able to one-up you. He laughs in disbelief as his arms snake around your waist, crushing you more tightly in his arms than he can bear. You giggle so sweetly when he does he thinks he might really be done for. His usual demeanor comes in easy, calm and collected but absolutely estatic.

"It sounds like a proposal." He mumbles, almost lovesick.

"We could get married but you have to ask my brother first."

Suo laughs brightly against your neck. "Be less casual about something like that," And then a little softer. "But yes, we'll stay together as long as you want."

He holds you like that a little bit longer.

[daistea]

"𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜" - 𝙼𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

“Many think that the captain makes an effort to hide his emotions. He doesn’t. He’s an open book. It’s simply a very blank book, is all. There’s not much there to read.”

 You knew what Cithis was getting at. You also knew there was more to read than what she thought, because Mithrun was your friend and you adored him and wanted to kiss his face with your face. Still, accepting that remained quite difficult. 

 (Learning a new language is always hard at first)

  gn reader, implied to be a short lived race

  5,000+ words :o 

  tw: minor description of violence and blood

  Post-canon Mithrun, could be considered spoilers

An ink black eye flickered up and landed on your face. You knew it was there. You always knew when it was there. The light shiver that ran down your back was like a cold finger languidly tracing every bump of your spine. 

 You didn’t know whether you liked it or not. 

 But you accepted it, for the most part. 

 Mithrun’s gaze was devoid of light as you met it. It was only natural for his prosthetic eye to be glassy and lacking in life. Yet, his remaining eye was like that as well. Fleki liked to joke that the captain had ‘dead fish eyes’ and you could see what she meant sometimes. Most of the time, though, you considered his gaze to be more like an endless pit. An endless pit that you were always on the verge of falling into.

 But you managed to keep your balance— for the most part. 

 It didn’t help that Mithrun stared. He stared, and stared, and stared. If you were in an especially combative mood, you’d meet his gaze and stare back. His good eye would start to flicker a little, like when a cat slowly shuts its eyes. You once heard that cats slow blink to signify that they love you. But Mithrun wasn’t a cat. He was an elf. An elf who had a habit of trying to consume you with his gaze alone. 

 It was one of the days when you couldn’t help but return his look. You glanced up from your plate of food, fork in your left hand and your other hand fiddling with a napkin. Ever since the dungeon, Mithrun had become more physically expressive. He had his elbow on the table and his cheek resting in his palm. As his sleeve fell down his forearm ever so slightly, you could see a hint of a pale scar. 

 “Don’t you ever get tired?” You couldn’t help but ask. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop to think about the consequences or implications. 

 Mithrun only blinked. A slow blink. 

 “No,” he answered simply. His voice wasn’t what one would call particularly deep or rumbling, but it was scratchy. When you heard him speak for the first time, you wondered if he had ever drank a glass of water in his life. 

 And the lack of inflection in his tone was something you eventually got used to. With a sharp ear, you could pick up the lilts at the end of his sentences when he asked a question. You recognized when he was annoyed, when the growl in his throat got more pronounced. You knew when he was sad, when emotion thickened every word. It was all subtle, learned. And you were good at learning. 

 For the most part. 

 “I don’t mean physically,” you replied, returning your attention to the food on your plate. 

 “Then?”

 “I mean—” What did you mean? You weren’t quite sure. You were sure of the fact that you didn’t want this particular vegetable as part of your lunch. So you lifted your plate and absently scraped it off onto Mithrun’s. He didn’t react. 

 He did, though, slightly raise his brow. He shifted to sit up a little, moving his palm to his chin instead, eyes still lingering on you like petrichor after a rain shower. The slight tilt of his head told you that he was expecting an answer. 

 You forced the words to the tip of your tongue. It was rare for you to keep your thoughts to yourself, especially around Mithrun. As unreadable as he could be, the assurance that it was difficult to genuinely offend him was comforting. Except, this instance was different. If you openly acknowledged his habit of staring, that was too close for comfort to a much bigger acknowledgement. Mithrun’s heart, and yours, were closely guarded, surrounded by layers of walls. He’d knocked down a few of yours. You’ve knocked down several of his. But going any further was risky, at least in your opinion. The walls were bigger and more well guarded and seizing them might not produce anything good, anything worthwhile. 

 But his head was tilted and he was watching you. You felt as if you were on a stage with a spotlight shining down on you. 

 Might as well get it over with. 

 “Staring,” you said, “don’t you ever get tired of staring?”

 His good eye blinked. You’ve seen Mithrun surprised or shocked before, and you knew he wasn’t. Then, that meant he was expecting that question. He was aware of his staring and was doing it on purpose. 

 “No, I don’t get tired of it,” Mithrun said as he sat up straight, elbow slipping off the table. He grabbed his fork and began poking at the food you had scraped off onto his plate. Peeking just barely through his hair were the chewed, jagged tips of his ears. They flickered. Elves really couldn’t hide their emotions well, their ears tended to give them away. 

 The fact that he was feeling anything made your heart flutter. If only you knew what it was. It couldn’t be embarrassment or shame, those didn’t exist within Mithrun. Then what? What else could someone be feeling when called out for their habit of excessive staring? 

 “I mean, I’d just like to know why,” you said without thinking, again. It was rare for either of you to feel as if you needed to fill the comfortable silence you often shared, but at that moment in particular your heart was clenching and something unpleasant passed through your abdomen. The question had crawled up your throat and slipped out of  your mouth. 

 “Why I stare at you?” He asked. You were seventy five percent sure it was a question. But sometimes, Mithrun would simply state something, not asking at all, just echoing. You could usually tell the difference in the lift of his voice. Subtle, but there. 

 “Yeah,” you met his gaze. Ink black. You started to teeter on the edge of the dark pit again. “Do you stare at everybody like that?”

 “Do you ever see me staring at other people like this?”

 No. And Mithrun knew that you didn’t. The question was hypothetical, designed to draw the answer out of you. 

 You felt your jaw tighten as you stared down at your food. You’d missed something, a little morsel of a vegetable you didn’t like. You promptly scraped it off onto Mithrun’s plate before answering him. “I guess I don’t.”

 “And?”

 Fire flickered to life inside your chest. “And what?” You snapped your gaze back to his, “What do you want?”

 His brow raised, “You’re the one who wanted something.”

 “I want to know why you’re always staring!”

 “Why do you think?”

 You couldn’t help but groan, burying your face in your hand, “Mithrun, please just give me a straight answer. I can’t handle this right now.”

 “Why not?”

 Glancing up, you saw the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. His ears flickered again. Was he enjoying this? As much as he could enjoy something, at least, which was more than before the dungeon. 

 That fire within you only grew taller and hotter and more destructive. The flames warmed your heart but also threatened to burn through your bones and muscles and ligaments and consume your body entirely. You didn’t know whether you wanted to smack Mithrun over the head, or grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close for a kiss. 

 Or both? Both were good. 

 You managed to resist the urge growing beneath your skin and instead shot him a weak glare, “Because— Because you’re not eating and it’s weird for me to be the only one eating right now, especially with you staring at me, watching me chew.”

 Half true. 

 Mithrun’s nose wrinkled a little in thought. Slowly, he grabbed his fork and speared one of the unwanted vegetables you’d given him, finally eating. Relief flooded your body, until his gaze flickered back up to your face once more. 

 “Happy?” He asked before swallowing. 

 “Never,” you snarked back, “you’re still staring. Why?”

 Did you want to know? 

 Another wall was crumbling and you were doing all you could to keep it from crushing you beneath bricks and emotions and emotional bricks. It was a mistake to ask that question, to even bring this subject up. You couldn’t go that far. You shouldn’t knock down those walls. You wouldn’t acknowledge the terrifying, unknown thing that had been growing between you and Mithrun ever since he’d decided to live. 

 You remembered that day. Celebrations surrounded you. Mithrun’s hand clenched the grass beneath him, the only betrayal of his feelings at the time. His knuckles turned white, but he finally let go as the realization, the emptiness, settled in; acceptance of the fact that he had nothing to live for anymore. 

 You remembered the relief when it all changed, when the listlessness disappeared. You remembered Senshi’s words. You remembered the sting of hot tears in the corners of your eyes as Mithrun smiled for the first time in forever. 

 It was a secret tucked inside your chest, kept close, chained up. But at night, when you stared at the ceiling with bright eyes and racing thoughts, you let the secret out just a little bit. You loved the captain like a desert dweller loved an oasis. You loved the captain like flowers loved rain. You loved the captain like—

 “I can’t not stare at you,” Mithrun’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You crashed back down to Melini, to the restaurant and to him, shattering on the floor and making a complete mess. 

 “What?” Your voice was just as scratchy as his now. You grabbed your sweating glass of water and gulped it down. 

 Mithrun waited for you to finish before he continued, “I can’t not stare at you. It’s simply what I do. What I want.”

 And he wanted so little. 

 The wall crumbled, and you internally cursed yourself before returning Mithrun’s gaze. “You don’t want that.”

 “I want that.”

 Was this really happening? Years of longing, of denial, of fear, all built up into one moment. And the moment was taking place in a dingy restaurant where you and Mithrun were surrounded by chattering people and the scrape of utensils on plates. Nearby, someone laughed. But it was as if cotton had been stuffed into your ears, your focus entirely on the elf sitting across from you— and his dead fish stare.

 You began to consider your possibilities:

 Option 1: Kiss him. 

 Option 2: Fake a heart attack to get out of this.

 Option 3: Explain your fears about starting an official relationship with him. 

 Option two looked best. 

 You put a hand to your chest and coughed a little, “I-I think I’m—”

 Mithrun rolled his good eye and stood up. The legs of his chair scraped across the ground as he loomed over the table, looking down at you. “Let’s go already, we have work to do.”

 You scoffed, “I’m kind of busy having a heart attack here.”

 “The heart attack excuse didn’t work when you wanted to get out of that dinner with the Canaries, and it won’t work now.”

 He was right. He was always right. You hated that. 

 You stood up as well. Mithrun went to the front of the restaurant to pay. People used to cast him curious glances as he passed by, but very few did that anymore. The locals of Melini knew who Mithrun was and were generally used to his presence. Plus, the kingdom had become a melting pot of different races and cultures as of late. Seeing an elf wasn’t too surprising these days. 

 You watched the back of his head. He had a curl there. He’d always had that curl. Something in the back of your mind desperately urged you to wrap it around your finger. 

 Mithrun cast you a flat glance as he made for the front door. “Are you going to just stand there? Or are you coming?”

 Your frown covered up the flutter of your heart. You followed, silent, grumpy, your right hand itching to take his left. 

 And as you followed him into the street, you noticed, just for half a second, that his fingers flexed, then curled into a fist before releasing.

 This was bad. How could the people of Melini happily go about their lives as your world started to shift? How was the sun still shining? Why didn’t time stop for you as the growing thing between you and Mithrun got too large to ignore?

 (Perhaps you were being too dramatic.)

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

 The captain did not only stare. He touched. 

 It was weird, really, because he didn’t enjoy being touched. Mithrun would prefer to keep his personal space, you knew. The Canaries often invaded it and he said nothing to stop them, but you saw the twitch of his ear, the slight narrowing of his good eye. Lately, since he’d been learning how to be more expressive, he would sigh. It was that kind of sigh that told the listener precisely what he wanted, the kind of sigh that spoke a thousand words his lips refused to say. Those thousands of words usually consisted of ‘get away from me’ or ‘stop touching me.’ 

 He never sighed with you. 

 But perhaps that was because you knew better than to invade his personal space. He had no qualms invading yours. He touched you. Often. At first, you noticed it too much. The feeling of Mithrun’s hand on the small of your back made your mind race with questions. Eventually, you got used to it and hardly noticed it anymore. 

 But that hyper awareness had returned since the staring conversation. 

 And also since the staring conversation, he touched you more than ever before. 

 Mithrun’s long fingers wrapped around your wrist. They were always cold, for some reason. He held up your wrist between your bodies, but he wasn’t looking at you. His attention was on something rustling through the forest. His other hand leaned against the rough bark of a tree. There was absolutely no reason for Mithrun to be holding your wrist right now, but you had a feeling he didn’t even notice what he was doing. 

 “Quiet,” he said in a low tone, casting you a glance, “there’s someone up ahead.”

 “Someone?” You asked, “Not something?”

 “Yes. Someone.”

 Melini had many types of people. Most of them were good, interested in the future of the nation. Yet the existence of an entirely new country caught the attention of other types of people. The laws weren’t yet established, Laois didn’t really care about imposing taxes, and homes were still being built. While it had settled down as of late, criminals still flocked to the area. 

 Mithrun cast you another glance. His good eye, black, flickered up and down your body. The look only lasted for half a second, but it still made heat flare up in your abdomen. 

 “Stay here,” he commanded. 

 The heat disappeared as you sent him an incredulous stare, “Excuse me?”

 “Stay here,” he echoed.

 “No,” the argument escaped your lips quickly and harshly, “I’m going with you. There could be any number of people out here and I won’t let you face them alone.”

 His eye narrowed slightly as he turned to fully face you, “There’s a chance I won’t even be fighting. They could simply be hikers.”

 “Don’t lie to me, I know when you’re on edge.”

 Another narrowed eye, another flicker of his ears. The chewed tips slowly lowered, pressing back against his head, barely visible through wavy locks of silver. You’ve always thought that when elves did that, they looked quite aerodynamic. 

 “Fine,” his voice was flatter than usual, “but stay close to me. I won’t allow you to be hurt.”

 Mithrun released your wrist, but his fingers deftly slid down your skin, across your palm. A shiver ran through you as he tangled your fingers together. They were puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, created specifically to hold each other. 

 And Mithrun didn’t seem the slightest bit affected by the fact that he was now holding your hand. He simply turned and began trudging through the foliage of the forest, gently pulling you behind him. Did he have any idea what he’d done? Did his sharpened elf hearing notice the pumping of your heart? Would he even acknowledge it? 

 He held your hand tight, as if afraid you would slip away. 

 “They know we see them,” Mithrun murmured. Tension filled the air and threatened to suffocate you. It was the feeling of danger, and a tingling through your limbs that made your hairs stand to attention. 

 He pushed aside a thorn bush, not caring when the sharp tips pricked his skin or when they clung to his clothes like childish hands trying to desperately keep him from leaving. He slowed down a little so you could navigate the bushes more carefully. His fingers slipped away from yours, but he kept your hand, holding it up like a gentleman helping a lady out of a carriage. 

 The moment you escaped the bush, he interlocked your fingers once more. 

 Your mind raced as you followed him. Why was Mithrun holding your hand? What did it mean? Was he trying to acknowledge your relationship? Impossible. That was impossible. Mithrun surely didn’t want a relationship with you. There was something between you two, obviously, but it wasn’t anything either of you were ever going to do anything about. At least you thought as much. His desires weren’t just going to randomly appear again. And surely you weren’t special enough to cultivate anything new within him. No, Mithrun was just being—

 The taut pull of a bow string filled the air. It happened too quickly. The whish of an arrow cutting through the atmosphere— it sliced the tension in half so smoothly, like butter. You only caught a glimpse of it as it came straight for your chest. 

 But it never hit you. You’d closed your eyes without realizing, but when you recognized an utter lack of pain, your eyes shot open to inspect the situation. 

 Mithrun still held your hand. Tight. A little too tight. You could see his jawline clenched, his ears pushed back. In front of you, only inches away from your chest, was the arrow. He’d caught it mid air. His hand was wrapped around the shaft and his knuckles were white as he gripped it. 

 Your heart didn’t just skip. It flipped, did an entire gymnastics routine, then promptly flopped onto the floor and passed out. 

 There were wasps in your stomach. Not butterflies. Wasps. 

 And Mithrun was angry. His chest rose and fell before he slipped his hand away from yours. You only caught a glimpse of his face as he turned away, but you could see the flicker of silver consuming the black; the crackle of a flame, the flip of a switch, a lightning strike in the distance. 

 He reared his arm back and promptly launched the arrow at something between the trees. A guttural noise erupted. It was thick with something, pain or blood or shock or fear. A tall-man stumbled out of hiding with the arrow lodged in the front of his neck, then he collapsed face down in the grass. 

 Silence. 

 Mithrun lowered his arm and stood up straight, staring at the body. 

 Your throat was strangled, but you managed to push the question out nonetheless. “Did you just… throw a goddamn arrow so hard that it went through a man’s neck?”

 “Hm?” Mithrun sent you a glance, his eye widening just the slightest bit. But it returned to the black pit that you were seconds away from falling into. “Oh, yeah, I did.”

 “Just now,” you pointed at the literal corpse laying in front of you, “you killed him.”

 His brows furrowed, “Obviously.”

 “Why?”

 “He was going to kill you,” Mithrun looked at you as if the answer was clear and he was genuinely confused at your bewilderment. He lifted his hand, the left one, and held it out for you expectantly. 

 While your mind raced with questions and horror and a bit of admiration, you placed your hand in his. The air smelled like blood, metallic. Mithrun told you that he wouldn’t allow you to get hurt. He meant it. It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of your lungs. 

 Maintaining eye contact, he leaned forward, pressing his dry lips to your knuckles. The forest, the chirping of birds, even the warmth of the sun overhead, faded into the background. All you knew at that moment were his cold fingers holding yours, the feeling of his lips on your skin, the lingering look he was giving you. 

 Damn.

 His expression wasn’t blank this time. His good eye wasn’t lifeless. He looked at you through his lashes, his gaze glued to your face. Or perhaps not glued, but rather welded. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blush. But the intent was clear. His lips gently brushed across your knuckles for precisely four seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heart started to do its gymnastics routine again. 

 You could’ve lived beneath the spotlight of his gaze forever. 

 Yet soon enough, he dropped your hand and turned away. The tension dissipated like mist as he began walking, casually stepping over the corpse. “Let’s go. There’s been reports of a cockatrice nearby.”

 Right. Monsters. Work. 

 You looked at the corpse and the blood soaking into the soft earth, drying to a darker color on the leaves and grass. You should’ve been horrified, but…

 The fact that Mithrun was willing to kill for you only made you burn. Your knees were weak.

 This was a desperate situation. This was a confusing situation. This was the kind of situation that required an expert. 

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

 “Are you stupid?” Cithis asked. 

 Perhaps. You weren’t quite sure anymore. 

 You held a coffee mug tightly, wrapping both hands around it as you sent Cithis a pleading look. She returned your expression with something like boredom and disinterest. White braided hair fell over her bare shoulder. She sat across from you with one knee over the other and her hands politely clasped in her lap. While this elf woman was the picture of elegance, you knew what she really was. You knew how she could be. 

  Which was precisely why you’d come to her. 

 “I don’t understand,” you began explaining, feeling a ramble coming on, “he stares at me. He holds my hand. He gets furious if someone tries to hurt me. He looks at me sometimes with this face that almost makes me think he wants me. He—”

 “I think you’re stupid,” Cithis interrupted casually, “Or in denial. You know precisely how the captain feels. Admit it already and stop wasting everybody’s time.”

 You couldn’t help but scowl, “I don’t want to admit it.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because—” the words got caught in your throat and you had to forcefully shove them up and outwards, “Because it freaks me out. I don’t want to ruin the comfort between us. I don’t want Mithrun to one day get tired of me. I don’t want to… to die and leave him behind. He deserves better than that.”

 Cithis only tilted her head, “Don’t you think he deserves to get what he wants? How often does the captain want something?”

 Rarely. And you held the firm belief that when Mithrun wanted something, the world should bend its knee to meet that desire. Yet, this was different. Did he want you? Why? How? How can you be sure? Cithis seemed sure. How? Why?

 Her stare was unamused. She looked at you as if you were a dead fly that landed in her food. 

 “I guess I just don’t want to assume,” you finally said with a heavy exhale.

 “There’s no assumptions to be made here. He wants you. Everybody knows it.”

 Your head shot up, “What?” 

 “Everybody knows it,” her eyes narrowed.

 Nonsense. That couldn’t be true. You scoffed, “No.”

 “No?”

 “No.”

 “Listen,” Cithis leaned forward in her chair, pinning you in place with topaz yellow eyes— or piss yellow, how you described her eyes usually changed depending on your mood. “Many think that the captain makes an effort to hide his emotions. He doesn’t. He’s an open book. It’s simply a very blank book, is all. There’s not much there to read.”

 You knew what Cithis was getting at. You also knew there was more to read than what she thought, because Mithrun was your friend and you adored him and wanted to kiss his face with your face. Still, accepting that remained quite difficult. 

 You shot Cithis a dark look. Her lips twitched into a smile that held not even a hint of humor. 

 “I’m aware,” you said, “however, that doesn’t mean I understand. Does he even know how to flirt? Does he know how a relationship would work with him in this state? Do I know how a relationship would work between us? Does he have any desire to be, you know, intimate? Does he—”

 Cithis interrupted, “Honestly, I believe the captain would burn down the world just to keep you warm. But that’s just my observation.”

 What?

 “What?”

 “Idiot,” she huffed, “he touches you every chance he gets as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t have his hands on you in some way. He stares at you like you’re a damn masterpiece—”

 “He stares at me rather blankly, actually.”

 “But he’s still staring.”

 “Maybe I’ve always got food in my teeth or something on my face.”

 “You know I don’t really enjoy doing this.” Cithis leaned back in her chair and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Her piss yellow eyes narrowed, “It’s much more interesting to watch you and the captain silently orbit each other than it is to so dramatically reveal his feelings. Yet, I think it’s time you stop being foolish and give him what he wants. He’s developed this odd love language for you and I think you should start learning it.”

 She was right. You hated it when Cithis was right. 

 But that was why you’d consulted her in the first place, because you knew she’d be right. Still, how annoying. 

 “Okay,” you threw your hands up, “What do I do? What’s the next step?”

 She smiled softly, but her furrowed brows and pitying eyes made it clear that she was condescending you. You were a child trying to ask her why the sky was blue. 

 “Kiss him, obviously.”

 Kiss him. Just kiss him. How simple. How elementary. The idea of kissing him definitely didn’t fill you with stinging wasps or anything. 

 All you could do was close your eyes to block out the sight of Cithis’s condescension. “Yeah. Kiss him. That’s– Yeah.”

 “Now go,” she waved a dismissive, elegant hand, “off with you.”

 Whatever. You shot her a glare before setting the warm coffee mug on the table in front of her. You’d been gripping it like a lifeline, and you hoped it left a ring on her nice table. Her lips parted in silent offense at the tiny act of revenge. 

 You left Cithis’s home. Were you assured? Yes. Were you going to kiss Mithrun? Probably not. 

 There was still so much to sort through, still so many concerns. Mithrun wanted you and, apparently, everybody knew it. He hadn’t even been trying to hide his feelings all this time. You accepted his staring and his touching and his willingness to do anything you asked as simple friendship. 

 Maybe you should kiss him. 

 Maybe you should—

 “What’re you doing?”

 A shout ripped from your throat. You couldn’t control yourself, you stumbled backward, putting up your hands as your heart jumped and your stomach churned. You knew who it was that had snuck up on you. He did this all the time. 

 “Mithrun,” you hissed, “stop teleporting to me, you know it drives me up a wall!”

 Mithrun’s nose twitched ever so slightly. He was considering your words, just a little. Then he shook his head, “No. I don’t think I’ll stop.”

 Right. Okay. So, he wasn’t willing to do anything you asked of him. Again, you could only wonder if he enjoyed this. Did Mithrun like getting on your nerves? 

 You two were standing outside of Cithis’s little house. She should’ve been in jail, really, but she and the other Canaries had been pardoned, sort of. It was really more like a house arrest. You knew that Cithis didn’t care enough to watch you and Mithrun out her window, but it was still unnerving to be so near her, knowing what she knew. 

 Now, you were the one grabbing him. You took his wrist, gently pulling him down the road. “Come on, we need to talk,” you said. 

 Mithrun’s good eye widened just a little as you led him through the streets of Melini. It was more crowded than usual. Merchants called out to passersby and people laughed and talked and lived their own little lives. And this was your life, now, pulling the man you adored through a crowd in a desperate attempt to find a quiet, private spot. 

 You still hadn’t decided whether or not to kiss him. 

 There was an alley nearby. It seemed relatively clean. You and Mithrun entered the alley and walked around the corner of a stone building before you released his wrist. Yet, immediately, he took your hand, unwilling to allow even a second of no contact between your bodies. 

 The words came flowing out of your mouth as if a dam had broken within you. “Your love language, I’m learning it.”

 He only blinked, “What?”

 “Physical touch,” you raised your other hand, wrapping it around his, “quality time,” you met his eye and considered the possibility of drifting in black ink forever, “acts of service.”

 He blinked once more. “Oh. I see.”

 Your brows furrowed, “Why were you near Cithis’s house anyway?”

 “I was simply passing by when I saw you.”

 “And your first response was to teleport to my side?”

 His head tilted slightly, “Yes. It was.”

 “Why?”

 Now it was his turn to furrow his brows, “Why not? It’s what I wanted to do, so I did it.”

 “And the staring,” you murmured, breathless, “the hand holding, the lingering touches… That’s what you want as well?”

 You didn’t expect Mithrun to react strongly to this conversation, and his reaction fulfilled your expectations. He remained calm, but his gaze lingered strongly on yours. His other hand slowly raised and he cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles onto your skin. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

 “Yes,” he answered, voice as scratchy and tired and level as ever, “that’s what I want.”

 “Why?”

 His composure broke just slightly. His eye narrowed and his lips quirked into a little frown. “Why wouldn’t I want to touch and stare at my partner?”

 …What?

 “Excuse me?” Your tone was thick with disbelief as your heart began to do flips. “Your partner?”

  “Yes?” His brows furrowed and he blinked a few times as if confused, “My partner.”

 “...Me?”

 “Yeah.”

 “But—” it was as if someone had punched you in the lungs, “Me?”

 “Yeah?”

 “I’m your partner?”

 A sigh as he closed his eyes. “Yes. You’re my partner. You have been for the last year.”

 “...Huh?”

 His eyes opened to pin you in place, “Were you not aware that we’ve been dating for this long?”

 “No!” You couldn’t help yell, “I wasn’t aware! I thought we were just good friends!”

 Mithrun said your name, tilting his head with a hint of a smile on his lips. He was amused. How rare. You only wish it wasn’t at your expense. “I wouldn’t do these things with just a good friend.”

 Alright. Cithis was right in calling you an idiot. 

 You felt like you were about to explode. You weren’t sure if that explosion would be from anger, embarrassment, or adoration. All three? You were going to self combust, then your flesh would fly everywhere and get on the walls and cause this huge, bloody mess. All that would be left of you were chunks. But if that happened, Mithrun wouldn’t be able to hold your hand anymore. He wouldn’t be able to stare. You weren’t about to take that away from him. The world needed to kneel and deliver him whatever he desired on a silver platter and you were not about to stop that from happening just because you exploded. 

 “I am in love with you,” you said matter-of-factly. It was pure word vomit. 

 “Yeah,” he remained calm, “I know.”

 He knew. Of course he knew. You wanted so badly to smack him over the head. 

 “If you knew…” your voice was strangled as you resisted every urge to scream, “then why haven’t you ever kissed me?”

 Mithrun shrugged. He shrugged. 

 “Do you want me to?”

 “Yes!” You snapped. 

 “Alright.” He released your hand, then grabbed your face and gently pulled you closer. His lips met yours. You wanted to melt. You were basically a popsicle on a hot summer day, then. And you had no clue what to do with your hands. 

 The kiss was… chaste. And soft. You weren’t quite sure what you expected. Certainly not passion, not from Mithrun. But chaste? That wasn’t right either. It was kind of… laid back, as if he’d kissed you a million times before and this was just another to add to the pile. 

 That wouldn’t do. 

 You figured out what to do with your hands. One gripped the front of his shirt, balling your fingers up in the fabric. The other stretched around his neck and tangled into his hair. He made a small noise of surprise. Satisfaction flickered through your chest. Gently, but firmly, you pulled him closer to you. Your back hit the stone wall. Your chests brushed against each other. His left hand dropped from your cheek and found your waist as he dug his fingers in and suddenly yanked your body against his. 

 There. That was better. 

 Slowly, Mithrun deepened the kiss, tilting his head. His hand slid away from your cheek and found a resting place on the back of your neck. You were both breathing through your noses as you kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed. 

 Heat began to build up in your abdomen. Your entire body tingled. He pushed you further against the wall and let out a soft exhale before introducing a soft bite on your lower lip. Another flash of heat wracked you, leaving you breathless. 

 Finally, the need for oxygen dominated and Mithrun pulled back, but only a few inches. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, letting out an exhale. 

 “I think… I like that,” he murmured, “We should do more of it.”

 All you could do was nod weakly. 

 “Right. More,” you leaned in, pressing your lips against his, and it started all over again. 

 One might call it a new beginning. In reality, it was a continuation of what always was. You set aside your endless questions and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him some more. 

 You’d officially fallen off the edge. No more teetering, no more balance. You were gone, and you’d never hit the ground. 

[hannieehaee]

Can you please make a seventeen reaction if a saesang hurt their s/o? lysm btw💙

a sasaeng hurting their s/o

content: mentions of an ambiguous attack on the reader (u can assume it was something like pulling at reader's arm/hair or a simple slap/punch), anger from the members, angst, fluff (kinda??), etc.

wc: 829

a/n: ily <33 i was kinda conflicted on this bc im not sure whether theyd react in an idol fashion in which they just kind of let their managers handle it or if theyd handle it themselves so i went for a mixture

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's super protective over his members, which also translates over to all his loved ones. i think he would get immediately exasperated and get all up on whoever dared hurt you, fan or not. if things got physical, he'd get physical too. however, he'd try to keep things civilized.

jeonghan -

he'd let his managers handle the sasaeng, knowing that despite how much he'd like to protect you on his own, head on, he had a lot of limitations as an idol. he'd feel extremely guilty about it and would beat himself up over it for a while. would do everything he could to make you feel protected and taken care of (even more than he already did) from then on.

joshua -

he'd be unfiltered in his arguing and his anger towards the aggressor. he wouldnt get aggressive or anything, but the venom in his eyes would be enough for a person to drop dead. would go as far as try to get the authorities involved right in that moment, promising that he'd be pressing charges on your behalf. when it came to you, he'd need you to calm him down lol.

jun -

he's so used to being mobbed and to people injuring themselves due to this that he wouldn't even be surprised at this happening. this wouldnt mean that he wouldn't be insanely angry though lmao. he'd curse them out in chinese and start a whole scene if necessary. this person was not going to leave this situation unscathed.

soonyoung -

his emotions usually take over him very easily and i believe in such an instance anger would show clearly in his demeanor. he'd protectively hold you behind him as he cursed and antagonized the sasaeng while his managers attempted to alleviate the situation. there would be anger in his eyes that you'd never seen before, but it'd turn into worry and regret as soon as he met your eyes.

wonwoo -

usually when he's being crowded or fans are too close, his body language seems closed off and unwelcoming to all the unwarranted attention, but in this instance i think his fight or flight mode would activate, making him physically place himself between you and the aggressor. rare instance in which anyone would see wonwoo genuinely angry.

jihoon -

he'd be too shocked to react, only realizing what had happened after the fact. kinda out of character, but i think he'd have to be held back from taking matters into his own hands. would be furious at the blatant disrespect to both you and him. how could a fan ever lay hand on you? he'd remain disappointed in his fandom for a while, keeping himself (and you) away from the limelight for a short period of time.

seokmin -

for once in his life, the only emotion taking over him was pure unfiltered anger. BUT he would 100% prioritize checking in on you and keeping his hands and eyes on you to make sure you were okay. would let his managers take care of the situation and simply stare down the perpetrator with venom in his eyes. would be extremely apologetic to you afterwards and express guilt over and over.

mingyu -

he's shown many times before he's not afraid to tell fans to mind their boundaries before, so i think that in a serious situation in which you were being put in danger, he'd become extremely serious to a scary extent. he would not get physical or anything like that, but he'd use his words and stance to intimidate the crazed fan.

minghao -

extremely serious and put off. the moment someone laid hands on you, his body would take control of itself and put himself between you and any danger. he'd yell and curse at whoever dared cross such a boundary and disrespect both you and him in such a way. he'd hold certain disdain for fans crossing boundaries from then on.

seungkwan -

he's too polite and media trained to actually participate in the altercation, but anyone could see the genuine anger trying to filter out of him as he and his body guards tried to deal with the situation. his first priority would be you and making sure you weren't too hurt.

vernon -

he wouldve been too shocked in the moment to do anything, but as soon as the short-lived attack ended and his managers were already apprehending the perpetrator, he'd scoff and curse at whoever hurt you. there would be this unknown craze in his eyes indicating uncharacteristic anger that could only ever be provoked by such a situation.

chan -

insanely angry and frustrated at the situation. in an ideal world, he'd take care of this situation on his own, proving to you that he'd never let anyone hurt you. however, he knew that the appropriate thing to do would be to let his managers apprehend the aggressor while he checked in on you and made sure you were okay and as far away from the situation as possible.

[alikuarso]

To answer your question about Fresh: Fresh is actually a parasite! He dresses in his 90's-themed clothes and speaks in a silly way so that others underestimate him. His main and utmost goal is to Survive, and the way he does that is by infecting other people with his parasites and draining the life from their souls. Being seen as harmless lets him get closer to them and gives him easier access for possession. He hopes to eventually take over the multiverse, spreading his parasites in every corner of it and having absolute control.

He also has no emotions. He is capable of them, but for whatever reason he is unable to feel much, besides the rare instance of anger. He does frequently feel fear, though.

He is a bit sadistic, and he likes seeing others suffer. This is because when he takes over someone he drains their soul of life, which causes them pain. And to him, taking someone's body means safety, it means he can survive a bit longer as long as he's snatched their body. So he's come to associate the pain of others as something good.

And he's also aware of the creators/viewers, thanks to an event called the Loveball, which is canon to his character.

Going to copy and paste my own words for this [I was talking to a friend about Loveball]:

"So, like seven years ago there was a fandom-wide event called the Loveball, where people gathered their OCs and had them all attend an UTMV dancing ball. Fresh went, of course. There, he met a Frisk called Pacifrisk. Even knowing who he really was [90's parasite], they still believed he could be good. Before this, he hadn't ever really felt a connection to anyone, or even positive emotions in general. But Pacifrisk's faith in him made him feel positively towards them. This freaked him out. [No Fr@ns though, don't worry. That wasn't the intention for this plot.]

As a result, not only did he try to kill them, but he also went through with his plans: the Fresh Takeover [I forget what it's actually called]. His true reason for attending the ball. OCs were either possessed by the parasites or tried to fight against them. Apparently, some people used alcohol to ward the virus off, as Fresh hates substances such as that.

Fresh wanted to take over the multiverse, with this Loveball being the first step for his total domination.

But then right in the middle of things, a Sans AU [which I totally forget the name of X,D] grabbed Fresh and basically yeeted him into an alternate state of being. One where he could see the creators, all staring at him. An audience.

The Sans revealed the nature of Fresh's existence: That he was simply a character in a story. And if the creators got bored of him, he could easily be written aside and forgotten. Erased. His conquest didn't matter, in the end.

Predictably, this gave him an existential crisis. I'm not sure what happened after, but he stopped invading and went somewhere to contemplate his existence in a depressed state.

Afterwards, he had a new goal: To entertain. To convince the creators that he was worth keeping around. Similar to his previous goal of survival, but now with more dire stakes."

His creator @loverofpiggies has some posts about the Loveball, tagged under either the 'fresh sans' tag or the 'loveball' tag, which I recommend you check out! ^^

But yeah, to answer your question: The reason Fresh fought Ink was probably 1: because he saw it as a good way to keep himself alive and 2: So that he could be relevant and interesting to the viewers.

Hope this answered any questions you might have about him! ^w^

THANK YOU BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WOULD HAVE FOUND ABOUT ANY OF THIS OTHERWISE😭😭😭 THAT'S A LOT

Now I want to draw fresh existential crisis mood, That's something I never would have imagined existed

Im still a bit confused about fresh not having emotions¿ but I think I got the idea, but still, why does he feel fear?

I think fresh is becoming my favorite now, help, error do something

(Thank you again for your time✨️)

[aventurineswife]

Hi, I hope you are having a great day.

Could you make a hc of Aventurine, Sunday, Robin and Topaz about what types of kisses they prefer?

Stolen Kisses, Silent Promises

Synopsis: What type of kisses do they prefer?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Topaz x Reader, Robin x Reader, Kisses, Headcanons, Romance, Established Relationship, Emotional Vulnerability, Playful, Gentle and Passionate Kisses.

Warnings: Mentions of Vulnerability and Emotional Layers, Slight Angsty Undertones.

Preferred Kiss: Playful and Teasing Kisses

Aventurine enjoys kisses that feel like a game of cat and mouse, reflecting his love for risks and challenges.

He’ll lean in close, hold your gaze with his eyes, and pause just before your lips touch, smirking as if daring you to make the move.

Once the kiss happens, it’s warm and affectionate but with a hint of mischief, leaving you guessing what he’s planning next.

He particularly loves stealing quick kisses in the middle of conversations or when you’re deep in thought, finding joy in catching you off guard.

Special Moments

When Aventurine’s mask slips, his kisses become slower and more deliberate, as though he’s savoring the moment and letting his vulnerability show.

These kisses are rare but deeply meaningful, revealing the man behind the facade.

Preferred Kiss: Soft and Lingering Kisses

Sunday treasures gentle, intimate kisses that communicate depth and sincerity.

He prefers to take his time, placing a hand on your cheek or the back of your neck as his golden eyes soften with affection.

These kisses often feel like an unspoken promise—his way of showing that he’s fully present and devoted to you.

Special Moments

Sunday has a tendency to kiss your forehead or the back of your hand when he’s feeling particularly protective or sentimental.

In private, when he’s unguarded, his kisses can be tinged with melancholy, as though he’s silently apologizing for the burdens he carries and the dreamlike paradise he offers.

Preferred Kiss: Tender and Melodic Kisses

Robin’s kisses are as graceful and heartfelt as her music.

She prefers kisses that feel unhurried and delicate, like a song unfolding with perfect harmony.

Her favorite moments are those where you’re both lost in the quiet of each other’s presence, and her kisses often come with a soft hum or whispered words of affection.

Special Moments

Robin loves spontaneous kisses while dancing or during quiet moments under the stars.

She also has a habit of kissing the corner of your lips, a sweet and subtle way to show her adoration without being overly bold.

When she’s overwhelmed with emotion—whether joy or sorrow—her kisses become more passionate, pouring her heart into the connection.

Preferred Kiss: Confident and Assertive Kisses

Topaz likes kisses that are bold and straightforward, reflecting her no-nonsense attitude.

She doesn’t shy away from initiating and often prefers to take the lead, pulling you close with a firm grip and kissing you with purpose.

Her kisses are grounding, as if she’s reminding you of her presence and her ability to handle anything that comes her way.

Special Moments

Topaz has a softer side that emerges during moments of vulnerability.

In these rare instances, her kisses are gentler and more exploratory, as if she’s silently asking for reassurance.

She also has a playful streak, occasionally giving you a quick kiss before walking off, leaving you wanting more.

[zukosdualdao]

so, this post was originally born from a post i saw a couple of months ago that was deriding people for criticizing katara’s main role in lok being a healer when that was never all she wanted to do but liking the scene where she heals zuko in sozin's comet. at the time i thought about responding directly and decided against it, but i have since scanned through transcripts of every instance (i could find; it's possible i could be missing something) of katara healing someone in the show and how they respond. (you know, like a normal and well-adjusted individual. lmao.)

anyway, aside from katara explicitly stating that she doesn’t only want to be a healer, another aspect of why people don’t like that this is how her story goes in lok is because of the way healing is treated in the atla narrative.

Katara: Aang, you're burned! Let me help you. [Katara heals the burn on Aang's arm.] Aang: Wow, that's good water. Sokka: When did you learn that? Katara: I guess I always knew. Sokka: [Sarcastically.] Oh ... Well then thanks for all the first aid over the years. Like when I fell into the greaseberry bramble. [Angrily.] Or that time I had two fishhooks in my thumb!

this comes, of course, after aang accidentally burns katara and she learns she can heal through her waterbending by healing her own hands. then (after comforting aang despite being the one who got hurt, not that i'm bitter), she heals aang after he gets burned in his fight with zhao. and like... there's not so much as a cursory thanks in this scene.

to be clear, because i can already hear some responses in my head and i am making a preemptive strike: i'm not saying that when other characters don't thank katara for her healing, they're like, the worst people ever for not doing so or there aren't other ways at different times where they show their appreciation. what i am saying is that it feels like this sets up a long pattern of katara's healing specifically being taken for granted, and it makes me especially uncomfortable when i see her healing as a sort of metaphorical parallel to the emotional labor often expected of her in the show, especially because this and being The Avatar's Girlfriend/Wife is more or less what she's relegated to in post-canon.

also, i have to note sokka's line here. i don't want to come down on him too hard for this, because it's obviously being written humorously (and does genuinely make me laugh, for what it's worth, if just for the inherent ridiculous nature of two fishhooks), but his sarcastically saying thanks for all the help over the years when katara says she always knew (which is supposed to be her saying it just somehow instinctively came to her) does feel like another mark in this pattern. but i also really read this as sokka trying to lighten the mood after a Difficult (TM) day, so i cut both him and the writers some slack for it.

Meanwhile, back at the Outer Wall, Katara attempts to heal a member of the Terra Team. General Sung: What's wrong with him? He doesn't look injured. Katara: His chi is blocked. [Stops healing.] Who did this to you?

i find it interesting that katara has sort of naturally fallen into a token team healer role, to the degree that we don't even see them ask for her help or her agree to it; it's just automatically assumed that she will. and i mean, on the one hand, it's fairly standard to have an Assumed Healer in a fantasy action setting like this, where people will get hurt in combat and therefore the narrative needs someone whose job is to help them. the problem for me is that the show kicked up such a fuss about how women shouldn't just be allowed to be healers, and yet it's still the role no one but katara ever fills. aang is also a waterbender! why couldn't she have taught him healing, too? i genuinely think it would have added a lot to the story, but katara is The Girl (TM), so healing is what she (and only she) does, what's expected of her, and again, with very rare thanks for it.

Katara stares open-mouthed at Jet, her hands hovering near her mouth in shock. Snapping out of it, she withdraws water from her water skin, with which she covers her hands, and it begins to glow as she kneels down next to him. Cut to a shot from over her shoulder, with Jet glancing at her while she rubs her hands over his chest in an attempt to heal him. After rubbing his chest three times, the glow fades, the water stains Jet's clothing, and Katara looks back over her shoulder toward the rest of the group. Katara: This isn't good. Smellerbee: You guys go and find Appa. We'll take care of Jet. Katara: We're not going to leave you. Longshot: There's no time. Just go. We'll take care of him. He's our leader. They stare at Longshot in surprise. Jet: Don't worry, Katara. I'll be fine. [Smiles a little.]

Cut to a closer shot of Katara placing Aang's body on Appa. Katara opens the vial around her neck and uses water healing on Aang's wounded back. The rest of Team Avatar, Kuei, and Bosco all look sadly and in anticipation. The glowing from the spirit water stops, and Katara starts crying, assuming that it was not enough to save Aang. Aang's tattoos glow for a second and Aang groans. Katara, overcome with joy that Aang is alive, looks at him, who smiles a little, and she holds him closer.

writing about these together because i have less to say about them. i'm definitely not going to fault jet for not thanking katara when she tries to heal him as he literally lay dying, or aang for not having the mind to do so after she brings him back. but i am still going to fault the narrative for putting her in a position where healing is just inherently expected from her and yet very rarely allowing her to feel the emotional toll of that or to feel constricted by it. and when she does struggle against the weight of it (not necessarily of being a healer, but of being expected to be kind and good and uncomplicated with no room for other aspects of her identity, which are very tangled up in why she is The Healer) in episodes like the runaway or in the southern raiders, she just... does not receive a lot of support from the people she should be most able to rely on.

Katara: Maybe we should go upstairs. [Helping Aang up.] You need a healing session. Back in Aang's room on the ship. Katara bends some water onto the scar left by Azula's lightning attack. Katara: Tell me where the pain feels most intense. Aang: Mmm, a little higher. Uhhh! Aang briefly flashes back to the battle at Old Ba Sing Se where he rose into the Avatar State, then back to reality. Aang: Wow, you're definitely in the right area there.

not much to say here, it's just another instance where it would have been so easy to slip one thank you in, and the writers just... do not. the reason i think it bothers me so much with aang specifically is because katara is supposed to be both aang's physical healer and his emotional crutch in a way that she's not written as being for, say, toph or sokka. he's sometimes shown appreciation for her emotional support, but he still comes to rely on and expect it in ways that do not always feel healthy, and knowing that, it bothers me that he shows even less appreciation for her healing, because it's just what katara is there for.

A figure resembling the Painted Lady glides over the water on a carpet of fog and enters the village. She steps into a hut where several people are sleeping on the floor, and bends over each of them in turn, healing them with a blue glow. Her last patient is the mother of the little boy seen earlier, her son sleeping at her side. He wakes as the Painted Lady turns to go and silently follows her out the door. Little boy: Thank you, Painted Lady.

this is a genuinely sweet scene in which katara does receive appreciation and genuine thanks for her healing, but i think it's also worth noting that katara is not being recognized as herself here. still, i am genuinely very glad that it's included in the episode because (again, unless i am missing something) it is the first time katara gets thanked for her healing.

The scene cuts to show Appa landing on the edge of the battlefield. Sokka and Katara help Hakoda onto the ground, and Katara starts trying to heal him. Katara: How does that feel, Dad? Hakoda: Ah, a little, better. I need, to get back to the troops. [Attempts to stand but is too weak to.] Ahh! Katara: You're hurt, badly. You can't fight anymore. Hakoda: Everyone's counting on me to lead this mission Katara, I won't let them down. [Attempts to stand again but can't.] Ahh! Sokka: Can't you heal him any faster?

they're in a high intensity situation, and sokka is Stressed because hakoda is supposed to lead the mission, so i, like, Get It, but "can't you heal him any faster?" does strike me as another moment in which katara's healing is being taken for granted. i think it's something that would bother me a lot less if this was an isolated incident in the writing, but *gestures vaguely at whole post*.

Sokka: [Brightening.] Dad! [Rising and approaching the two.] You're on your feet again. Hakoda: [Sitting down; somewhat weakly.] Thanks to your sister.

that being said, in the next hakoda and katara scene, there is this very sweet moment, where hakoda might not be thanking katara directly but is showing a lot of appreciation and admiration for her skill in healing (and though she's not in the dialogue i included, she's around to hear it, which makes me happy.)

Katara: It's gonna take a while for your feet to get better. [Stops healing.] I wish I could have worked on them sooner. Toph: Yeah, me too.

once again, i'm not gonna fault toph for wishing katara could have healed her feet sooner, because she's been in pain all night, but the writers could have very easily (as they could have in any of these scenes!) chosen to include a perfunctory 'thanks' here, and they just didn't. i know this is getting repetitive, but i swear it's because it's largely more me being mad at the writers than the characters, lmao.

there are also a couple of scenes in which katara doesn't heal anyone, but her healing gets brought up by aang.

Aang: He doesn't look sick. You okay, buddy? [Appa groans and Aang pulls out Appa's purple tongue.] His tongue is purple! That can't be good. Katara, can you heal him?

to be fair, aang asks here, and it's not like aang gets defensive or angry when katara says appa needs medicine (and also to be fair, appa's not even actually sick, lmao, katara's being slightly trickstery), but it's another instance where katara is automatically positioned as the person who is and should be responsible for healing.

Aang: [Chuckles.] Well, not over over. I mean there's always Katara and a little Spirit Water action, [Turns to Katara.] am I right? Katara: Actually, I used it all up after Azula shot you. Aang: [Disappointed.] Oh.

i actually don't mind this so much as a writing moment, as i think it's a lot more intentional wrt aang not always conceptualizing the reality of the violence he’s facing. still, it’s another instance of katara’s ability to heal and care for him being taken for granted, and i find it especially notable it’s in of the last significant moments they share together (the other being an argument as katara urges him not to run away from the reality of their situation with ozai) before they spend the rest of the finale separate until they’re kissing without a word at the end.

and then there is the zutara healing scene, where katara heals zuko after he interferes and takes azula’s lightning to the chest when she’s aiming for katara.

Cut to Katara as she rolls Zuko on to his back and begins healing him. Zuko opens his eyes, feeling the pain lessen, and smiles weakly at Katara, who smiles back as she sheds a tear.

Zuko: Thank you, Katara.

Katara: I think I'm the one who should be thanking you.

it seems fair to me to say that one of the reasons the motifs of healing in the zutara are dynamic are so appreciated by their fans is because of how it contrasts to a lot of moments where the work katara does with her healing is under-appreciated. for one thing, it happens as part of a mutual exchange—katara heals zuko after he gets hurt saving her. (this also somewhat calls back to their scenes together in the crystal caves in the tcod, where she offers to heal his scar after they are trapped together and zuko extends her empathy.) it’s based in reciprocity. it’s also, as shown here, one of the few moments of explicit, heartfelt appreciation and thanks given for katara’s healing.

[ann1-wr1tes]

Leon Kennedy NSFW Alphabet

Dynamics: RE4! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Spicy Alphabet

Warnings: Adult themes, obviously smut

A/N: Hey Leon simps...hope ya'll enjoy! Also if anyone wants to request any other characters for an alphabet, let me know!

-----

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-Leon is very good at aftercare. He always makes sure that you are comfy and well cared for. He'll run you both a warm shower and he honestly just likes to take his time, washing your body and making sure you are well cared for and clean. His favorite part is when he finally gets to lay back in bed with you and relax as you drift off to sleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-Leon loves your whole body honestly. If he had to pick one thing he'd probably say your hands. He likes to hold them and kiss them and its just something that's so grounding to him when he's fucking you and he intertwines his fingers with yours.

-On himself I think he'd be particularly proud of arms. He knows he's got some muscle on them and it just makes him feel strong.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

-Leon would probably prefer something simple like your stomach if not inside a condom. If he has to pull out, he doesn't like making too big of a mess so your stomach will do.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-He's always wanted to wake you up with a little surprise. Whether that be waking you up with head, fingering you, or fucking you awake. Its just something about how pretty you look when you're sleeping next to him and you have your ass pressed against his dick...

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

-Since this is taking place around RE!4 he doesn't have a lot of experience. Of course he's not nearly as clueless as he was in RE!2 but he's too busy to have that much experience under his belt. Luckily he's a quick learner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

-He likes it simple. Missionary or maybe Doggy-style. Missionary is just perfect, he can gauge all your reactions and see how you feel when he looks at your face and its just perfect. Doggy-style is nice when he presses his chest against your back and he gets to be as close to you as possible. His arms would be wrapped around your waist as he rolls his hips into yours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

-Not too goofy but he may crack a few horrible jokes here or there. He wants to keep the mood light and not too serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

-Not too messy, not completely bare. Given his line of work and very limited amount of time he has at home, I think he tries his best to stay as well groomed as possible but he leaves a little bit and has a nice happy trail.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

-In the moment he an get very sucked up into all the emotions and the feelings that happen during sex. His life is hard and he rarely ever gets to take the time to unwind so sometimes it can be emotional for him and he just wants to show you how appreciative he is.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

-Oh absolutely. When he's off on the other side of the world, away from you he's got to have some way to relieve stress. Its not that frequent but he does it often enough late at night when he's thinking of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-Definitely has a praise kink. He wants to hear how good he is doing for you, how good he is making you feel, and if you happen to tell him how strong he is or how handsome he looks then he might just cum right then and there...

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

-Usually at home in bed, but there have been a few instances where he has enjoyed some shower sex. You two just wanted to spend some time together after he got home from a mission and he couldn't help himself when he saw soap running down your skin and your pretty body standing there in front of him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

-Just you in general. He loves everything about you and god does he think you're hot. You barely even have to do anything to get him hard. You could probably give him a few good kisses and he'd start to get heated.l

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

-No guns, no knives, and I don't think he'd be huge into choking. Anything that could hurt you is a definite no for him. I also don't think he'd into the whole "daddy" thing..it kinda just weirds him out-

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

-He prefers giving. Its one of his ways he likes to show you how much he loves and appreciates you. Just having you lay back and spread your legs is one of his favorite things.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-Steady. Not too fast, not too slow. He likes to get the job done but not rush it too much. Of course if you want it rougher/faster he'd be happy to oblige and there are moments when he's feeling more emotional or soft so he'll be a bit softer and slow then.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

-He doesn't mind them. Sometimes he'll get a call for work and he'll have to leave soon but he wants to fuck you on last time before he goes. I feel like it'd be a common thing between you too.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

-He's neutral on taking risks. He's pretty much down for anything you'd like to try, so long as its within reason. But if you want to experiment then he's more than happy to give it a try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-Leon has good stamina but the poor boy is tried most of the time. I think he'd be able to give you a good few long rounds before passing out lmao-

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

-He doesn't own any toys himself but if you had some and wanted to use them he'd be happy to. I think he'd be more eager to use them on you but if you convince him you'd probably be able to use a vibrator on him or maybe a cock ring-

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-Doesn't tease at all. He's very giving and generous while having sex and he loves to make you feel good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

-Not too loud but not quiet. I'd say he's somewhere in the middle. He'll let out a few good groans and maybe some moans if you get him feeling really good.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

-He loves it when you wear his clothes. Whether that be an oversized shirt or his jacket, its just something about seeing you in his clothes that gets him going.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-Definitely a grower. Leon when he's soft is a good 6.5 inches and when he's hard, he gets to a whole 7.5 inches. When hard his dick tilts slightly to the left but has one of two prominent veins running up his shaft.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-Pretty high honestly. He's always pent up from his job and stressed so one of the best ways he can relieve himself it by fucking you. Plus he just loves you and can't seem to get enough of you so his sex drive is decently high.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

-He tries to stay up long enough for you to fall asleep first but sometimes he's just so worn out that he either falls asleep with you or a little before you.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 19

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: and i think its a good time to reread the series because we have some parts that is a hint to the previous chapters. its all connected! i hope you all enjoy!!!

About You Series

2015, Albert Park

Today marks the first race that he would do for Scuderia Ferrari, the dream team of most drivers. From the entrance, there were plenty of Tifosis with their banner and red ensemble waiting for him. Sebastian was used to having fans back in his Red Bull and Toro Rosso days but the energy of Ferrari fans is on a whole another level. People of all ages with different speaking languages calls out his name with something in hand for him to sign with.

“Bring the championship back to Ferrari”

“We are with you Sebastian!”

“Grazie Sebastian, have a good season!”

The words of encouragement being passed by people is something that brings a smile on his face. It was uplifting to hear that people still believed in him despite losing the championship last year. He feels extremely motivated to go to the car.

When he entered the garage, Kimi, his teammate was sitting there with his usual poker expression. Upon seeing Sebastian, he cracked one of his rare smiles and welcomed Sebastian to the team. The rest of the garage seems to be excited in welcoming Sebastian as well. They buzzed about how excited they all are about the build of the car and the opportunities that this season may grant. It was a good omen for Sebastian.

The practice session won’t start for a few minutes, so he opted to lounge in his driver’s room. The minute that Sebastian opened the room, his eyes zeroed in on the fruit basket of oranges placed on his desk.

An irony that a single fruit can bring back so many memories and could make all happy thoughts disappear from Sebastian. It suddenly reminded him that there was one person that he won’t be seeing around this year.

With a sigh, he picked up the card attached to the basket.

Congratulations Sebastian Vettel for being in Scuderia Ferrari. Have a great season ahead.

He smiles thoughtfully with the message. Flipping the card he tried to find who have sent it but it seems unsigned.

‘Can this be from her?’ he couldn’t help but think about it. He believed that he never mentioned it in any of his interviews that this was pre-race ritual goodluck for him. His thoughts couldn’t help but drift to her.

It has been months since he has seen her. There were also no news about her like she disappeared out of thin air, like she never even existed. He just wanted to know how is she doing. Is she doing better now? Can she walk now?

The heavy weight of his feelings had him sitting in silence.

“Seb..”Kimi knocked and entered the room “Free practice is starting in a few and they wanted me to call you”

The Finn was often referred as someone who doesn't care but he was secretly good at picking up emotions, “Are you okay?”

Sebastian looks up and tries to shrug it off“I’m good, don’t worry…Just the oranges”

“You allergic?”

“No”Sebastian’s voice falters “Just wondering who might have sent it”

“Probably a fan of yours”Kimi suggested.

“Yeah a fan”

2015, Sepang

Mark Webber’s book Aussie Grit, a chapter excerpt

Honestly, I never gave it much thinking that my sister sacrificed a lot of her time to be with me. She was merely 16 when she decided to accompany me to my racing and be my personal assistant. Instead of going out during the weekends, she spends it with me in strategy rooms or moping about a winless weekend. Now that I see it, I never saw her have time for herself. Everything that she does is because of me.

I wish I could tell you that I have been a good brother. There are several instances where I have been the cause of her heartache. If only I brought down my ego a notch then I wouldn’t miss several years with my baby sister. It was a great thing that she even gave me a chance. We were rekindling and everything. Then, last year was an eyeopener when she got into that accident. We were lucky to have her alive but it paralyzed her legs completely and it’s taking a while for her to recover. I respect my sister’s wishes to step back from anything motorsports related or from the media’s eyes. As her older brother, I do what I have to do to make sure she is getting the privacy that she needs.

She may or may not be reading this book but I hope you know Y/N how loved you are. We will always be waiting here for you. You take your time and your big brother will take care of everything.

2016, Lausitzring

The crowd was roaring as a Schumacher was once more placed on top of the podium. Glee was evident in Mick’s face as he made his way down from the podium. His eyes scanned the crowd and he couldn’t help but widen when he saw Sebastian’s face. He didn’t know that he would be joining to watch the race today.

“SEB!” Mick immediately made a beeline towards the F1 driver “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you race of course” Sebastian grins.

It was something that Sebastian has tried to do as much as he could. He can sense that Mick needed guidance and Michael would have done that if he was awake. So, whenever Sebastian could, he would drop by and watch Mick race. When he couldn’t, he rewatches them and messages him to commend him or recommend some improvements in his techniques.

“Very very proud of you Mick”he added the praise.

Sebastian hugged Mick proudly. Cameras immediately went off to capture the moment. Both of them have been used to the fanfares of the paddock and they could already see the articles that will be posted comparing young Seb and young Mick.

“Excuse me Seb but we have to get Mick for media duties” someone from the PR team interrupted the moment

“You can wait at the driver’s room”Mick instructed

“Look at you so bossy”Sebastian joked

“Viv, don’t let him go anywhere”Mick insisted “Seb, I still have to talk to you and update you about a lot”

Sebastian nodded and headed his way to the driver’s room. He greeted some of the staffs that were lounging there and proceeded to make himself feel at home in Mick’s driver’s room.

He couldn’t help but chuckle as soon as he enters. The driver’s room was pristine and clean. Sebastian was not the most organized driver on the grid when he was Mick’s age. Seeing how every paper has been neatly filed, clothes folded, and pillows arranged—Mick was far better from him than a mile.

There were two tables but his eyes lingered at the table where the drawer was slightly opened. He catches the glint of a photo frame. Curiosity got the best of him, and he opened the drawer a bit more to see the frame. It was a photo of the Schumacher family with him and Y/N.  The bright smile on each faces and the way Sebastian held Y/N with Mick in the middle. It was a reminder of the good old days.

“I hope you are okay”Sebastian’s hands hovered at the picture.

She never leaves his mind. He stopped talking about her but she is always in his mind. Sometimes when he takes photos of Mick, he wonders if she is watching his progress. What would she say? Sebastian could bet that if things were a little different then Y/N must have been there in every race that Mick participates in. She would have been there with Sebastian proudly cheering for Mick.

“Hey”Mick was right on time to interrupt him “Media is sometimes even more tiresome than the race”

“You think that’s bad, wait till Formula 1” Sebastian snickers.

He slipped the picture back to the drawer and shut it close to avoid anyone else from snooping. If this was hidden away then Mick might have wanted it private and away from prying eyes. Sebastian respects that. However, Mick didn’t miss it.

“You saw the picture, didn’t you?” Mick asked

“Yeah” a sad smile graced Sebastian’s face “It’s been a while since I saw her and its just a bit nostalgic”

Mick has tried to avoid talking about Y/N as per her wishes and of course because he was unsure about Sebastian’s thoughts. He didn’t have the full picture of what went down but he was not dumb to not know that the ending caused them a lot of pain.

As a witness to their pining, Mick can tell that Sebastian never stopped loving Y/N.

“You miss her” Mick softly says.

Miss was a simple word to use. Sebastian longs to be with her. He has all the connection, power, and money to find her but he always stops himself. She needed time and he is willing to give that to her. However, he really longs for her.

“I do kid, I really do miss her” Sebastian sighs.

“Even after all these years?” Mick wondered

The older driver could only nod. Mick gave Sebastian a comforting hug. Mick wished that he could say the things that he know but he made a promise and his Papa raised him to honor his words. The hug is the only thing he can do right now.

2016, Yas Marina Circuit

The party was on full swing. The drinks are flowing, and Jenson could not hear the endless cheers of congratulations for his retirement. As a former party boy, he used to enjoy these kinds of events but now that he is getting older he seems to be taking a step back. He found himself making his way out of the balcony to get some open air.

“Ditching your own party? That’s so unlike you Jenson”

It seems as if Jenson was not the only one who needed some fresh air as Sebastian was also out there with a beer. The Ferrari driver has a drink in hand as he leans by the balcony.

“I think I entered my party days too early so now I’ll be retiring” Jenson admits.

“Congrats to your retirement man”Sebastian hugs him "Retiring seems to be a trend"

The implication was subtle. For the past few years, people have been retiring. Starting from Mark to Y/N and now its Jenson. He has also heard Nico joking around earlier that maybe he could retire as well now that he has a world championship. Sebastian couldn't help but ask if this is a sign from the heavens that maybe he should as well

"You should try to, there is an appeal to it." Jenson voiced out his thoughts.

Taking a sip from his beer, Sebastian shakes his head in response. He can't retire yet. He still has a passion for racing, its the only thing he has ever known so it would be hard to quit it.

"I think I can still keep up with the young ones"Sebastian replied thoughtfully.

"Wanting to race or do you want Y/N to find you easily if she decides to come back?"

Bold statements from Jenson seems to take the conversation to a different turn. A sober him would have himself controlled with the information that he shares especially with Y/N. But his defenses are down and he knew Sebastian wanted to know how she is.

“She is doing okay, she is better now and healthier. But I don’t think she will return, she is happy with her life now. No media, no stress, just a simple life”

A wave of relief washed over Sebastian's face. It was a sense of comfort for him to know that she is okay. The distance is difficult but he is glad that she is alright and getting better.

"I'm glad to hear that." Sebastian stated "But I’m not asking for her to comeback. I want her to have her time to recover as she said"

Jenson's face contorted to what seems to be an irritation or maybe this was the alcohol making his emotions go haywire.

"Why are you like that?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"How can you keep waiting and holding on even though it has been years. You should have forgotten her, you should have chosen another one. Why do you stay?"

"Because I love her." Sebastian answer was immediate "I know it is naïve and simple but there is no other way to put it. I love Y/N. I think she tried to push me away before but its always her no matter what. I know I made mistakes and I hurt her and I tried to make it up. Everyday I am trying to do better because I wanted to be a better person that Y/N comes back to"

The air that Sebastian ended his speech with was crackling with tension. Jenson, who seems to be drunk a while ago, suddenly sobered up with the confession. He looks skeptically at Sebastian and he could see how much he means everything he just said.

"You really love her right seb?"

"I do."

"Okay then wait for her." a resignation in Jenson's part "You take care of her okay? She is one of the best person in the world and she deserves the best. I hope you don’t get tired waiting for her."

Jenson has always been careful to keep his feelings away. He knew that this was a losing battle to admit his emotions but maybe people were right to say that alcohol manages to bring out the deepest darkest truth that we have.

In this haze, Sebastian finally dawns a realization. Something that he should have realized years ago. It was so obvious now that Jenson is all drunk and open to read.

“You love her”

“Loved.” Jenson begrudgingly admits “I know at one point I tried shooting my shot because I wanna piss Mark off. But when I got to know her damn man, I was a puddle. I knew it was useless to tell her how I feel when a) I am a playboy that cannot be taken seriously b) you look at her like she hangs the whole universe in front of your eyes and c) because she loves you so so so damn much”

Plenty of times that Jenson wished that he played his cards right. He wished that maybe he could have sabotaged the relationship and show Y/N that he is a better option. However, he doesn't have the heart to do that knowing that it would end up with Y/N being hurt. He also knew that her happiness is with Sebastian and all he ever wanted was to make her happy.

“So you take care of her better now that you know that I’ll always be watching your back. You fail another time and I’m stealing her away” Jenson laughs jokingly

Sebastian nodded in agreement.

2017, Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

"One, two, three, smile!"

Anyone passing by would have thought that its just another tourist family with the mother taking a photo of her daughter and husband. But they couldn't be more wrong.

Four time world champion Sebastian Vettel was hiding under the glasses and the cap. He looks like any other regular dad with his fanny pack and the simple get-up. Margarette was now 3 years old with a crooked smile that makes her a spitting image of her father.

"Papa, where we gonna go today" the little girl couldn't contain her excitement.

"You are so energetic huh" Sebastian picks her up with ease and placed her to sit comfortably on his shoulder "We are off to see this beautiful place"

"What is it?"

"It's a secret but its near" Sebastian assured.

It was one of those trips that Sebastian have planned to spend time time with Margarette. The Spanish Grand Prix was just right around the corner so Sebastian is maximizing his time to spend with his little girl. Hanna couldn't help but feel a sense of joy seeing the two together. Maybe the two of them didn't work out as a couple but she was glad that Sebastian never abandoned Margarette.

"Papa are we going to that big palace?"Margarette asked "Mama look we are going to that palace"

Margarette was pointing to the tall construction of the Sagrada Familia. It made Hanna let out a small wow because she have heard stories about this place before but this was really a breathtaking sight.

"It's not a palace darling, its a wonderful church made as a biggest apology for the city's sin"Hanna explained.

"But Hanna"Sebastian interjected "I think this is the grandest showcase of love because they keep on working on it for years and years for the city's forgiveness and-"

Sebastian stops halfway. The memory of the place from years ago seems to dawn him and why the whole conversation was flowing out as if it was recited for memory.

"You alright Papa?" Margarette wondered.

Sebastian was quick to shrug everything away, "Let's go inside"

The inside was even more beautiful than its facade. Margarette didn't know where to look and she seems to be awestruck anywhere she gaze upon. Sebastian chuckles to himself plagued once more by the memory of a certain someone that he once toured with in this place.

Once again, Sebastian was at the pews muttering a prayer. Even now he doesn't believe but he prays to any mighty Being out there to take care of Y/N. If its possible, make her walk again and help her heal from everything that she has been through. Sebastian was sure there were some stray tears that runs down his cheeks as he prayed.

A tug at his side reminded him that Margarette was there sitting next to him.

"What do you pray for?" she wondered.

"I'm praying for a friend"

"Is that why you cry?"she pressed on more "Is friend sick? Is friend sad?"

Sebastian honestly don't know what to answer with the following questions. How could he say so when he didn't have any form of communications with her.

"I don't know baby if she is okay but I pray she is okay" Sebastian sighs.

Her tiny hands reached for Sebastian as if a way to comfort him. Sebastian held Margarette's hands tightly. Hanna watched the two of them from a pew behind not wanting to interrupt the moment of the two.

"You know they say we can get three wishes when we visit a new church" Sebastian diverts the topic "You should go make your wishes"

"Like a birthday wish? It will come true?"

Sebastian nods and he immediately noticed how she brightened up. She was at that age that she has so many to wish for and she wanted to wish every best thing in the world. However, after a moment she seems to smile.

"I'll wish for your friend to be okay" Margarette declared "And I hope you see friend soon"

"That's very thoughtful of you baby"Sebastian couldn't help but hug his little girl.

Silently, Hanna prayed as well for that wish to come true. She hopes that maybe Y/N could come back for Sebastian. She has been a witness to how much Sebastian waits for her to return and its clear to her now how much he means to her.

2017, Suzuka Circuit

Sebastian Vettel asked about when is he going to settle down.

After being stuck in a panel in the Japanese Grand Prix media day with a group of drivers who have wives and girlfriends, Sebastian Vettel sticks out like a sore thumb in the bunch. He was pressed as to when would he introduce a girlfriend or if he has any plans on settling down. The Ferrari driver joked that the media is just like his mother asking him the same question.

“The thing is, I am happy as I am at the moment. I am not cynical about the idea of love, its just that lets say that love has already found me early. Maybe I am a sappy or romantic but I intend to wait for that love to return to me because it’s the love that I have promised to wait for. Nothing compares to her.” The person behind Sebastian’s definition of love has remained a mystery to the media. It has already been years but Sebastian has not been spotted to bring any partners to the paddock.

When asked about his rumored daughter, Sebastian has admitted that he has a daughter. He refused to deny his daughter but he wanted a quiet and simple life for her.  “She is someone I treasure greatly. I intend to keep her away from the media as much as possible, she is one of the best thing that life has given me without asking.” He also mentioned that she is co-parenting with the mom of his daughter as they are great friends and nothing more.

2018, Albert Park

“Exciting season yeah Kimi?” Sebastian was his usual enthusiastic self.

The Finnish driver just shrugged a small yeah as they pass through security. Sebastian was already used with Kimi’s responses and he decided that it balanced out their duo. If Sebastian is the hyperactive one then Kimi is the laidback quiet one.

“Did you hear Jules' godkid is coming to the grid this season?" Kimi wondered.

Sebastian remembered how Jules has been mentoring a young kid before. He has mentioned his name multiple times but Sebastian have forgotten it already.

“Charles?”Kimi offered.

“Charles? The one we saw in 2015?”Sebastian asked

“Yeah that one. He got a seat at Alfa Romeo”Kimi nodded in agreement.

It was crazy how quick time passed by. It was just yesterday that he was racing with Jules and now he will be racing with his godkid. Sebastian could feel his age catching up on him with the new rookies joining the grid.

“We better go check on him and welcome him” Sebastian suggested.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up later”

Sebastian headed to the Alfa Romeo garage which is quite a walk from the Ferrari garage. He stopped by to greet some of the media and the people at the paddock. But he has his eyes set on to welcome the newest rookie to the Formula 1 community.

"I'm looking for Charles Leclerc" Sebastian announced upon reaching their sister team's garage.

The mechanics were quite busy with the preparation for the car so all hands were on deck. It was a good thing that Fred Vasseur immediately caught Sebastian's presence

"I think he is the driver's room with his family" Fred smiled

"Can I interrupt them?"

"Go ahead, I'm sure Charles would love to see you her" he encouraged.

Sebastian made his way towards the room and he could hear the overlapping voices of Charles' family. It brings him back to the first time that he joined Formula 1 and his whole family has also been supportive just like this.

"Charles, be careful. I don't want you hurting yourself in your first race"

"So I can do it in my second?"

"You are a little menace, how do we put up with you?"

The bantering between them seems to keep Sebastian from disturbing them. He knew that he shouldn't be eavesdropping on them and he started to think that maybe he should just greet Charles later during the drivers' parade.

"But Charles listen to Pascale, you come back safe to us"

The chills that went down his spine when he heard that voice was like no other. He knows that person very well but he can't help but think that he may be wrong because its been so long. His heart started to beat loudly, his clammy hands shaking to twist the door knob of the door open. He was out of his wits to even overhear that Charles was getting out of his driver's room.

"Yeah, I'm-" the shock was visible in Charles face and he immediately steps out of his driver's room "Sebastian, I didn't know you were there"

Sebastian wanted to mentally facepalm himself to be caught in such an embarrassing situation.

"I just wanted to welcome you to the grid, kid" Sebastian manages to say

Charles shifts from his spot, "Thanks I guess"

It was obvious that Charles seems uncomfortable with Sebastian around. A normal feeling that a rookie driver would feel in his first season. Sebastian wanted to ease his mind a little.

"Jitters?"

"You could say that" Charles agrees "Maybe I just need a little bit of time with the family before I go out and race"

"You do that. I'll see you later"

"Thanks Sebastian"

As Sebastian retreats, Charles could let out a sigh in relief before entering his driver's room again.

Pascale was there with eyes wide as if asking his son if that's who she think it was outside the door. Lorenzo and Arthur were by the door seemingly anxious with the interaction.

"He's gone now and I think I managed to hold him off" Charles assures everyone "But I still think its really a bad decision for you to be here"

"And miss your first race in Formula 1? Jules would kill me"

Sitting at the corner of the room, Y/N Webber was there. Her face seems to have matured over the years but she still carries the same tricks just like how she is fiddling with her necklace.

All eyes of the Leclerc family was on her because this was the closest call that she have encountered with Sebastian after all these years.

"I have been careful Charlie. I have been to several of Mick's races undetected with him at the attendance. I have been in some Formula 1 races undetected "Y/N soothes "Calm down, okay?"

Charles couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty. He didn't want his debut to be the reason for Y/N's pocket of peace to be disturbed. He certainly didn't know that Sebastian was coming to greet him.

"I travelled a long way to watch you race so you better focus, okay?"Y/N encourages.

"Thank you for being here Y/N" Charles softens to a smile.

"But Y/N, aren't you planning to ever meet Sebastian again?" Lorenzo couldn't help but wonder.

The girl in question could just smile.

Honestly speaking, there wasn't an answer in her head at the moment. Hearing his voice just a door away was taking all of her self control to not run outside and hug him. She is scared if he would still welcome her back or would he still love her as much as she loves him even after all these years?

Fiddling with her necklace, the pendant that he has given still sits on the chain together with the ring he once gave her.

[sleepynoons]

WELCOME TO @SLEEPYNOONS' FIRST WINTER EVENT!

happy winter, everyone! this time of the year's always packed with tons of emotions, highs and lows, cheers and tears, so the following 12 pieces (each being at least ~2,000 words) will span a range of genres, aus, and relationship dynamics based on a few of my favorite winter songs! i'll be writing for various characters and fandoms as well, so hopefully there's at least a story or two that you're interested in! if you would like to be tagged, shoot me a message via my ask box with your @. word count and warnings will be updated throughout the following weeks.

otherwise, stay warm, get a nice steaming cup of your favorite drink, and cozy up! (also, some tissues, just in case.)

edit: this event has officially wrapped up! thank you so much for all of your support! you can read my thoughts on this event here.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 1 – TIP TOE BY HYBS higuruma hiromi (jjk) x afab!f!reader, post-canon!au, nsfw / 18+

genre – fluff, smut word count – ~2,900 warnings – manga spoilers, brief sub!higuruma, oral (giving), body worship, marking, edging, cum eating, praise kink synopsis – it's been weeks since the last time you and your husband have spent quality time together, and now that it's christmas, the two of you can finally spend an intimate evening together.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 4 – ONLY BY LEE HI jing yuan (hsr) x gn!reader, modern!au, sfw

genre – fluff, angst word count – ~2,100 warnings – mentions of emotional cheating + divorce synopsis – although it's been years since your divorce, some part of you is still afraid to be in a relationship again. what does it actually mean to love someone, and are you capable of it?

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 7 – WONDER BY ADOY aizen sosuke (bleach) x afab!f!reader, modern!au + arranged marriage!au, sfw

genre – angst word count – ~2,000 warnings – n/a synopsis – aizen sosuke's the heir to the largest pharmaceutical company in japan, and you're his arranged wife. but your wedding oaths mean nothing when he doesn't love you and won't even look your way. unfortunately, you can't contain these feelings of yours for much longer.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 9 – YABA BY FUJII KAZE umemiya hajime (wbk) x gn!reader, sfw

genre – fluff, angst word count – ~3,000 warnings – characters aged up, references to previous toxic/abusive romantic relationships, description of physical injuries, overstimulation synopsis – you and umemiya rarely fight. but a problem's been brewing for a while now, and it's finally hit its boiling point. is this the end of your relationship?

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 13 – THE NIGHT BY SOYOU (FEAT. GEEKS) asakura shin (sakamoto days) x gn!reader, college!au, sfw

genre – fluff word count – ~2,300 warnings – suggestive content synopsis – plans have changed, and to your surprise, both you and your boyfriend shin are staying on campus over winter break. that means the two of you can spend christmas together, and you're excited to have him all to yourself!

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 18 – DIE 4 YOU BY DEAN kurapika kurta (hxh) x gn!reader, lovers to enemies!au + canon divergence!au, nsfw / 18+

genre – angst, horror word count – ~4,300 warnings – manga spoilers, graphic descriptions of gore/blood/human anatomy, murder, references to body dismemberment, violence, major character death, slight suggestive content, explicit language synopsis – kurapika's methodical, thorough, determined. there are very few things that can throw a wrench in his plans. for instance, he doesn't expect you to get in his way. at all.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 20 – ALMOND EYES BY CLAVITA oikawa tooru (hq) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – fluff, smut, crack word count – ~2,100 warnings – facetime/phone sex, sex toys (vibrator), overstimulation, mutual masturbation, slight exhibitionism, slight hand fetish synopsis – the two of you have managed to find balance in your long-distance relationship, but it's been especially challenging this time around, after having been separated for several months. it doesn't help that your boyfriend's being particularly evasive about his return for christmas, and you're at a loss as to what to do.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 24 – SANTA TELL ME BY ARIANA GRANDE sunday (hsr) x f!reader, guardian angel!au + college!au, sfw

genre – fluff, angst word count – ~2,700 warnings – explicit language synopsis – to put it quite simply, you have horrible taste in men. you're more than aware of it, so this year, you really, really, really want santa to hear you out because god definitely hasn't. but what you don't know is that someone does love you very dearly – you just can't see him.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 25 – ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU BY MARIAH CAREY neuvillette (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – fluff, smut word count – ~3,100 warnings – age gap, lingerie, oral (receiving), fingering synopsis – it's your first winter with neuvillette, and where you grew up, it's customary to celebrate by exchanging presents, eating delicious food, and spending quality time with loved ones. even though neuvillette is overwhelmed with work at the moment, you're excited to surprise him.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 27 – ON THE DRIVE HOME BY NIKI hanma shuji (tr) x gn!reader, sfw

genre – angst word count – ~2,100 warnings – explicit language synopsis – you know it, he knows it. it's just that both of you are too complacent, so you're playing this waiting game. stuck in the middle of a snowstorm, in a car, you're face-to-face with the notion that your relationship is really coming to an end.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 28 – SHIAWASE BY OMOINOTAKE miya atsumu (hq) x gn!reader, sfw

genre – fluff word count – ~2,200 warnings – explicit language, slight suggestive content synopsis – atsumu is forced to articulate all the ways and reasons for why he loves you, which he thinks is ridiculous because there's no end to the list. little does he know, it's his voice, not his words, that fail him.

❆ ͙͛ DECEMBER 30 – LOVERS' OATH BY CHEN YU-PENG diluc ragnvindr (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – smut word count – ~2,400 warnings – unprotected sex, fingering, thigh riding, riding, pussy job, creampies, multiple orgasms, husband/wife kink, praise kink, biting, squirting, lingerie, allusions to marathon sex synopsis – your wedding with diluc was a small, intimate event, just between the two of you, the officiant, close friends, and a few notable business partners. and you're glad, because you have more than enough energy to make the most out of your first night together as a married couple.

[theomnicode]

Saitama and depression; how OPM explores mental health

(TW: Depression, Suicide)

Many readers have more than likely noticed that Saitama seems like a pretty depressed individual, however it is never directly stated besides the above Saitama introspection where he acknowledges it and promptly puts it out of his mind.

This topic came to my mind after seeing this particular video about 8 oddly specific symptoms of depression by Dr. Scott Eilers that are not often talked about. We're going to talk about them and then some. Take note that I'm not a doctor or mental health specialist, I'm just writing meta so that's my disclaimer. :p

We'll start from the beginning and with the heaviest topic of em all related to depression and see how One Punch Man explores this particular mental health issue and move on from there.

Warning, long post ahead.

The most obvious sign of major depression is well, suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation that Saitama exhibits as early as chapter 2. He never denies wanting to die by Crablante's hand.

Saitama also heavily relates to the guy who wanted to jump from rooftop while he was eating sushi and bluntly talks to him to pull himself up his bootstraps essentially as he did on his own, interpreting that sounding fake and sweetalking would not get through to the guy. (Salmon, Vol 7 extra)

Other signs pointing towards depression would be low energy, lack of motivation, self-isolation, hobbies that are low-energy consuming but stimulating like gaming, manga, watching tv and such, all of which Saitama exhibits... but another common depression symptom is Anhedonia.

"A diverse array of deficits in hedonic function, including reduced motivation or ability to experience pleasure, particularly from previously enjoyable activities."

The doctor in the video describes Achievement anesthesia by the inability to feel positive emotions from achievements. Despite Saitama saving plenty people, he only feels a lack of accomplishment and probably frustration from feelings of uselessness. He used to take joy and satisfaction from helping people out in the past (Brushing up, vol2 extra), but the same and even vastly stronger merits now only serve to highlight how little he feels about them now.

A great contrast.

What was once a great victory, is now just yet another tuesday for Saitama. (One of my fave panels)

Even worse, he does not get brownie points for being a good, upstanding citizen. He gets no money and rarely appreciation for the good he does and that just accumulates his depression when his neighborhood emptied. And with his power, he also gets to clean up the mess because he has the power and it's the right thing to do, be it from picking up litter to saving little kids from getting kidnapped (What can't Be Bought, Vol 5 Extra). But such also breeds jealousy when everyone else reap the rewards, reap the fame and the fans and the good reputation.

The stress of trying to be a good person with moral integrity in a bad world is a heavy load, which can lead to depression, lack of motivation and things like compassion fatigue. The more he tries to find something worthy of doing, the more he invests in it, the more he keeps getting disappointed by the lackluster feeling and reception he gets.

Saitama beats himself up for moral failures, which is a contributing factor for his depression, such as when he was in the tournament and monsters were running amok, despite not having no prior knowledge of monsters around the area. The complete lack of explicit improvement on things he wants to do however, is the most sore point. He didn't learn a thing in the tournament and just felt like he was wasting time, conditioning him to think that self-improvement is just a waste of time on itself because he won't learn anything anyway.

Being good at something naturally makes one feel better about themselves and Saitama's low self-esteem and for instance, lack of skill in gaming, creates friction and Angry perfectionism. One especially doesn't want their few fun hobbies to feel like hollow endeavours. Being competitive, one would want to git gud and accomplish growth and getting constantly trashed by one finger keeps driving it home that Saitama is not actually good at this thing either, something that he wants to enjoy doing. Saitama also constantly projects his bad mood and this insecurity by trying to trash talk King, without much success. King is such a good friend though that fortunately the does not seem to mind Saitama getting pissed at being a sore loser. True pro gamer bro.

Lets pray Saitama never finds that mmorpg's have hardcore raids, he would never be able to leave the house again. 😂

-*-

Which brings us to the last point in the video, Addiction to emotion-creating activities.

If Saitama was any less strong willed and less restrained and if he actually had money to spare, he would 100% develop a gambling addiction. Keep this man far, far away from social media too.

However, as soon as something...or someone...breaks through that fugue and creates actual emotion, one can develop an addiction to the thing because our brains want/need that dopamine fix.

Genos just so happened to barge into his very lonely life life and became that someone to create that emotional connection with and Genos provides too when he's taken over cleaning and majority of the cooking and even finances, something that people with depression struggle to accomplish. When Saitama cooks, it's usually not very difficult dish to prepare either, chop ingredients and toss them into the pan. Saitama also loves food and needs money to feel like he's financially secure, being unemployed, and has little social contacts, so it's like triple-dipping in the dopamine sauce. Nomnom, feelsgoodman.

It's all well and good until shit gets real and your main source of feel-good emotional connection just dies. Oh and it's your fault too cuz you played around. Good job Saitama. That's a deadly amount of guilt and a PTSD as a cherry on top.

Genos' continued existence is essentially applying bandaid to a bleeding head wound that's Saitama's mental health issues.

Ultimately, I do wonder if ripping off the bandaid is why Saitama wants to get back his private space away from Genos, because he subconsciously understands it's not very healthy to be so emotionally dependant and Genos is just as obsessed about him. The allure of social contact and benefits are great, but so too are the detrimental effects, among them complete lack of privacy which is a nightmare for a private introvert like Saitama.

(Yes yes, it's still pretty dang funny, but it's still invasion of privacy)

-*-

Last example of Saitama's depression I want to touch, thanks to @gofancyninjaworld for the input, is Saitama's forgetfulness, a memory disruption if you will.

"Depressed individuals typically show poor memory for positive events, potentiated memory for negative events, and impaired recollection."

It is a running joke that Saitama has difficulty recalling names, which may be entirely normal because he does not really care to remember names for people he's improbable to meet later and emotional connection and repetition helps us memorize things better (such as Genos having to repeat his name upon introduction), however Saitama has also showcased potentially impaired recollection for events that happened just moments prior.

(Again, a great contrast. Show, don't tell, where one shows obvious signs of depression and another...not so obvious, in the same panel, in a humorous way to boot. Masterful way of tackling heavy topics, in my humble opinion.)

Genos worries for his memory in the Majin drama cd 1 and often tries to accomodate for his lapses of memory too, be it long ultimate attack name phrase, marking special sales or whatnot. Saitama forgetting to take out trash and forgetting names is normal, but it may be exacerbated by his depression.

The more telling part is probably the fact that even when his memory is jogged, he still does not remember Flash's name. It's like he never registered the name in the first place, maybe he did not bother because he thought it wasn't important but it does not appear he's trolling here and legitimately does not remember. Though he does remember the nickname he gave for Flash instead, which is funny. He made it up on the spot and it's hilarious, so it stuck.

The less emotional connection one has to things, the less likely we are to remember those things, such as the monsters Saitama kills are blurred together because he feels no self-satisfaction from killing said monsters and protecting people.

In the sense that memory block can also be a trauma response, ONE makes Saitama's complete lack of recall of the ominous future a running joke in classic ONE fashion. It's either that or time shenanigans. Or both, both is good.

Last but not least, Saitama also shows that he recalls little to no appreciation from helping people, despite the rare occasion where he receives gratitude from directly intervening and he definitely remembers the more negative events better, such as when he complained about going unnoticed and not having fans. (Hobby and work, cpt 15). He can recite the story to Genos when asked but there does not seem to be instance where he mentions such without prompted.

All is not lost in the memory department however, since Saitama shows a potential memory recall improvement in the recent retconnect chapter Tenninto where he recognises the martial art dudes from the tournament he was in. It might be nothing, as it was retconned too but ONE is definitely keeping it in mind.

It is quite fitting thought that the video talks about how "normal people look like superheroes" because they have the energy and motivation to do daily tasks and OPM is a superhero manga about a person who's the strongest hero but he barely considers himself a hero. ONE has also said in an interview that just living a "normal life" is hard and OPM definitely reflects that sentiment.

-*-

Saitama is slowly getting there though. He seems happier, more confident, more outgoing and a larger array of emotional displays, to the point that some people in the fandom have voiced their complaints about the apathetic hero apparently smiling too often. To that I say, character progression is a thing and a good thing at that.

Saitama even has better gait when he used to slouch and drag his feet that bespeaks of his increasing self-confidence. Less self-doubts + more confidence = more gains.

He was also able to calm down despite losing heavily to King in a fighting game and still feeling very irritated after the fact, but offered his blunt advice to lift weights anyway, which would indicate better emotional regulation. His attention span has also seemingly improved, despite the Knight yapping away for an entire panel. (Worlds I know nothing about, cpt 193). Then even when the entire thing of releasing an epic monster was just as boring monster encounter as the rest of them, he seemingly took it as a learning experience of expanding his world-view instead of complaining his utter boredom. He also recalls the tiny tidbit about Flash's utter lack of finding his way in the underground maze and remembers Blast, his name and thanks him for getting them out of the underground hole.

(Mathing is hard though but this may also be a 4th wall breaking meme because we've never seen Saitama defeat sonic 14 times on screen. Are we being gaslit? lmao)

-*-

Closing thoughts, we've not seen the last of Saitama's mental health journey, far from it. Nor have we adressed that legitimate concern of PTSD in the background and I'm sure it will pop up at some point or another...too much of an opportunity for ONE to just ignore in this master thesis of a manga about issues he feels are important.

Anyways, thank you all for reading this far, it's been a while. :D